Heiress in Red Silk (Duke's Heiress #2) - Madeline Hunter Page 0,72
he said in his most Kevin Radnor voice. “If you think that I will allow you to be a majority partner in our enterprise, even by the slightest, tiny bit, even briefly, you are much mistaken.”
“Have it your way. Now, you can go tell Monsieur Forestier of our choice, and I will go to the galleries at the Palais-Royal and fill my trunk.”
“He may want to see you. He was much taken with you.”
“He will see me when I sign the documents. If he refuses us, he will not.” She allowed the server to pour her more tea and chose a bread that looked like a scroll. “What did you mean when you said ‘incomparable’?”
“Excuse me?”
“You said last night was incomparable.”
“That means without comparison.”
“I know what the word ‘incomparable’ means, Kevin.”
“Of course you do. I meant that—” He appeared uncomfortable, which for Kevin was unusual. “I suppose there is no harm in saying—I do not normally spend the night with a lover.”
The roll was a revelation. Flaky and buttery. Pity she couldn’t buy them in London. “Is it the spend-the-night part that is unusual or the lover part?”
The garden’s appointments seemed to capture his attention. “Both.”
“I suppose that is because no women enthrall you enough. I assume you prefer brothels. They would be better for your close study of carnal matters too.”
He did not answer, which was eloquent in itself.
She wondered if tonight he would seek out one of the brothels in Paris. Word had it they were incomparable.
* * *
“Mademoiselle is not with you today?” Monsieur Forestier didn’t mention Rosamund’s absence until he had set out some wine in the study he used at the university.
“She decided to shop at the Palais-Royal this afternoon. She sends her regrets and asked me to tell you that she looks forward to seeing you when she signs our agreement.”
“Have we then come to one?”
“We have. Ten thousand for the exclusive license, as you require.”
They sat on two worn armchairs in front of a fireplace. Windows were open to the fair day, and scuffling students’ feet could be heard outside. Forestier fiddled with a pen. A frown slowly formed.
“I did not think you would find the funds,” he finally said. “I should have been more explicit at the dinner. But Mademoiselle, well, she, how do you say—” He shrugged and gave an apologetic smile.
“Flustered you.” Bedazzled you. Made you stupid.
He should have insisted Rosamund accompany him today, so Forestier would be flustered again. He should tie them together until a bedazzled Forestier signed the damned agreement.
“You see, the other, the one I mentioned, offered more.”
“How much?”
“Not more money. The same ten thousand.”
“What kind of more?”
“A few shares in the company. They are of little value unless the business becomes very big.” He smiled. “Perhaps you can offer the same? It has appeal, of course. A way for me to participate in that success if it comes.”
Kevin barely controlled his annoyance. Forestier now was asking for part of the company.
Would Rosamund have the same reaction? Or would she conclude this last-minute change was a small price to pay?
This was the problem with having an equal partner, something he had lost sight of because there seemed no way out. And because she bedazzled him and made him stupid. Here he was, trying to box against an unknown opponent while one hand was tied.
“I ask you to delay your decision by twenty-four hours,” he said to Forestier. “I need to consider this additional change in our negotiations.”
* * *
Rosamund strolled along the Galerie de Bois, admiring the luxuries displayed to the world, content with her shopping thus far. Some delicious fabrics and notions would arrive at her hotel this afternoon, along with a roll of buckram far superior to what she could easily buy in London. Even better, some interesting drawings rested in her reticule.
Sketching them had taken some doing. Kevin had warned that decent women did not sit in the cafés, so each time she saw a detail of interest she memorized it, then hurried to a park bench to draw it out before it faded from her memory. One bonnet with a very unique crown had almost defeated her skills with the pencil, but she finally recorded it correctly.
She paused in front of a shop that sold women’s hats and shawls. Not daring to take out her pencil and paper to draw, she resorted to studying the hats while she memorized their smallest details.
The proprietor came to the window to rearrange the shawls strewn