Unwed and Unrepentant. Marguerite KayeЧитать онлайн книгу.
ambitious for his principality. It is not simply a matter of building ships, he wishes the skills to be passed on to his own people. Since it is a well-known fact that England is at the forefront of the industry...’
‘I think you’ll find that it’s Scotland, actually. The Clyde to be more specific,’ Iain interjected.
‘Yes, yes, we are all one country,’ Lord Armstrong said with a condescending smile.
‘Aye, when it suits you.’
‘As you say.’
His lordship took a visible breath. His daughter—hell and damnation, that woman was Lord Armstrong’s daughter!—sat quite still, ramrod straight, only the nervous tapping of her little boot at the hem of her gown giving her away.
‘The long and the short of it is,’ Iain said, addressing Cordelia directly, ‘I’ve the best people for the job, and I build the best ships, so his lordship here is going to grease the diplomatic wheels and jump through all the hoops of permissions and licences on my behalf. Not to put too fine a point on it, unless I have him on my side to tell me which pockets should be lined and which pieces of paper must be signed, it doesn’t matter how good my ships are, they will never be built. In return for these valuable services, your father will get a hefty fee. Isn’t that right, Lord Armstrong?’
Cordelia’s response to this straightforward speech was, to Iain’s relief, one of glee. Lord Armstrong, who should have been put firmly in his place, had the look of a cat about to pounce.
‘Not quite right, Mr Hunter,’ he said. ‘My terms have changed.’
‘I’m not giving you any more money.’
His lordship smiled. ‘I don’t want any of your money.’
The hairs on Iain’s neck stood on end, for that smile was the very opposite of benign, whatever that was. Malign? ‘You were keen enough to take it when we first talked.’
‘Since we first talked, Mr Hunter, my circumstances have changed.’
‘Be that as it may, your circumstances have nothing to do with me.’
‘On the contrary,’ Lord Armstrong said. ‘In fact, I hope that in the future our circumstances will be very much—entwined.’
Iain was now thoroughly rattled. ‘I’m a plain-talking man, and I’m a plain-dealing one too. I’m not interested in playing games, your lordship, just name your price.’
‘My daughter, Mr Hunter, is my price. I wish you to ally yourself with my daughter.’
* * *
Cordelia’s jaw actually dropped. It was no consolation at all to see that Iain’s did the same.
Her father took advantage of their stunned silence to inform Iain of the excellent bargain he would be making. ‘Now, I accept that Cordelia here may not be as young as you would wish,’ he said, ‘but she comes from excellent breeding stock and her lineage, Mr Hunter, unlike yours, is impeccable.’
As if she were a prize ewe past her prime! Cordelia felt her mouth drop further. Just when she thought she had his measure, her father surprised her. Really, he quite took her breath away. A bubble of hysterical laughter threatened to escape. She made a choking sound, quickly muffling it with her hand.
‘Our alliance will bring you benefits far beyond the contract with my son-in-law,’ Lord Armstrong continued, getting into his stride. ‘Marrying into one of the oldest families in the land will give you access to my considerable experience and influence. If I say so myself...’
‘You’ve said more than enough. I don’t want to hear any more!’
Iain’s accent thickened considerably as his temper rose. It broadened even more in the heat of passion, Cordelia recalled, then wished fervently that she had not. This situation was beyond belief. Iain was on his feet, leaning over the desk. She too got up from her chair. The three of them faced each other, an oddly assorted triangle which under any other circumstances would have made her laugh.
‘Mr Hunter...’
‘Lord Armstrong, sit down and shut your mouth.’
The menace in his voice had finally registered with her father. Cordelia watched, fascinated, for she could almost see his diplomatic mind flicking through and discarding a myriad of responses. He seemed to be, for one of the very few times in his life, at a loss for words.
‘I came here to discuss contracts for steamships,’ Iain continued. ‘I’m not on the hunt for a wife, and if I was, I wouldn’t need you or anyone else to pick one for me.’
Iain was refusing her, which was absolutely what she wanted, so it was really rather silly of her to feel rejected, though it did give her the advantage of being able to claim that she would have complied, Cordelia thought, frowning. Not that she intended entering into a bargaining war with her father. And actually, it was insulting to be rejected so firmly and with so little consideration, especially by a man who had— With whom she had— And what’s more it had been— Well, it had been memorable. Very memorable. So memorable that she had only to close her eyes to conjure up...
‘...think it for the best if we discuss it alone.’
Cordelia’s eyes snapped open. Was this her cue to leave? But to her surprise, Iain was ushering her father out of his own book room, and her father was making not one sound of protest. The door closed once again, and Iain leaned his really very broad shoulders against it, smiling at her in a way that made her want to run as fast as she could in the other direction—which would be out the window on to the Cavendish Square, so that was out of the question—and at the same time rooted her to the spot.
‘What are you doing?’ she demanded. ‘What did you say to my father?’
‘Weren’t you listening, Mrs Williamson—or should I say Lady Cordelia?’
Corr-dee-lia. ‘Mr Hunter...’
‘Iain. It was Iain the last time we met, and given what went on between us, I’m not particularly inclined to go back to more formal terms now.’
He eased himself away from the doorway. She found herself trapped in his gaze. ‘I see no reason why we should be on any terms at all,’ Cordelia said. ‘You made it very clear that you were not interested in my father’s proposal.’
‘I wanted to get you alone.’
‘Oh.’ Cordelia tried to back away, and her bottom encountered the desk. She folded her arms, unfolded them again and pulled off her bonnet. It was giving her a headache. She was deflated and depressed by the encounter with her father.
‘So you’ve a title,’ Iain said. ‘Not plain missus after all, but a lady.’
He was standing right beside her now. It irked her that she was so aware of him. Not that he was in any way bulky, Iain Hunter was tall and lean. It was not his dress either. Not for this dour Scotsman the wasp-waisted coats and padded shoulders of fashion, his brown wool suit was plain, austere even, but he had no need of artificial aids to emphasise the breadth of those shoulders, and the modest cut of his trousers only drew attention to the length of his legs. She was tall, but she still had to tilt her head to meet his eyes.
She hated being put on the back foot, especially when she was not in the wrong. ‘I find that a plain missus attracts rather less notice than a title.’ Claiming to be another man’s relic also legitimised her lack of innocence, but Cordelia saw no need to point that out.
‘Your father had no idea we’d met before. I’m wondering why you were so hell-bent on not telling him.’
‘My father trades in information. I find a policy of withholding as much as I can works best.’
Iain laughed. ‘In other words, it’s better to lie. It’s not a policy I’d normally advocate, but in this case—I doubt the man’s ever been honest with anyone in his life. Not even himself.’