Home > The Devil Comes Courting (The Worth Saga #3)(3)

The Devil Comes Courting (The Worth Saga #3)(3)
Author: Courtney Milan

He was going to be very, very polite to her. He was going to find the Silver Fox. And then he was going to leave this delightful woman precisely the same way he found her. He wasn’t going to touch her. He was just going to imagine it.

He touched his pocket in reminder—the letter of introduction was still there, all sealed up, with no notation on the front but two words—Silver Fox, in English—and two Chinese characters. He recognized the first, and was fairly certain that inscription said the same thing in a different language.

“I’m Captain Grayson Hunter.” He held out his hand.

“Oh!” She glanced at his hand and then colored. “My manners! Where have they been? Mrs. Amelia Smith.”

Mrs. Ah. She was married. The seduction plan might not have worked in any event.

“It’s very good to meet you, Mrs. Smith. I’m heading up to the Acheson household on some business. Maybe you can assist me in finding the person I’m looking for.”

“The Acheson household.” Her cheeks colored with a hint of pink. “Are you—you’re not, you’re not Mr. Flappert by any chance? No, of course not. You just told me your name.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry. I’ve already forgotten it.”

“Captain Grayson Hunter.”

“Captain Hunter. If I can assist you, I will, but as you may already have surmised, I have no memory for names. Who are you looking for?”

“If you don’t know him, perhaps your mother or your husband will.” There. He’d said it. Her husband.

“Oh. I’m not— That is, I’m a widow. Now who is it that you were looking for?”

She hardly looked old enough to be a widow. Grayson ignored the pulse of interest that went through him. It didn’t matter; none of his transient feelings mattered. Silver Fox, he reminded himself. Telegraphic empire. Ambition. Those were the things he cared about. “Yes. Well. As to that—the who of it—this is going to sound odd. I don’t have a name for the person I’m looking for.”

“You don’t have a name.” She frowned.

“I heard of him from a Mr. Leland Acheson—”

Her eyes widened, and she made a startled noise.

“You know him then.”

“Leland! But that’s my brother!” Her eyes lit. “You’ve come from Hong Kong? Did he give you a letter for me? Is that part of your business?”

Her brother. He’d met Acheson. The man had been white as white could be—orange hair, sideburns, and everything. “I— No. I’m sorry.”

He watched her face fall. Damn it. He didn’t care if he disappointed her. He didn’t care about her. He really didn’t. It was just that her face was so expressive that he couldn’t help but feel her emotions tugging at him.

“He sent me here because I was looking for someone who invented a telegraphic method for transmitting Chinese characters. The person involved is extremely clever, not doing much—criminally underutilized, he said—and might agree to work with me.”

Her eyes rounded.

“If Leland is your brother, you might know who I’m looking for,” Grayson said. “A man who goes by—” He stopped himself before the words came out of his mouth.

His eyes fell to the silver locket around her neck. The silver figurine of an animal was worked on that round locket, and it rose and fell against her breast. Not a dog. Of course it wasn’t a dog. That was a fox in brambles worked in silver, lifting with every one of her breaths.

Extremely clever. Criminally underutilized. Of course.

What a buffoon he had been. No wonder Acheson had been so cagey about the matter, refusing to give him a name. Come to think of it, had he ever referred to the Silver Fox as he?

Grayson looked down into Mrs. Smith’s eyes and thought about his plan. Hire the Silver Fox. Build an empire. Swim in profits.

So the Silver Fox was a woman. Did it matter? Yes, in the sense that Grayson had met her and wanted her.

But in the grander scheme of things? It mattered not one whit that he wanted her because now that he knew what she could be, he would never allow himself to have her. Not that way. Plans changed.

The calculation didn’t take long. If he walked up to her mother—whoever that woman was, with her ridiculous aphorisms about devils and courting and her constant scolding of her daughter—he would be tossed out on his ear. He would need a moment to figure out how to proceed, but proceed he would. If Mrs. Amelia Smith, criminally underutilized, was the one who had developed a telegraphic method for transmitting Chinese characters, then Grayson would hire her, give her all the money she demanded, and leave her very thoroughly alone.

He had a moment of regret in the Fuzhou sun—a single moment, which he immediately put behind him.

“Mrs. Amelia Smith,” he said with a nod of his head. “I believe I was incorrect. I do have correspondence for you from your brother.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter of introduction Acheson had given him, holding it so that the Chinese characters faced toward her. “I believe this is yours.”

 

 

Chapter Two

 

 

Silver Fox.

The Chinese characters seemed embedded in the grain of the paper, fixed there as a reminder of what Amelia had once had.

It had been years since Amelia had seen Leland, years since she’d received more from him than his diligent weekly letters or the occasional telegram. He indulges you, her mother had used to say before he’d left Fuzhou for good. Amelia had never felt indulged in her brother’s company; just an easiness of heart. Leland was the one person in the world with whom she felt safe.

She took the letter in both hands, wanting to clutch it to her chest. Instead, she dropped it into a pocket. “Thank you.” She smiled at him. “How incredibly kind of you to bring it all this way.”

He gave her a nod.

“You’re going up the hill?” she asked.

“Are you?”

It wasn’t an answer, she noticed. An odd point to be evasive on. “My home isn’t far. I can accompany you there at least.”

He nodded, and they resumed their walk. He seemed like the sort who would converse easily. He’d been so friendly just a moment earlier. Now he cast a sidelong glance at her. Probably contemplating the difficult paradox of a native Chinese woman speaking English with the Queen’s accent while garbed in a heavy gown. A British gown, albeit somewhat punctured.

But he didn’t seem sure how to restart their discussion once more. Despite her many flaws, Amelia knew what politeness required. It was up to her to move the talk along.

“Thank you, Captain…,” she started.

Drat it all. She had forgotten his name already. Captain Something. Captain Some Name Unremarkable. Had it been Captain Turner? Captain Jones? She couldn’t very well call him Captain Handsome, not even in her mind, because if she started doing that, knowing her, she would inevitably blurt it out by mistake.

Luckily, he took her confused dithering for a complete sentence, as if she were addressing him by title rather than name.

“Don’t thank me,” he said dryly. “I’m not here for your convenience.”

“What are you here for then?” Her mind raced ahead of her. “Oh of course! You had said that you were looking for someone on business. I don’t know how much assistance I can provide, but—”

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