Chapter 6 #3
“Lord Crompton,” she greeted with a demure curtsy. “I’ve been meaning to thank you for your attendance here. I have made the acquaintance of your handsome, spirited grandson who is playing with a litter of kittens in the parlor. How proud you must be of him.”
“Miss Rosaline,” he sputtered, blinking a few times before returning to glare above her crown where Eli was, no doubt, returning the expression in kind.
“I’ve come because your late father was a friend and equal in business and dignity, but I’m uncertain whether to express my felicitations or my condolences on this occasion. ”
Gulping down her nerves, she reached back for Eli’s arm without looking, relieved when he stepped abreast of her to give it.
The muscle beneath his fine suit may as well have been crafted from the alloy they’d just been discussing, hard and unyielding as it was beneath her fingers.
There was violence in this man. Primal and predatory, it shimmered in the air around him, so foreign in such refined environs.
“You’ll have to excuse my husband, Lord Crompton,” she said in a remarkably clear voice for how deeply she trembled.
“He’s never been informed that our titles are very much like that of elected officials in his own country, a designation of rank, respect, and propriety.
Much like my new delineation as Mrs. Wolfe rather than Miss Rosaline. ”
It took two very obvious swallows fraught with an expectant silence from all the men for the Baron to contain himself enough to reply. “You’ll forgive my breach of manners, Mrs. Wolfe, and I will consider the same courtesy for your husband.”
“Nothing to forgive, my lord.” She pasted on her most winsome smile, regardless of the waves of malevolence rolling from her husband’s incomprehensively large shoulders.
“Likewise, my darling husband doesn’t realize how progressive men like you and my father were in an ancient society such as ours.
When it became evident that landowners were losing fortunes, you turned to trade to keep up with the times, despite the naysayers amongst your peers. ”
The Baron’s features relaxed as more people began to pause and take notice of the conversation. “Your husband does not possess your depth of perspective, my lady, he is too busy chasing fabled treasures and buying up land and resources that he should have no claim to.”
Stepping forward before her husband could reply, she placed a placating hand on one of the arms Lord Crompton had crossed over his chest. “I read something recently that stuck with me. Let me see, how does it go? ‘A man who has a hundred thousand pounds cannot understand a man who has twenty. Just as a man who has twenty years cannot understand a man who has one hundred.’ I should like to venture that a man who has no king cannot understand a one who has been blessed with royal favor. And a man who was born into the privilege and nobility of Her Majesty’s court cannot understand one who is ungoverned by the same…
constructs. And so, in my opinion, true treasure is perspective, is it not? ”
“You are wise beyond your years, my girl.” Crompton patted her hand.
“It’s my experience, my lord, that perspective is gained through civil discourse, and I realize you’ve not been the recipient of civility today, but perhaps you and Mr. Wolfe might meet at a more appropriate time?
Then you may discuss how wealthy building an empire of steel and—tungsten, was it?
—might make you both if you could set cultural differences aside. ”
A few of the men muttered their assent, and she could feel others holding their collective breaths as their eyes affixed to the man at her side.
His ribs expanded, pressing into her arm as he took a deep breath, and Rosaline finally ventured a look up at him.
Stone-faced and enigmatic as ever, he made the crowd wait until his lungs had slowly emptied to say, “I would welcome such a discussion…Lord Crompton.”
The acquiescence didn’t go unnoticed, and many of those gathered visibly relaxed.
For his part, Crompton stepped forward and took her hand, bowing over it. “You are certainly one of his more valuable acquisitions, Mrs. Wolfe. I hope he recognizes that.”
Though she flinched at the word acquisition…she added her hope to that of Crompton’s, as he straightened and nodded to her husband.
“I shall have my secretary contact yours to schedule further discussion,” he said stiffly. “Perhaps it would behoove you to bring your new bride.” With that, he waddled away, his round belly proceeding him by several inches.
Rosaline wanted to sag with relief, but a new dawning anxiety wouldn’t allow it.
The arm beneath hers remained rigid as steel as he did an abrupt turn, forcing her to step quickly in order to keep up.
“If you’ll excuse us, gentlemen,” she rushed as Eli strode toward the balcony on the other side of the sideboard, leaving her no choice but to let him go or be dragged along.
Trotting to keep up with him, she nearly crashed into his back when he stopped abruptly to swipe a glass of champagne from the refreshment table and finish it in one gulp before draining another in two.
That accomplished, he marched out the balcony doors and into an afternoon swiftly fading into evening. His pace never faltered until he reached the balcony railing and gripped it with both hands, eyes affixed to the London skyline painted the same dark tone against the vanishing sun.
Rosaline released his arm to allow him space to take the air as deeply and desperately as he’d downed the champagne. His breath slowed after a moment, and he even covered a mild, closed-mouth burp as the champagne bubbles executed their escape.
Eventually, he let out a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes as if asking God why he’d cursed him with such cruel misfortune.
“Please don’t be cross,” she implored. “I didn’t intend to—”
“The pretentious ass is right, you know.” He squinted in the direction of the dying light, his jaw working as if he chewed on something bitter. “You might have just saved me a mountain of work and even more money.”
Rosaline didn’t understand. His dark tone didn’t match his expression in the least. “And…that is a good thing, yes?”
He leveled her a sidelong look. “In what world would it be a bad thing?”
“Well, you seem as if you were just forced to chew glass and then drink the juice of lemons.”
He barked out a harsh, caustic sound that might have been a laugh.
“My entire life, men like that have tried to crush me beneath their boot heel. They compete for my money, all the while trying to remind me that without it, I’d be nothing more than a stain they could wipe from the bottom of their shoe.
I’d give my left—er—eye to throw them down the pit I cut my teeth in and watch them blister their soft hands in order to dig out.
Hell, I’d chew glass just to spit blood in their faces.
” To elucidate his point, he spat over the railing as if ridding himself of a foul taste.
Impulsively, Rosaline stepped beside him and did the same, her own imitation of his curt spit falling pathetically short of the masculine gravitas his had conveyed.
“I understand how you feel,” she murmured, instantly regretting that she’d spoken her innermost thoughts out loud.
Looking up, she found him watching her with a peculiar expression, as if truly seeing her for the first time. “Yeah… Yeah, I bet you do,” he said, his voice softening to a low rumble.
His gaze didn’t rest upon her for long, and they stood there at the balcony in a strangely companionable silence, their breaths synchronizing as they studied the broken horizon.
This man. Her husband. He never ceased to surprise her. When she’d expected him to take out his ire upon her, to punish her for stepping in front of him in an altercation, to be furious that she’d admitted his ignorance to an entire crowd of men, he’d not even mentioned it.
In fact, his words had almost sounded like gratitude.
“I need this fucking day to be over,” he rumbled as if to himself.
This day. Their wedding day.
Smothering a flicker of hurt, Rosaline smoothed a hand down her bodice, stopping to fidget with one of the sparkling beads adorning the waistline.
“I’ve been thinking,” she ventured. “I realize this isn’t the marriage either of us pictured for ourselves.
But perhaps you and I could attempt something like you and Lord Crompton will.
A summit of sorts, and you could convey your stipulations or requirements of me.
If I had more of an idea what you desire—of what sort of woman appeals to your tastes…
If I knew what I could do or learn to make you more… attracted.”
“Attracted?” He said every syllable of the word as if he’d never heard it before, staring at her like she’d gone quite suddenly mad. “What tomfuckery are you talking, woman?”
Squirming beneath the intensity of his confounded regard, she fervently wished she’d said nothing.
“The other night…” She made a gesture that she hoped would lead him to the memory of their kiss without having to say it plainly.
“I must have insulted you, repulsed you, even, and I realize I’d never—kissed anyone before.
I wasn’t certain what to do with my tongue and I was hoping with a bit of practice I might improve and—”