The Marriage Lesson (22 page)

“Go on. You have my complete attention.”

“I have made inquiries and have discovered you lease this building. I have also found it can be purchased for a high—yet, given the circumstances, acceptable—price. I propose to buy it and sell it to you for a nominal amount.”

Cadwallender shook his head. “I’m afraid that even at a bargain price I do not have the funding at the moment—”

“Then I will lease it to you and allow the rent to accrue toward purchase. Or”—he leaned forward—“I have a number of other commercial properties in the city. You are welcome to see if there is another building that would suit your purposes even better.”

Cadwallender whistled long and low. “That is quite a proposal, my lord.”

Thomas considered the other man thoughtfully. His solicitor’s report, although admittedly hurried, had been quite flattering. Cadwallender looked like an excellent investment. He’d been in business for about four years. His reputation was honest, his debts minor. Thomas’s blood quickened.

“I can make you an even better offer. I’m willing to invest in
Cadwallender’s Weekly World Messenger
. The investment to include a better facility and a considerable sum of money.”

“And all I have to do in return is stop publishing Miss Smythe?” Cadwallender said slowly.

“I’m talking about a partnership.”

Cadwallender opened his mouth.

“Why would you want a silent partnership with me?

“You’re smart. You’re ambitious. In short, you’re a good investment. We can both profit.”

“Let me make certain I understand this. If I continue to publish Miss Smythe, my circulation will continue to grow and I will ultimately be quite successful. If I stop, you will provide the funding and facility.” He glanced at Thomas.

Thomas nodded.

“And I will get where I want that much faster. However, my circulation will drop.” He considered the proposal, then shrugged. “Therefore . . . ”

“You won’t do it, will you?”

Cadwallender reluctantly shook his head.

“Very well.” Thomas stood and stepped to the door. “You do know that I could simply purchase this building out from under you?”

“I do. I’m also fairly certain you have more honor than most businessmen of my acquaintance.”

“Honor has its price,” Thomas said under his breath and turned toward the door, then heaved a resigned sigh. He found few things in life as irresistible as a good investment. “Would you be interested in my proposal if it has nothing to do with Miss Smythe?”

Cadwallender stared at him for a long, considering moment. “Very much so.” His gaze shifted to a point behind Thomas. “However, if you wish her opinion on it, she’s coming this way.”

Thomas turned to see Marianne talking to the gnome.

Without hesitation, he shut the door. “She must not find me here.”

“I never seem to have a better idea when it comes to Miss Smythe,” Thomas muttered, moving into position.

Cadwallender opened the door and stepped out. “Good day, Miss Smythe.”

“Good day, Mr. Cadwallender.” She favored him with her most pleasant smile. “I trust you are well.”

“I daresay I have never been better.” He chuckled and his blue eyes twinkled. “What brings you here today?”

“I brought you the latest adventure.” She handed him the pages. “I should also like to discuss how they are selling. I plan to travel in the immediate future and I should like to know what recompense I can expect in—”

“Blast it all.” Cadwallender frowned, yanked her toward him and quickly changed places.

“Mr. Cadwallender! I daresay, I—”

“Quiet.” He nodded toward the door. “Be careful, but look around me and tell me if you know those two gentlemen who just came in.”

Cadwallender’s body effectively hid her from view. She craned her neck and peered around him.

Pennington and Berkley stood talking to Cadwallender’s elf.

She jerked back behind him. “Good Lord! What are they doing here? If they find me—”

“You’ll have to hide,” he said quickly. “In the office—now.”

She started toward it, but he grabbed her elbow and turned her away. “No.” He shook his head. “That’s the first place they’d look.”

“Nonsense, they don’t even know I’m here.”

“And we shall keep it that way,” he said firmly. “Under the desk is the best spot.”

She looked at the grubby floor skeptically. “I really don’t think—”

“They’re coming this way,” he warned.

She had no choice. She dropped to her knees and crawled under the desk, refusing to consider what she might encounter there. She pulled her skirts in after her, taking care to make certain nothing showed, and looked up at Cadwallender.

He grinned down at her.

“I do not find this one bit amusing,” she snapped.

“Maybe not for you, although it is something of an adventure, isn’t it? Perhaps you can write about it.” With that he moved a chair in front of her to help conceal her hiding place.

A moment later she heard him greet the newcomers. “Good day, my lords. How may I help you?”

Someone cleared his throat. Pennington?

“I need to reach the country miss,” a firm voice said. Definitely Berkley. “It is urgent that I speak with her.”

“I’m afraid that is impossible,” Cadwallender said coolly. “She is adamant about remaining anonymous.”

“Nonetheless, I need her name.” It was definitely Berkley.

“I fear I can’t help you.”

“Oh?” Cadwallender’s voice was skeptical.

“I must find her,” Berkley said urgently.

There was a pause. “My lord, your words have touched me deeply. I would help you if I could, but in truth I do not know her name, nor where she resides. She visits me here.”

“That’s that, then,” Pennington said.

Berkley ignored him. “Could you at least pass on a letter to her? I have it here.”

“Certainly, my lord.”

There were a few more cursory comments, then Marianne heard footsteps leading away from the office. Long moments later, the chair was removed and Cadwallender’s strong hand reached down to her. “You can come out now.”

She grabbed his hand and he pulled her out of her hiding place and to her feet. She dusted off her skirts. “Well, that was certainly interesting.”

“It appears you have an admirer.” He handed her the letter.

“Oh, dear,” she murmured. How had this happened? She was the object of Berkley’s affections. The dear man would be devastated when he found out. Or would he? Regardless, it was an impossible situation. She glanced up at Cadwallender. “You will keep my secret, won’t you?”

“Until death,” he said solemnly.

“Excellent.” She smiled, all the while wondering how life had become so complicated.

“I was wondering,” Cadwallender began, “have you given any further thought to the possibility of including a good murder in your stories? Sales would increase dramatically should that happen.”

She laughed. “As much as there are any number of people I should like to do in on paper, I don’t think that’s possible. Besides, it would not be absolutely true.”

“And we can’t have that.”

“Although, I must admit, you have aroused my interest.” She looked up at him curiously. “What, precisely, is a
good
murder?”

“Oh, something gruesome, I should think,” he said in a matter-of-fact manner. “Dismemberment is always appreciated by the public.”

“Of course,” she murmured, a queasy feeling in her stomach.

They reached the door and Cadwallender turned to her. “What about another suitor, then?”

“To dismember?”

“No.” He laughed. “To serve as nothing more sinister than a rival for Lord W.”

“Another suitor?”

He tapped Berkley’s letter in her hand. “It would be absolutely true.”

“It would, wouldn’t it?” What an extraordinary idea.

“Perhaps,” she said thoughtfully. “I shall certainly give it due consideration. Good day, Mr. Cadwallender.”

She took her leave, her head filled with the tempting idea of introducing another character. A man dashing and romantic to counter the brooding nature of Lord W.

If nothing else, creating such a man would get her mind off the one man who dominated her every thought. And if a second suitor indeed increased sales, she’d be on her way to a new life, and out of Thomas’s, sooner than she’d expected. Exactly as she wanted. As she’d always wanted.

And she firmly ignored a tiny stab of pain at the thought.

The door opened and Cadwallender stepped into the office. “She’s gone.”

“Thank God.” Thomas stepped away from the wall. “I thought I was done for when Pennington and Berkley arrived.”

Cadwallender perched on the edge of the desk and folded his arms over his chest. “If you don’t mind my asking, how did you get into this situation?”

“I’ve been wondering that myself,” Thomas said with a wry smile.

Cadwallender considered him carefully. “Either Miss Smythe will marry you—”

“Or she will travel as she plans—”

“She’s not going anywhere,” Thomas muttered.

“One way or another, it appears I will not have her
Adventures
for much longer. Your problems will be over and the stories soon forgotten. Therefore, it is in my best interest to accept your proposal.” He held out his hand.

Thomas shook it with a firm grasp. “You shall not regret it.”

“Not as long as you remain silent.” Cadwallender chuckled.

Thomas grinned. “I’ll have my solicitor draw up the papers and contact you as soon as it can be arranged.”

“In the meantime, if you can convince Miss Smythe to stop writing her stories, I’ll not protest or try to change her mind. And I shall do everything in my power to make certain her identity, and yours, are not revealed.”

“I should be grateful for that much, I suppose,” Thomas said. “Now I simply have to convince her to give up her writing as well as to marry me.”

Cadwallender raised a brow. “She has not agreed to marriage, then?”

“I intend to marry her,” Thomas said firmly.

“But she doesn’t want to marry you?”

Thomas heaved a sigh. “She doesn’t want to marry anyone.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Cadwallender shook his head.

“Much of this is your fault, you know.” Thomas cast him a pointed look.

“Mine?”

“Yes, I suppose I have.” Cadwallender chuckled. “God save us from independent women.”

“I very much fear, in this case, God has left us on our own.”

Thomas exchanged a few more comments with the printer, then took his leave. This hadn’t turned out quite as he had expected; nonetheless, Cadwallender was an excellent investment and the day was not a complete loss.

He strode down the street and around the corner, where he’d told his driver to wait for him. Wisely, as it turned out. And he considered once again how to lure Marianne into wedded bliss. Her sisters were right. He had to become the kind of man she’d always dreamed of.

Not an easy task. For one thing, he couldn’t explore Africa, he had no desire to navigate the Amazon and Egyptian treasure was too far away.

He had no illusions about who and what he was. He had a good head for business, wrote terrible poetry but was persistent about it and was obviously a failure at the guardianship of young women. His finest honed skills—perhaps due to practice—were drinking, seducing women and having a great deal of fun.

He couldn’t be one of her blasted heroes from one of her damnable books, but he could be what he was.

A damned fine, respectable rake.

Did one ever feel as alive as one did in the country? She breathed deeply of the fresh air and marveled at the sheer wealth that made all this possible.

She and her sisters had grown up at Shelbrooke Manor, the Earl of Shelbrooke’s ancestral home. Ancient and sprawling, the place was well loved but had little else to recommend it. The old house had been falling in around their ears, until the past year when her brother had at last gained funding for repairs and renovation.

“Do you like it?” Thomas’s voice sounded beside her.

Her heart fluttered and she steeled herself against the effect he had on her. “It’s beautiful.”

He gazed over the grounds with a look of loving pride. “When I was a child, I thought it was all quite magical.” He chuckled. “I still do, I suppose.”

She smiled at the fanciful notion. “I had no idea you believed in magic.”

“It must be the poet in me,” he said with mock solemnity, then grinned. “So I daresay the magic probably isn’t quite up to scratch, either.”