Page 14

A lthough tired from the late end to the ball, Tiffany went ahead with her planned visit early the next morning. As she traveled across London, she relived the memory of Wolf singling her out for a dance. Rumors had circulated all night, making her the center of attention for once, and she’d hated it. Staying unnoticed was a skill, and one she needed—especially today.

She alighted from the hackney, pulling her widow’s veil down over her face. She furtively glanced up and down the crowded street, praying her widow’s weeds disguise would work. If she was recognized… Well, to be seen without an escort would ruin her. She’d become a social outcast. At that thought, she had to stop herself from laughing out loud. Society’s likely reaction to hearing that Miss Tiffany Deveraux had been seen unescorted at the London Stock Exchange would be, “ Who ?” A scandal was surely the only way she’d be noticed at all. She’d often wondered if that alone was reason enough to throw caution to the wind and let her secret out.

Blow Wolf’s attentions last night. It was hard to stay unnoticed when one of London’s most eligible bachelors dances a waltz with you.

Normally she never visited Mr. Sprat, her stockjobber, in person. Women were not encouraged to invest. It was currently scandalous to do so, and had been ever since the South Sea debacle. Few stockjobbers would take a woman as a client. Her age was also against her. At three and twenty, no stockjobber took her seriously. Sprat had been her father’s stockjobber and hence, had agreed to help her.

Usually they communicated by missives, or she would arrange to meet Mr. Sprat in the park with her lady’s maid in tow. All very respectable. There was less chance of scandal, or of her cousin finding out about her investments. Fane would be hurt to think his orphaned cousin, whom he so generously provided for, scraped and saved her pin money to invest behind his back, when he’d gladly have given her anything she wanted. She loved her cousin and would hate to disappoint him with her scandalous behavior. Fane did not understand her passion, or need, to take charge of her destiny. Relying on the charity of others rankled.

So here she was at Capel Court for the first time. The London Stock Exchange, the center of her world. She stood on the cobblestones, undecided, knowing she had to enter and speak with Sprat. Where were her latest investment statements? Tiffany could not tell if she was shaking from excitement at the prospect of entering the institution, or from nerves at the risk of being caught.

Who on earth would recognize her in this disguise?

She adjusted her veil and walked forward. For some reason, her last missive to Mr. Sprat had gone unanswered, and her quarterly return statements were late. She had a lot of money invested with Sprat; her plan for financial freedom was at stake should something go wrong. While she appreciated Fane’s generosity, she was determined that, by the end of this year, she’d never again have to rely on his charity, or anyone else’s, for that matter. Financial security was what she craved. Never would she be in the position of having to marry, like most of her fellow debutantes were.

Besides, she wanted to make her father proud. He had recognized her ability with numbers early on, and because he’d never had a son, he’d taken the time to nourish her skills and helped her learn the intricacies of an investment portfolio.

Always spread the risk.

Her father must be turning in his grave at the risk she’d taken, having her money with only one stockjobber. But she didn’t have much choice. Besides, she trusted Sprat. When her father’s investments had turned belly up, he’d given her parents a thousand pounds out of the goodness of his heart. It wasn’t Sprat’s fault the money had been stolen and her parents killed shortly thereafter.

With a deep breath, she entered the building, and the noisy chatter of men near the entrance dimmed as they noticed her. Before she lost her nerve, she asked the nearest man where she could find Mr. Sprat.

He pointed to a row of offices along the far wall, and with a nod of thanks she moved on. When she reached the bank of doors, the third one along flew open and she recognized the man who emerged.

“Mr. Sprat,” she called to him.

He looked toward her, then to those staring at them. His attention came back to Tiffany. “Would you care to step into my office?” He followed her in and left the door open. “How can I help you, Madam?”

She lifted her veil and noted a flash of panic on his face before he smoothly sat down behind his desk. “Miss Deveraux. What a lovely surprise.”

“I doubt that. I’m sorry to call on you unannounced, but I’m worried. You have not responded to several of my recent missives, and my latest statements are late.”

His mouth firmed slightly. “One of my clerks is sick, and I am running behind in drafting the statements.”

“Well, you could have let me know. I was most concerned.”

“I thought I had left instructions to do just that. I hope my other clients have not been treated thusly.” He rose from his chair. “If you’ll excuse me for one moment, I shall inquire if your statements are ready now.”

“Thank you. I would greatly appreciate that.”

In Sprat’s absence, the noise from the trading floor was too much to ignore. She rose and walked to the door and watched, fascinated, as the men crowding the floor shouted out the sales. The atmosphere was loud and exciting, the tension in the air palpable.

Tiffany’s body hummed. Oh, how different her life might have been if she had been born a man. She could have come here every day and witnessed commerce in action. She continued to watch, mesmerized, until an all too familiar voice boomed like a cannon in her ear.

“Miss Deveraux, what on earth are you doing here? Tell me you are not alone.”

Her heart sank to her feet when usually it would have jumped in excitement upon hearing Wolf’s voice. Her hand flew to her face as she realized, too late, that her veil was still up.

The Marquess of Wolfarth towered over her in all his majestic male beauty. She imagined his darkened gaze was very much like a wolf’s before it caught a rabbit.

Tiffany offered him a polite smile. “How lucky to see you two days in a row.”

His hands moved to his hips. “Don’t take that sarcastic tone with me. What are you doing here? And why in widow’s weeds?”

It was too late to pull down her veil and pretend he’d made a mistake. Her traitorous body went weak-kneed, her skin tingled, and her mouth dried. Wolf’s hair, dark as a starless sky, showcased the light hypnotic blue of his eyes. His lips could seduce with a hint of a smile, or make you shake in your shoes with a twisted snarl. Tall, broad-shouldered, he wore his clothes with effortless grace, yet the coiled strength hidden beneath was clearly evident. The picture of a man in excellent condition. The leader of the pack. It was ironic how this man’s name and title so perfectly fitted his nature.

As much as she appreciated and was tempted by the man and his wolf-like nature, she had chosen not to become one of the willing pack of females who followed him around and hung on his every word. She had her future to consider, a life to build. Even so, it was difficult to ignore the fact his mere presence made her heart dance a jig in her chest.

Bravely she faced him. “If you must know, I’m here for my quarterly statements. My stockjobber is behind in sending them out.”

Before Wolf could respond, Mr. Sprat arrived and handed her a file. He looked at Lord Wolfarth. “My lord, I was just fetching papers for Miss Deveraux.”

Wolf looked between Mr. Sprat and herself, then took her by the elbow and said, “If Miss Deveraux has everything she needs, I shall escort her home as I promised her guardian I would.”

Liar.

They had drawn quite a crowd. Wolf, in his overbearing manner, was trying to save her reputation. If he had simply ignored her, however, no one would have noticed her. His grip tight on her elbow, he said through gritted teeth, “Shall we? And pull down your veil.”

Instead of leaving, he drew her further into the building, to a plush office near the main trading floor. The outer office contained over a dozen clerks. Whoever it belonged to, he was obviously a very successful stockjobber. Wolf guided her through the clerks to a large office at the back. He did not even knock, but simply entered.

“Jacob, please excuse me, but our meeting will have to be quick. I have a lady with me today. She was curious to see the Exchange.”

Oh, her heart was really hammering now, and not because Wolf had been touching her. This was the office of Mr. Jacob Lane, the biggest and most successful stockjobber in England. She’d longed to meet him and discuss his investment strategies. She’d studied him for years.

Wolf indicated the chair at the back of the room, and his eyes begged her to lower her veil. Both unspoken commands she ignored, taking the chair next to his in front of Mr. Lane’s mahogany desk.

“Refreshments for the lady?”

“I don’t think that is necessary. We won’t be staying long,” Wolf replied. “You said you had a new investment I should consider. We can go over the rest of my portfolio tomorrow at our regular meeting.”

Mr. Lane took his seat and lifted a file. “Park Mill, in Leeds, is looking for more capital to expand. As you can see, Mr. Park has very little competition and his profits continue to climb each year.”

“Then why does he need outside capital?”

“He wants to more than triple his processing capacity, but still leave a sound cash flow to ensure they can meet the larger wage and coal bills caused by the expansion.”

“Do you recommend a loan, or should I buy shares?”

Tiffany waited for Lane’s reply, her breath lodged in her throat.

“I would suggest shares.”

No. Absolutely not. Tiffany’s mind roared. She cleared her throat.

The men ignored her, and Mr. Lane continued, suggesting shares would be the viable option because of the capital gains and tax position.

Finally, she could take no more. “If you’ll pardon the interruption, gentlemen, I believe a loan secured against the machinery would be the wisest move—”

Wolf spoke over her. “My estate’s tax position is worrying,” he said to Lane. “Have you any background on Park Mill that I may take with me to read?”

His ignoring her was to be expected, she supposed, given the reputation of Mr. Lane. It was enough to keep her silent.

He really should listen to her. She’d already done her research on Park Mill. Yes, Mr. Park currently had little competition and it would seem his expansion was well advised. But more mills were planned for the area and, in particular, a small expansion of Armley Mill should be of concern.

Her opinion of Mr. Lane diminished the more the men talked.

Wolf did not address a single word to her as he said his goodbyes to Mr. Lane, and with his hand firmly on her elbow, and her veil dutifully lowered, he escorted her from the Exchange.

Not until the carriage door closed behind them and he banged the roof did he speak—though not to her. “A slight diversion, Jones. A detour to Lord Marlowe’s, if you please, to deliver Miss Deveraux back where she belongs.”

The silence lengthened, and now she was getting cross. He was being boorishly rude. He was not her guardian. Why had she let him bundle her out of the Exchange as if she were a criminal?

“I would prefer if you did not mention my activities to Fane.”

She watched him curse under his breath. “I’m sure you would. Marlowe will not be pleased. He is responsible for you.”

“I’m a grown woman quite capable of surviving a trip to Capel Court.”

“Does Marlowe know you are investing?”

She bit her lip. Delicacy was required, she told herself. “Not exactly, and I’d like it to stay that way until I have a chance to inform him myself. I don’t want him to think I’m ungrateful for the charity he bestows on me.”

“Charity? It’s not charity. You are his family.”

She swallowed a retort. Wolf would never understand what it was like to be reliant on someone in order to live. His family was as rich as Croesus. They owned half of the midland counties. He saw it as his responsibility to provide for his extended family. She hated being anyone’s responsibility.

He turned to look out of the window and in profile he looked like a statue of a Greek god. The planes of his face were sharp-edged, his nose regal, and she could not help naughty thoughts about his lips racing through her head. How would it feel to kiss a man such as Wolf?

As if sensing her scrutiny, he turned and asked, “How is it that you come to be investing? Have you been doing it long?”

“Since I came to live with the Marlowes. Mr. Sprat was my father’s stockjobber and he kindly invests for me. I save some of my pin money and use that. I made over a ten percent return for the last three years.”

Surprise swept across Wolf’s handsome face. “So Mr. Sprat tells you what to invest in?”

She scoffed. “Hardly. I study the market and the economy. I make my own investments. If anything, Sprat uses my research for his clients.”

Like most men, he looked at her in disbelief.

She could not help herself. “Take that investment you are going to make in Park Mill. You shouldn’t. There is only one way for Park Mill’s revenue to go and that is down.”

His beautiful mouth firmed before he said, “Mr. Lane does not seem to think so.”

“It’s obvious that Mr. Lane has not investigated thoroughly.”

His lips twitched. “What do you know that Mr. Lane, the most successful stockjobber in England, does not?”

Smugness, thy name is Wolf. “Park Mill has had very little competition. There are two new mills being built that will be ready to produce in eight months. But it’s Armley Mill that should interest you. It’s small and has been operating for about three years. They are very forward thinking and they are the only mill to begin processing merino. Some of their textile designs are so in demand, there is a twelve-month waiting list for their product. Armley Mill is seeking investors so they can expand. With their design skills and foresight on textiles, I’ve calculated their profit will outstrip Park Mill’s within eighteen months. With the other mills also opening in the area, Park Mill will struggle to sell its extra capacity.”

Wolf sat in stunned silence, staring at her as if she were from another world. Tiffany could have laughed at the look on his face. Instead, feeling emboldened, she clicked her fingers in front of his nose to snap him out of his stupor.

His gaze narrowed, and he stared harder now, as if seeing her for the first time. His eyes moved over her face and then traveled down, stopping at her breasts. Heat seeped along Tiffany’s skin. If not for the respectable mourning gown, which left not an inch of skin showing, she’d have sworn he was seeing her naked.

His gaze returned to hers. “What’s stopping Park Mill from copying Armley Mill’s strategy?”

“Mr. Park. It’s a family business and he won’t modernize.”

“How on earth do you know that?”

Her face flushed. She’d be in real trouble now. “I went to the London meeting of textile businesses and listened to him talk.”

“Christ. I bet Marlowe knows nothing of this—you running around London unescorted. Do you know what could have happened to you if—”

“I dress as a widow. No one pays me any attention.” In a small voice she said to herself, “I’m mostly invisible.”

Wolf’s head snapped round as if he’d heard that last utterance. “Well, Marlowe has to know. If it became common knowledge that you—that you behave in this manner, your chances of finding a decent husband would diminish and Marlowe would blame himself.”

Stay calm. Don’t get angry. He’s a man who does not know any better. “I don’t need a husband. I will soon have enough money to be financially secure, and if I eventually marry, it will be to a man who accepts me as I am.” The fact that no man had ever even looked at her in a romantic way was her embarrassing secret. What lord wanted a bluestocking, plain Jane orphan with a small dowry for a wife?

He looked at her as if he finally understood her problem—she was mad. His eyes narrowed. “And this investment in Armley Mill is going to fund this ridiculousness?”

“I shall double my profit and have an annual income of close to five thousand pounds if Armley meets my projections.” A sudden thought slammed into her head. “I’ll wager you that the share price of Armley Mill will have the biggest percentage rise, more than Park Mill’s share price, over the next month. If it does, you will say nothing to Marlowe about my investing or my odd unaccompanied outings. This little excursion will remain our secret.”

Wolf stretched his legs out and rested his polished Hessians on the squab next to her, as if he meant to intimidate. He studied her until her nerves stretched and she squirmed in her seat. “You are an interesting young lady.”

Interesting. Not beautiful . Not lovely . Interesting . Her heart hurt. Tiffany understood that she’d never be a great beauty. She was an orphan, not a diamond of the first water. But it still hurt to not have the admiration of this man. So she said nothing. She certainly didn’t voice her thoughts about how she found him devastatingly handsome, desirable, clever, pompous and arrogant—yet still the only man who made her heart skip in her chest.

He smiled in a manner that reminded her of why he was called Wolf. He rested his hands behind his head and stared her in the eye. His gaze was so intense, it felt as if he were seeing into her soul. The moment his lips curled slightly at the corner and the hungry challenge filled his eyes, Tiffany shivered. She’d made a dreadful mistake. One did not provoke a wolf.

“I accept your challenge.”

Had the carriage not been moving, she might have leaped out and run as far from this unsettling man as she could. Instead, she raised her chin. “So, you will keep my investing secret from Fane until we see who wins?”

“Yes.” His fingers tapped his muscled thigh, and for one moment she began to doubt herself. The feeling grew when he uttered, “What shall I ask for when I win this wager?”

She held her breath, not daring to move. He could ask for practically anything and he knew it. She’d revealed her hand, because Wolf knew how much she loved both Fane and Claire.

He leaned across the carriage and tapped her nose with his finger. She wanted to swat it away like an annoying bee, but she was frozen where she sat. “I’ll keep your secret if you win, but if I win… Let’s see. What do I desire?”