Love Is a Rogue (Wallflowers vs. Rogues #1) - Lenora Bell Page 0,31

society’s name once we occupy these premises.”

“These lady knitters have goals,” Ford said with relish. “Deadly serious ones.”

“But Lady Beatrice, you can’t seriously be considering such a thing. You do know that this bookshop, besides having fallen into disrepair, was . . . is . . . not a fit place for any lady to enter, much less own or gather inside? Genteel ladies would never patronize a bookshop with a less than savory reputation.”

Lady Beatrice smiled, but her eyes remained as cold as wintry wind blowing over the ocean. “Are you referring to the hidden bookshelves, Mr. Foxton? Because I know all about them.”

“But . . . but Lady Beatrice,” sputtered Foxton, looking like a man who was rarely thwarted and was at a loss as to how to proceed. The purple veins in his temple protruded.

Ford rejoiced at the sight of those protruding veins. He’d promised his mother he’d never seek out his grandfather, or attempt to exact revenge, but if his grandfather walked into his life, he’d damned well do his best to see that he got a taste of his own bitter medicine.

In that moment, Ford decided that he would do everything in his power to help Lady Beatrice keep this property, achieve her goals, and thereby ruin his grandfather’s plans.

“You haven’t thought this through, Lady Beatrice,” said Foxton. “You’re only a girl. You must think of your reputation, of your mother. Please be rational.”

Now he’d done it.

Lady Beatrice advanced on Foxton. “Only a girl, did you say?”

“Well, that is, you’re very young . . .” Foxton mumbled.

“Mr. Foxton,” said Lady Beatrice, pronouncing the name as if it meant putrid pestilence. “I have reached the age of majority and I’m fully capable of administering my own fortune. I’m not helpless, brainless chattel with no will of my own.”

She truly was a splendid sight when she was reprimanding a man. Her eyes became crystallized amber, and she held her neck at such a proud angle she appeared much taller than she was.

“Apologies, Lady Beatrice. I never meant to suggest such a thing.”

“You didn’t have to. It was evident in your tone of voice.”

“I’m merely relaying what was told to me by your brother’s solicitor.”

“And I’m telling you that I was not consulted on the matter.”

“If I may, Mr. Foxton,” Ford interjected, “don’t tell the lady what she can and can’t do. It never ends well.”

“The building is not for sale, Mr. Foxton,” said Lady Beatrice.

“Then I must inform you that I own the properties on either side.”

Damn his hide. “Then you want to own the block. What are you planning to build? A hotel, or a factory?”

“Not one of those foul, polluting factories that employs children I hope,” said Lady Beatrice. “I read a report of a boot blacking factory near here and it was most inhumane.”

“A shirting manufactory. I need this building for its access to the steps leading to the Thames. I assure you, Lady Beatrice, that any workers I employ will be treated fairly.”

“Ha.” Ford laughed bitterly. “That’s a lie. I know all about your gunpowder mills in Leigh and your other moneymaking ventures. You don’t care about poisoning the water or protecting your workers from harm.”

“Hearsay, Mr. Wright,” replied Foxton with a small shake of his walking stick. “Slanderous hearsay.”

“You won’t be purchasing this property, Mr. Foxton.” Lady Beatrice squared her shoulders. “Good day.”

Foxton was not a man who was accustomed to being dismissed by a woman, even if she was sister to a duke. His expression went from sour to vengeful. “Unfortunately, you’ll never find a carpenter willing to perform the repairs necessary to transform this into a clubhouse, Lady Beatrice.”

Ford raised his eyebrows. “Is that a threat, Foxton?”

“I could easily use my connections to have this building declared a public safety hazard. Instead, I’ve made the lady an extremely generous offer, one which I’ll only extend for the next week.”

This man had cast Ford’s mother out of his life like soiled laundry and run her, and Ford’s father, out of London.

Foxton thought he could buy or control everyone and everything. He didn’t control Ford, and he had no business attempting to control Lady Beatrice.

Ford would do everything in his power to help her win this battle.

Although he was probably going to regret it.

He felt the warning in his bones, like the ache in his old elbow injury when there was a storm brewing on the horizon. He didn’t stop to consider impossibilities or timelines. “As it happens, Mr. Foxton, the lady