She kept her face impassive, resisting intimidation. “It has to do with an invention to improve machines,” she said confidently.
“Steam engines.”
“His explanation was brief. I confess I did not understand the details.”
“That is not surprising. Even men have difficulty understanding it.”
He sounded very superior saying that. “Perhaps if it is hard for even men to understand, you should show them how it works. I would think that would clarify everything.”
He smiled indulgently. She did not care for that smile either. “I can’t. If I do, anyone might steal the design and duplicate it.”
“Mr. Radnor, forgive me if my next question is too womanish, but if you can’t show it to anyone, how does this enterprise make money from this invention?”
“I intend to manufacture it myself.”
Me. My. I. “You mean we intend to manufacture it. Do we have a factory?”
“Not yet. I am waiting on an enhancement. Once that is procured, it can be manufactured.”
So this enterprise was based on an invention that had never been built and had no factory and still lacked its final enhancement. “I should tell you that I be thinking of selling my share.”
His eyes turned stormy. He leaned toward her. “You can’t do that.”
“The solicitor said I could.”
“It would destroy everything. If you sell, whoever buys it can then sell part shares to others. Each one would demand to see the invention, which means any of them could steal it. This is an enterprise that must be closely held for it to amount to anything.”
“You are concerned someone will steal this idea?”
“Of course I am. It is so valuable that I dare not even patent it, lest others see the drawings.”
“Are you concerned I will somehow steal it?”
He subtly resettled in his chair. “Not steal, as such. You can’t steal what you already own.”
“I’m glad you admit that I in fact be half owner of it.”
“But . . .” He seemed to think twice about what he was going to say. She saw the exact moment when impulse conquered whatever better sense had made him hesitate. “You are an heiress. There will be many men pursuing you. You might be unduly influenced by one of them.”
“Lose my head, you mean.”
“Yes.”
“Become so drunk with love that I do something not in me own interests.”
No response, but a vague nod.
“You are a man who thinks women are half-witted and ruled by emotion, me thinks.”
He frowned peevishly. “Men lose their heads too. It has nothing to do with your being a beautiful woman.”
She startled at the word “beautiful.” He did too, once it was out of his mouth. “And you might marry,” he quickly added. “Your husband might demand to know all that you know. He might even browbeat you in order to learn the enterprise’s secrets.”
Charles would not do that. She immediately scolded herself at that thought. It was one thing to allow a dream a bit of room to grow and another to become as befuddled as this Mr. Radnor assumed love would make her.
“Mr. Radnor, I could worry about you in the same way. You might become enthralled with some woman and be influenced by her to share the secrets. Or maybe you would use company money to keep her happy, or to pay off her gambling debts.”
He found that amusing. “I never become enthralled, so you have nothing to worry about.”
“Never? Not once?”
He shook his head. “Not even once. This invention has the potential to make you a very rich woman, Miss Jameson. Rich beyond your imagination. Every steam engine built will need this invention. Already they are putting them into vehicles that ride on rails. In twenty years those will be everywhere. Then there are machines in factories and other applications. Steam engines will be used by the thousands soon. You would be foolish to sell out now.”
It sounded like she would be better off putting her money in one of those rail vehicles than this invention. For one thing, she would not have to see this man on a regular basis. He unnerved her when his gaze became intense like it be now. She had to struggle to hold her own ground, let alone give as good as she got.
He smiled. A nice smile. A bit seductive, if truth be told. “I will take care of everything. You can tend to your other affairs until the money starts pouring in. Then you can worry about how to spend it all.” He reached into his frock coat and extracted a folded paper. “Because we are equal partners, we both need to agree to decisions regarding funds and developments. However, I can relieve you of that obligation after you sign this.”
She took the paper and read it. While she did, he rose, went to the writing desk, and returned with a pen and the inkwell. He set them on the table next to the divan.
“Do you understand it?” he asked.
Partly. Mostly. There were some big words that interfered, but she thought she had the main points. “This document would give you full control of the enterprise, and the right to make contracts, spend money, and decide on this invention’s future use and cost without my signature.” She looked up at him. “Do I look like a stupid woman to you, Mr. Radnor? If I do not sell my share—and nothing that has happened here today has convinced me to keep it—I will be involved in the decisions going forward. I have no intention of signing this.”
She let the paper slip from her fingers and onto the floor.
He stood abruptly, turned, and muttered. She thought she heard the words “impossible female” between a few colorful curses. She let him regain control, which took several long moments. Finally, he turned back to her, his face still reflecting his anger.
“It will take anything three times as long to accomplish if you insist on being involved. I’ll spend hours explaining the details of every decision and tutoring you in mechanics and mathematics,” he bit out. “Even finding you took too long and left this in limbo to the whole plan’s detriment.”
She stood. “And yet I be here now. Let me ask you something, Mr. Radnor. Have you ever run a profitable business?”
He did not respond fast enough, so she knew the answer.
“Well, I have. Now, I have things to do this afternoon. Good day to you.” She sailed out of the library, head high, and waited until she was back in her bedchamber before she vented her frustration by screaming into her pillow.
Chapter Three
“Well, I have.” Kevin mimicked Rosamund Jameson’s last words while he finished describing the irritating meeting with that most annoying woman. Only he knew he had pitched her voice wrong. Hers was softer, almost velvet in its timbre. Still, the words were what mattered. “As if managing a hat shop for women compares to running an industrial company.”
He felt better having gotten the entirety of it out of his head by telling Chase and Nicholas. They sat in Nicholas’s dressing room, on those ugly, blue upholstered chairs that had been inherited along with the rest of Whiteford House when Nicholas became the new duke. Nicholas had just come up to Town after a month at his estates. His baggage still littered the chamber because he had sent the valet away when Chase and Kevin walked in.
Now they shared a bottle of claret, and after much talk of politics and of Chase’s marital bliss, Chase had asked about the enterprise.