Page 3 of A Wicked Business (Wicked Sons #10)

Dearest Cat,

Good heavens, love, don’t take a pet. I won’t eat him! From all I hear, Felix Knight is a big boy and well able to look after himself. My intentions, as you put them, are entirely honourable, well mostly anyway. I cannot tell you my plans yet, dear friend, but you will discover them in time.

The next time you see your brother, do apologise for me on my father’s behalf. I have told him again and again that Ashburton and I will not suit but he refuses to heed me. It was most embarrassing the way he threw the two of us at each other yet again last week.

―Excerpt of a letter from The Lady Belinda Madox-Brown to The Most Hon’ble Catherine ‘Cat’ St Just, Lady Kilbane.

4 th July 1850, Keston House, Grosvenor Square, Mayfair, London.

Felix Knight looked up at the immense building on Grosvenor Square and sighed. What the bloody hell was he doing here?

He knew the neighbourhood well; his parents’ property and the place he’d spent much of his youth was barely a five-minute walk on the other side of the square. The Earl of Keston’s home was not one he’d ever thought he’d set foot in, however, and he wondered if he’d lost his mind by doing so now. Assuming he was even let in the door. At least if he was kicked out, he could forget the whole thing.

He could only think the invitation from the earl’s daughter had taken into account her father’s movements and Keston would not be at home.

Though Lady Belinda and Felix moved in the same circles, and he had seen her at social events from time to time, they had never been formally introduced. The earl would have shot him before he made the attempt, and Felix had little time for balls and society nonsense any longer, having become more interested in growing an empire of his own, one that would rival his father’s. Not that he wished to pretend he was the greater man. In his view, his father was the greatest man who’d ever lived, and no one could outdo his rise from workhouse to wealth of such vastness it even made Felix feel a little giddy. Yet he was driven by the desire to make him proud, to repay him for being born into a life very different from the one he might have lived if his father had not risen in such a staggering fashion.

Yet, here he was, about to set foot in enemy territory, for reasons he did not quite understand. He wondered if it was her beauty that had called him here, for though he had not seen her up close, from a distance she had glorious figure, thick curling hair of a colour between old gold and the palest chestnut, and her profile was that of Greek goddess. Despite all this inducement, he did not believe her looks had brought him to her door. He was more curious, perhaps, to meet the woman known for her radical opinions, especially considering her father thought Felix should be a servant and not a dinner guest. Why on earth had she chosen to contact him , of all people, knowing how her father felt about him?

The letter he had received from Lady Belinda nigh on demanding he attend her had done little to clarify matters.

I need some advice concerning a business venture, which I believe may interest you. I would be grateful if you could find the time to call on me at home next week to discuss the matter in more detail.

Might I request you arrive in the guise of a morning caller, however, and not a man of business? Whilst I have means of my own and no requirement for my father’s permission, he would not approve of my scheme, and I prefer to keep the details from him. A mutual friend has vouched for your discretion and trustworthiness. I pray you do not let me down.

Not approve of her scheme, he thought with a snort of laughter. Well, wasn’t that the understatement of the century? If the earl had the slightest inkling his daughter had contacted Felix at all, he dreaded to think what might become of her. Perhaps it was this that had finally spurred him to come. He knew from gossip Lady Belinda was considered a mite too bold, too opinionated by many and that, while she had received plenty of offers, her constant refusals and inability to hold her tongue were damaging her marriage prospects despite her wealth and beauty. The men of the ton preferred their wives dim and biddable, the fools. Felix could not see the appeal of that at all.

When he had written back in answer to her letter, to ask about the nature of the business the lady wanted to pursue, she had become cagey, telling him she would only discuss it in person. Though he had not yet his father’s experience, Felix had inherited his sixth sense, that tickly sensation in his gut that told him whether there was money to be made. In his opinion, the kind of business that a person did not wish to discuss in writing was unlikely to be good for his health or his pocket. Moreover, dealing in any way, shape, or form with a young lady who was notorious for being proud, prickly, and overbearing—and whose father loathed him on principle—was a very bad idea, and yet here he was.

“You are out of your mind,” he muttered irritably before tugging at the bell pull.

He knew for a fact that Lady Belinda had turned down at least eight proposals of marriage in the last year alone, some of them none too gently by all accounts, and the way she had summoned him, even having the temerity to tell him to pretend to be on a social call rather than a business one, made him feel those rejected suitors were luckier than they could ever have imagined.

A surprisingly polite butler opened the door to him and took his card, managing to refrain from calling the dogs at the mere sight of his name, as Felix had half expected he might do.

“If you would follow me, Mr Knight, Lady Belinda is expecting you.”

Felix nodded, admitting he had done the lady a disservice by presuming she might leave him kicking his heels for half an hour before she’d deign to receive him. If she had, he had already resolved to leave before ten minutes had passed, yet it seemed no such posturing was to be attempted, which he tried to tell himself was a relief. Instead, he felt as if his last avenue for escape had been blocked. He shook the feeling off. If he didn’t like whatever business, it was the lady wished to involve herself in, he would simply bid her a polite farewell and leave.

So, following the butler, he found himself led through a home that was grand indeed, though to his eye verged on vulgarity. Every wall was crammed with priceless paintings, in every corner and upon every surface there was some feast for the eye, a masterpiece of artistry and show of wealth that became increasingly overwhelming and rather shocked Felix. Used to his mother’s exquisite taste and eye for style, his family home, opulent as it was, seemed far more understated and homely than this overstuffed museum and gallery. He wondered what it must have been like growing up in such a place and shuddered. He remembered that Belinda’s only brother, from her father’s first wife, was more than twenty years her senior and had been married before Belinda was even born.

Shaking off the disturbing feelings of empathy for a little girl living in such dismal surroundings, Felix reminded himself sternly she was a girl no longer and needed no such sympathy, and then he saw her.

The butler announced him at the same moment his gaze fell upon the figure seated on an ornate Egyptian style chaise longue covered in garish red silk. Her gown, in a vibrant shade of sapphire blue, was almost shocking against the scarlet and, for a moment, his stunned brain could do nothing but stare. He was given no time to recover, however, as the lady turned her head, facing him, and all the breath left his lungs in a rush.

Hell.

She was delectable. Every feminine curve called to him, to his covetous eyes appearing to have been made precisely to fit his hands, his body. Felix swallowed a groan. He should not have come. He ought to know by now that his instincts were not to be ignored. Somehow, he had known this day would bring him trouble and for once he did not enjoy being proven correct. This was the kind of entanglement he did not need and his earnest desire was to turn around and march straight out again, for he recognised in that moment something he had not particularly noticed before when viewing Lady Belinda from a safe distance.

She was trouble.

Lady Belinda Madox-Brown was the spectacular kind of trouble that would see a man either dead in a duel or leg shackled before he knew what had hit him. Neither option appealed.

Melting blue eyes, which she must know became a ridiculously beautiful shade when set against that splendid blue gown, gazed up at him. Her lashes were a thick sooty black, far darker than her hair, which in this light seemed to run the gamut from mahogany to honey gold.

“Mr Knight,” she said, her voice surprisingly deep and throaty for such a delicate young woman. “How good of you to call upon me.”

Felix took her hand with reluctance, being careful to barely touch her fingers as he bowed over it. To his surprise, she pulled her hand free after a fraction of a second, staring at her fingers with a puzzled expression for a moment before returning her attention to the butler and giving him a slight nod. The butler vanished noiselessly, closing the door behind him.

Felix frowned, staring at the closed door and admitting himself rather shocked by her bold behaviour.

“Is that what I’m doing? Calling upon you?” he asked, unable to keep the thread of annoyance from his voice. This beautiful young woman unsettled him, and the knowledge rankled. He was a man of the world and used to being in control of all manner of situations, whether romantic or financial, the realisation that he was not did not endear her to him. So, his words were terse and not in the least friendly. “I rather thought I was answering a summons.”

“Oh, dear,” she said with a soft sigh, her lovely mouth pursing a little. She regarded him for a moment and Felix found himself caught in the blue of her eyes once more. “Have I offended you? That was badly done, I do apologise. Only I thought a businessman of your calibre would not care for the social niceties any more than I do. Please forgive me for hurting your feelings and do not fret over the closed door. Kimble, our butler, is just outside, he is only ensuring we are not overheard. I would trust the dear fellow with my life, but sadly, many of the staff would tattle to my father.”

Felix listened to this apology with increasing aggravation as she made him feel like an oversensitive schoolboy. Yet he was acting like one, so he could hardly blame her. Still, the bold chit’s ill-disguised sarcasm did not help. “You did not hurt my feelings in the least,” he replied coolly. “But I am a busy man, and I do not enjoy mysteries.”

“Excellent, then may we get down to business?” she asked, her blue gaze apparently guileless, though he felt certain she was enjoying herself enormously at his expense. Felix gritted his teeth and sat at her invitation.

“There are other men of business you could have called upon. Why choose the one you know very well your father hates with a vengeance?” He watched her carefully, wishing the sight of her lovely mouth curving into a wicked smile did not do such peculiar things to his equilibrium.

“Because my father hates you with a vengeance,” she replied sweetly and without a trace of remorse. “Oh, do not look so shocked. I would not insult your intelligence by pretending otherwise, though you ought not to insult mine by pretending those other men of business could hold a candle to you. Well, except for your father, but as I believe he would rather set himself on fire than put a foot in this house, that does not help me.”

This comment earned a surprised bark of laughter from him, accurate as it was, and he sighed inwardly as he saw how delighted she was at having made him laugh. The realisation that she was funny, intelligent, and beautiful was not reassuring but he could not keep up his irritation in the light of her pleased smile.

“Pax, my lady,” he said, shaking his head. “I give in. You have succeeded in piquing my interest and getting me here despite my certainty it was a terrible idea. For heaven’s sake, tell me what you would have from me. I do not promise I will help you, but I will hear you out.”

“That, Mr Knight, is all that I ask,” she said, still looking far too pleased with herself for Felix’s comfort.

Belinda hoped she looked calm and every inch the lady her father had brought her up to be, for inside she was quaking. She gave herself a moment to gather her wits by ordering tea, relieved when Kimble appeared at once and the tea tray followed in short order. Busying herself by preparing a cup to Mr Knight’s specifications, she gave herself a stern talking to. Whilst Felix Knight intrigued her mightily, and she had been angling for an introduction to him since the first moment she had laid eyes on him, this was business, nothing more. She needed to keep that thought in the forefront of her mind. It was harder than she might have imagined.

She had seen Mr Knight often at society affairs, though less so in the past year. He had caught her interest from the start, being someone her father despised on principle and therefore a wonderful source of aggravation she could employ if she decided to. Despite her father's lax attitude towards her maid, he always provided her with strict chaperones at balls, preventing any opportunity for her to meet the fascinating man. Mr Knight’s striking good looks and reputation for being as ruthless as his sire had stirred something in her, however, and she had determined to know him, no matter what. When he had walked into her parlour, however, she had known at once he was unlike any man she had ever met before.

It was not that he was handsome, though there was no denying that he was, but that did not make her heart beat faster. Belinda was used to handsome men flirting with her, and no amount of flashing blue, grey or brown eyes or splendid displays of tall, broad-shouldered figures had ever been enough to tempt her into allowing them the slightest liberty, let alone accepting a marriage proposal. There had never been the slightest spark of attraction or interest, the indefinable something that so many poets laboured to describe in writing. Yet when Mr Knight had walked in, he brought with him such a surge of energy, of masculine power and vitality, of sheer confidence, that it had stolen the breath from her lungs. It had taken her far too long to compose herself, and only a lifetime of keeping her thoughts hidden from view had saved her from acting the fool.

His face was hard, full of harsh lines, with a strong, square jaw and a heavy brow that could make him appear serious and rather intractable. This was the young man who had brokered deals on his father’s behalf for vast sums of money without turning a hair. Even she knew he was touted as a man to watch, having inherited his father's ability to turn everything he touched into gold. The seriousness of his mien made it all too believable. Yet his green eyes were lively, and his mouth seemed more inclined to turn up, and these features softened him, making him appear a little more approachable.

And then he’d taken her hand. He’d barely touched her fingertips, giving her the impression he did not wish to be in the same room with her, let alone in proximity, and yet the touch had sent an electrical current snapping up her arm. Alarmed, she’d withdrawn her hand as if he’d bitten her, but even now she could sense the energy radiating from him, giving the room an oddly charged atmosphere that was most unsettling.

Dangerous , she told herself. Handle with care .

It had been sensible advice, and her brain had completely disregarded it by being as provoking as she knew how to be the moment she opened her mouth. She didn’t know what had got into her. Having handed him his tea and prepared her own, she was all out of distractions and found she had to return her attention to the man.

He was staring at her expectantly and Belinda gazed helplessly into eyes of vivid green. She had never seen such a stunning colour, and it was only when Mr Knight cleared his throat impatiently that she realised she was staring and had not said a word for some time.

“I beg your pardon, the colour of your eyes struck me dumb, I do not believe I have ever seen such a glorious shade of green. I am all envy,” she said, the words out before she could stop them. Mortification at having given him such a blatant compliment had the usual effect on her. When her tongue ran away with her, as it often did, Belinda brazened out the ensuing embarrassment by showing no remorse whatsoever. So, when his beautiful eyes widened in shock, she returned a saucy smile and took a sip of her tea, praying he did not notice her hands were shaking.

“Well, then,” she said, hurrying to steer the conversation into safer waters before she drowned herself. “I have no doubt you wish to know the details of the business I desire you to aid me with.” Suddenly the word desire seemed wholly too suggestive, and Belinda took another hasty sip of tea, almost choking herself.

“If you would indulge me so,” Mr Knight replied dryly.

Belinda discreetly cleared her throat and ignored the trace of sarcasm. Her gaze lingered on the large hand curved around the delicate porcelain teacup she had given him. His manners were impeccable, his rudeness to her on arrival notwithstanding, but somehow the teacup was all wrong. He probably ought to be wielding an axe or a broadsword, she mused, only to curse herself for getting distracted again. Really, the man was too agitating for words, and he was only sitting there. Perhaps she ought to contact a different man of business if this was going to become a problem? For all she had arranged this meeting because she was desperate to get to know him, her business venture was indeed serious and close to her heart.

It would not become a problem, she told herself severely. She was a woman of sense and would not allow herself to become distracted, despite great provocation.

“I wish to buy a print shop,” she said, seeing no point in beating around the bush.

Mr Knight’s eyebrows rose a little. “To what end?” he asked curiously. “If you wish to begin a magazine or periodical, there is no need to buy the shop, only to engage them to do as you wish.”

“Yes, Mr Knight, I do understand how business works,” she replied, echoing the dry tone he’d used on her just moments before.

He had the grace to look chagrined and inclined his head, acknowledging a hit.

“I wish to buy a particular print shop,” she carried. “I have had brought to my notice the plight of a young woman, a Miss Sarah Ludlow. The young lady has worked in her father’s shop since she was a small girl and understands the business well. Since her father became ill two years ago, she has run the shop single-handedly and taken it to far greater success than he ever managed.”

Mr Knight nodded to show he was listening and Belinda carried on.

“Her father died last month, and her brother, who is a drunken lout, is selling the shop, leaving her penniless and without the means of supporting herself. No other print shop will take her on, as they refuse to employ a woman or to believe a female could have the necessary skills. They will not allow her to prove herself, despite offering to work a month for free. In short, Miss Ludlow is in dire straits, and I mean to help her.”

“You wish for me to buy the shop in your name?” Mr Knight guessed, and she thought perhaps she detected a warmer note in his voice than she’d heard up until now.

Remembering his father had been born in the workhouse—a fact her own father repeated often but as a derogatory fact rather than in admiration—she supposed such philanthropy might appeal to him.

“I do, but more than that, I wish to have contracts drawn up giving Miss Ludlow certain rights. For example, I wish for the profits to be hers entirely, but she will not allow this. Therefore, I suggest my share be used to update equipment and be put back into the business to help it grow.”

“An excellent idea, but if Miss Ludlow is a proud woman, as it appears she is, she may not accept this arrangement in the long term, either. I suggest the contract state this be the case for five years and it can then be renegotiated. If the business is doing well, she may feel more comfortable if you take your share of the profits. No one likes to live their life feeling they owe charity.”

Belinda considered this and nodded. “I take your point. I would also like to be the one to take responsibility for any scandal that might arise following the printing of, er… certain material.”

At this, Mr Knight sat up straighter, his piercing eyes locking with hers and filled with suspicion. “What material, my lady?”

Belinda waved away his obvious alarm. “Oh, nothing seditious, I assure you. Only I wish to support various women’s causes, and to publish lady poets and writers who might not otherwise see their work in print. There will undoubtedly be mixed reactions to some of the material that interests me, and I do not wish Miss Ludlow to shoulder the blame.”

Mr Knight’s gaze was still fixed on her and Belinda felt it boring into her brain. She swallowed, refusing to look away, though the sensation was akin to standing too close to a fire.

“Then I suggest, in the first place, that you consider very carefully what you publish before you do so.”

“Oh, how clever of you to think of that, Mr Knight, but then you are a man, after all. As a mere female, I should never have considered thinking carefully about my actions if you had not instructed me so kindly.”

Mr Knight paused, obviously taken aback by her none too subtle rebuke. She thought perhaps his lips twitched, but he carried on, apparently deciding to ignore the comment. “In the second, as printer, Miss Ludlow will naturally carry a good deal of the burden and she must also take this into account before agreeing, but if you accept authorship, or at least the responsibility of publishing, you will certainly be considered responsible morally. I do not have enough depth of knowledge concerning libel laws to guide you meaningfully, though I would be happy to put you in contact with a gentleman who can help you. It would be worth consulting him before publication of anything you consider delicate or inciting,” he said, his expression grave.

Belinda nodded, conceding that this, at least, was wise advice.

“May I ask what it is you have in mind for publication? I assume there are projects lined up?”

“There are,” Belinda replied, a little surprised that he was interested. She had assumed, once he knew what it was she wished of him, he would either leave with a flat refusal or do as she asked and send her a bill with no more contact than was necessary. “There are several collections of recipes and household advice. One is aimed at young women on a reduced budget, giving them tips on how to make their money go further, and how not to be taken advantage of by unscrupulous shopkeepers. Do you know they often put their fingers on the scale, making things weigh heavier than they are? How wicked when people are scrimping and saving.”

Mr Knight watched her, saying nothing. Heat crept up Belinda’s neck. No doubt he thought her a spoiled madam and believed her interest and concern in such matters were all for show. She knew his father was famous for his philanthropic projects and no doubt this seemed childish in comparison. Still, she refused to feel foolish and put up her chin.

“There is another aimed at young women like me, faced with the running of a vast household upon their marriage. Though we are raised in the prospect of such an eventuality, there are often gaps in our knowledge and a… a lack of confidence in one’s own decisions. The book will aim to bolster and provide a little support for those who do not have the luxury of relying on female friends or relations.”

“I cannot imagine you ever feeling such a lack of confidence, but I can appreciate that such a title might be well received by those of your class,” Mr Knight said with a smile.

Belinda was uncertain if that was a compliment or not, so ignored the comment. Ploughing on, she thought she might as well tell him the worst of it.

“I suppose the pamphlets will bring the most trouble. Before I explain, do I have your word as a gentleman that anything we discuss here will go no further?” she asked, eyeing him speculatively. She wondered if he would think her disgusting and unladylike or simply leave the room.

“I wonder that you did not ask me that immediately,” he replied, setting down his cup and saucer. “But yes, indeed. I shall say nothing about it. Your father will be in a murderous enough mood when he discovers your little scheme without adding fuel to the fire, and I have no desire to be associated with such a project, I assure you.”

Or with you.

Belinda wondered if those were the words he was thinking but was too polite to speak aloud. She decided it did not matter. “I am aware, Mr Knight, that such a project as I wish you to help me create little interests you and is far beneath your scope. It is abundantly clear that your reputation as a man of business is such that even I, one of the fairer sex who cannot begin to understand business and complex matters, cannot fail to be aware of your triumphs.”

“You are being sarcastic again, my lady, for I am convinced you have the mind of a rapier, and a man would be a fool to believe otherwise. But that aside, how do you know that I will not run to your father? It might be satisfying to tell him how improperly his own daughter is behaving when he thinks so ill of my father and my family,” he mused, leaning forward a little, his eyes intent, though she felt certain he was not in earnest.

“Because, despite my father’s unflattering and erroneous opinion, I believe you to be a gentleman,” she said, holding his gaze so he could judge her sincerity.

Belinda believed she had surprised him with her words, though it was only an impression. Mr Knight gave little away and she could not guess at what he thought of her. He inclined his head, however, and so she carried on, feeling her cheeks heat despite her determination to be no nonsense about the whole affair. This was business, nothing more.

“I wish to publish pamphlets that put information into women’s hands, information that would otherwise be hidden from them.” Gathering her courage, Belinda put up her chin. “For example, I wish to explain to women the mysteries of conception and… and how to prevent an unwanted pregnancy.”

She thought he swallowed, but otherwise, there was no other reaction. Though the desire to wipe her sweaty hands on her skirts was nigh on overwhelming, beaten only by the even stronger need to flee the room, Belinda sat ramrod straight, refusing to drop her gaze.

“I see,” he said, and whilst there was no condemnation or judgement in his tone, there was a speculative glint in his eyes. There was a long pause before he asked, “Do you know my aunt?”

Belinda blinked. “Your aunt?” She ran through his family tree, realising at once he must mean his mother’s sister-in-law. “I have not had the honour of meeting the duchess. I am afraid she dislikes my father rather passionately and so the association has been lost to me.”

Mr Knight nodded. “They have crossed swords before now,” he said, his lips twitching. “But this is exactly the kind of project she would wholeheartedly support.”

“Yes, I suppose it might be,” Belinda acknowledged, for the duchess was well known for being outspoken about the rights of women.

“Certainly it is. She has done much of the sort herself over the years, but she is a married lady, and a duchess, and therefore rather more immune to scandal than you are, my lady.”

There was a warning note to his voice.

“I’m not a fool, despite what you think,” Belinda said, the words a little sharper than she’d intended.

Mr Knight smiled and shook his head. “Oh, I do not think you a fool,” he said, though what he did think remained unsaid, and she suspected it was no more complimentary. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have another appointment this morning and I must take my leave of you.”

“But what of my project?” she demanded, aware he had neither agreed nor refused.

“I suggest we visit your Miss Ludlow with a lawyer to draw up a first draft of the contract. Would you be free on Friday morning, shall we say at ten o clock? I will meet you on the premises. You may forward the details to my office,” he added, handing her his business card.

“Very well, yes. Thank you,” Belinda replied, a little taken aback she had not had to work harder to gain his agreement. “I am in your debt, Mr Knight. I know this is not the kind of thing you usually do, and I appreciate your help most sincerely.”

“Oh, don’t thank me, my lady,” he said, his expression unreadable. “Whilst I wholeheartedly admire your intentions, you are about to invite a world of trouble to your door. I only hope you do not live to regret your decision. Good day to you.”

With that prediction of doom still ringing in her ears, she watched as Mr Knight executed an elegant bow and left the room.