“Even if those rumors were true, which they’re not, my past and my present activities have no relevance to my claim, Lady Henrietta.”
“The past always has relevance. It shapes us, Mr. Ellis.”
“My past matters only insofar as it proves my lineage. Which I intend to do when I meet with your father and his solicitor tomorrow.”
“I will most certainly be present at that meeting. I won’t allow my father to be swindled by you. You’re trying to manipulate him, prey upon his disinclination to marry. I’m here to tell you that it won’t work.”
“Look here, girlie,” drawled Mr. Ellis. “I’m your best hope to keep your estate, and you know it. Forcing your father to attempt to sire another heir is a desperate gambit, and no sure bet.”
“Did you just call me girlie?” Hetty’s pulse raced.
Viola laid a hand on her arm. “Perhaps we should leave,” she whispered.
Hetty leveled her gaze at Mr. Ellis. “You think that you can charm and cheat your way into a title. I refuse to see my family fortune turned over to an audacious profiteer on evidence that will no doubt prove false.”
The man didn’t blink an eye. He just sat there and regarded her with steely composure. “Your precious estate is nearly bankrupt. Did you know that?”
“I review the books. I know everything there is to know about Rosehill.”
“Maybe not everything. But I’ll leave that to your father to explain.”
How, and why, did this man seem to know more about the state of her family’s finances than she did? It was infuriating.
“You, Mr. Ellis, are a scoundrel. An unprincipled rogue. And you more than live up to the name the scandal sheets have given you.”
Ash kept his face blank while Lady Henrietta continued excoriating his character. He’d been called many bad names in his lifetime.
Most of them well-merited.
Her large brown eyes were accentuated by thick, dark brows. Brows that were set in a line because she didn’t trust him.
Intelligent woman.
He had to give her credit. She was desperate, yet unflinching. Her eyes flashed with ire, and her spine was ramrod straight.
She was every inch the highborn lady, daughter of a duke, come to throw her wealth around to rid herself of a pesky pretender.
Her companion, Miss Beaton, was pretty in an unremarkable way, with dimples and light brown hair. She wore a drab cloak, no jewelry, and kept staring at the door, longing to fly away from this den of iniquity.
“. . . and unscrupulous mountebank!” the lady concluded.
“Mountebank, ha!” Jax said. “You’ve described him to a fault.”
Traitor.
He could at least put in a few good words for Ash. In the old days, when they’d been running games in Europe, Jax and Ash had been perfectly attuned. They’d had an arsenal of roles to play, well-practiced characters and excuses to get them out of any hot water.
Lady Henrietta was so hot, she was nearly boiling. Steam was practically rising from her ears.
“If you expect me to believe that a notorious gambler just happened to recently learn that he’s the heir to my father’s dukedom, after staying silent for his entire life, you must think that I’m gullible. I assure you, I’m not.”
He wouldn’t use the word gullible to describe her. She was clever, sharp-witted, and she was gorgeous.
The most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen.
A lamp with a milky pink shade cast a soft, flattering light across her face. Not that she required flattering. She’d be devastating in any light.
She was the type to make men lose their minds, but there was something underneath, something he sensed . . . What was the word he was searching for?
Unsullied. Untainted by hardship. She might as well be a portrait hanging in a museum for all the experience she’d had of real life. Real problems.
She hadn’t been dragged through the muck and mud of ordinary life. She’d been born into money, and she’d led a protected life.
The protection of inherited money, of being born into a ruling class.
You lived by your fists and your wits when you didn’t have daddy’s money to smooth life’s path.
“Are you listening to me, Mr. Ellis?” she asked with a puff of breath that lifted a brunette curl from her cheek.
“No. I was admiring you.”
“You,” she sputtered. “You make me want to scream.”
“It’s not very English of you, Lady Henrietta,” he replied with a smile. “All of this public displaying of emotion.”
She tossed her head, sending the long dark spiral of hair that fell over one shoulder swaying. “I’m French on my mother’s side.”
Miss Beaton plucked at her friend’s sleeve. “It’s time to leave now.”
Lady Henrietta nodded her agreement. “I will ask one last time, Mr. Ellis. Will you name your price and withdraw your claim?”
“I won’t. Because I’m the rightful heir to the dukedom, and it doesn’t matter how many jewels you offer, or what you uncover in my past.”
She rose from her chair, and everyone else rose with her. “You’ll never be the duke.”
“We’ll see about that, won’t we?”
She really didn’t know what kind of man she was dealing with. He wasn’t easily intimidated. He’d seen the midnight side of life, he’d been raised in the underbelly of London where only the strong survived.
Show no weakness. Show no fear.
One privileged lady wasn’t enough to stop him from getting what he wanted. She was just like everyone in her social class. She saw him as a nuisance to be bought off—she came into his world flashing her diamonds around, thinking that he’d just slink away.
Take the money and run.
He didn’t want her jewels. He wanted the title, and the power it gave. The power to change England’s labor laws.
“If you think about it, Lady Henrietta, I’m doing you a favor. You should be thanking me for discovering my origins and making my claim to save your family fortune.”
“Thanking you?” Her laughter was hollow. “This isn’t over, Mr. Ellis.”
“It’s only just begun, Lady Henrietta.”
“Come along, Viola. This is obviously a waste of time.” She left in a swish of silk and a swaying of hips. He liked watching her leave as much as he’d enjoyed watching her walk across the bar, eyes flashing, with murder on her mind.
The lady was a formidable opponent, make no mistake.
When she and her companions were gone, Jax laughed so heartily he doubled over, and had to be slapped upon the back to end a coughing fit. “P-pliable, is she?”
“I may have underestimated her just a touch,” Ash grumbled. “And thanks for leaping to my defense, by the way. You could have given her a glowing review of my character, at least.”
“I was having too much fun watching the fireworks. I do believe if Lady Henrietta had brought that pistol, she’d have shot you right through the heart.”
The scorn in her eyes had been piercing enough. “She’ll be more of a challenge than I thought, but she’ll come round.” Ash slapped his palm on the table. “Show’s over,” he said to the gawking barmaids. “The customers are starting to arrive. Back to business.”