Heiress in Red Silk (Duke's Heiress #2) - Madeline Hunter Page 0,100

a smile broke out, and those eyes twinkled as he stood to make a greeting.

“Mr. Lovelace has a mutual friend with us,” Rosamund said.

“Who might that be?”

Lovelace beamed. “Mr. Forestier. In Paris.”

“Forestier? Are you saying he gave you my name?”

“He did indeed, sir.”

“How do you know him?”

“Met him, I did. Was in Paris myself. It was a holiday, but men talk, and his name was mentioned as someone with good knowledge of machines and such. That’s my trade. I’ve a factory in Shropshire and a smaller works out farther on the Thames here.”

“What kinds of machines?”

“All kinds. I’ve a knack with them. Some we make for others. Some I devise myself. I’ve a new one I’m making, to be used in textile factories, but it has a little problem, and I called on Forestier to see if he might have some solution.”

“How did my name enter the conversation?”

“He said you were a man with similar interests and such. He said you might have an idea for the problem, what with your experience.” He reached in his pocket and withdrew a long paper. “I’ve a drawing here that—”

“Did Forestier say anything else about me?”

Lovelace blanched at the tone of that question. Rosamund sent Kevin a disapproving look. Kevin forced some control over his suspicions and tried a more congenial voice. “I’m just curious what he said that convinced you to seek me out.”

Lovelace smiled again. “He said you were an inventor, so you might think of the way a solution required.”

“That is all?”

“Well, he might’ve said that perhaps we could do some business together. What with your inventions and my foundry works.”

Kevin barely saw Lovelace now, his head had gone so hot. “Among the machines you make, do you construct engines?”

The man misunderstood. He grinned. “I do at that. Here I mostly make the molds for the casting of iron, as required for them and other machines. Shropshire is where I make the engines whole.”

Kevin thought his mind would explode. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you. Good day.” He strode out of the drawing room, ready to kill someone. Forestier preferably, but the scoundrel was in Paris.

Light footsteps hurried up behind him and caught him at the stairs.

“What is wrong with you?” Rosamund hissed. “That was rude to the point of cruelty.”

“He is the competitor who cost us two thousand, not to mention a percentage of profits.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Don’t I? I wonder what Forestier told him about what we have.”

“Do not be so fast to assume betrayal, Kevin. It sounded to me as if Forestier truly thought you might see a solution where he did not, and that he also thought Mr. Lovelace might be of use in our own enterprise.”

He shook off the hand she had on his arm. “I’m not interested.”

“It can’t hurt to listen. It may come to nothing, but we should at least—”

“Damnation, no.”

She narrowed her eyes. She backed up two paces. Then she turned and strode back to the drawing room.

That night, when he retired to his chambers, he found a long sheet of paper propped on the dressing table. He stared at it while his valet helped him undress.

“Mrs. Radnor brought that, sir,” Morris said while he set aside the waistcoat.

Kevin picked it up and held it to the light. It looked like the drawing Lovelace had taken from his pocket.

He had not seen Rosamund since she marched back into the drawing room. She had spent the afternoon at her shop, and had had dinner sent up to her apartment. He had spent the time immersed in thoughts on an idea he had for a new invention. Even so, he had not missed the brittle silence that permeated the house.

Now he examined the paper. There was no note with it, but he read her message all the same.

Cursing, he threw himself onto the divan and held up the damned paper so the lamp on the table beside him illuminated the drawings. Thus did women win their battles. Weaker sex, hell. Men didn’t stand a chance.

* * *

Rosamund turned on her bed and snuggled against her pillow. No, not a pillow.

An arm moved to surround her.

No wonder her fitful sleep had turned peaceful. “You’re here,” she murmured.

“Do you mind?”

She shook her head and drifted in the peace his embrace always gave her. She was so glad he had come. She had spent the evening full of self-righteous anger, but by the time she retired, she had worried that he wouldn’t even care about the distance