Flawless (33 page)

Although she blushed as furiously as humanly possible, Viv remained still. Her nipples tightened, from both the slight chill and his blatant stare. She snuggled against his side, curious now what would be so interesting as to hold his attention, even when making love was the alternative.

“These are Adam’s notes about what he’s discovered among the servant class,” he said. “That’s where I began, because I remember him mentioning something about Neil Elden and the Opsberger Brothers’ Brokerage. Turns out he
held a position on their board of directors and bought them out last year when their loans came due.”

Viv perked up, their nudity briefly forgotten. “He owns another brokerage? But still does business with us? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Worse than that. He owns
three
brokerages.”

“And no one knows this?”

“Well, he’s made it deuced hard to follow. Covert stock exchanges, silent partnerships.” He offered up various snippets of proof: business records, company statements, and Adam’s meticulous notes. “But the process is always the same. He sits on a board of directors until, by chance or by force, the business falls into disrepair and he gobbles it up.”

“How did Adam manage all of this?”

“I don’t ask. Better that way.”

“Well, obviously Elden intends some sort of horizontal monopoly.”

Viv wished she had a daguerreotype of Miles’s baffled expression. She stifled a chuckle to save his pride.

“Explain, my dear,” he said with a tight grin. “Show me what your father stuffed into that brain of yours.”

Feeling powerful and cheeky, she slipped out of bed and collected Miles’s clothes from where they’d been discarded the night before. His puzzled expression only increased, but he seemed to be enjoying himself. A naughty smile tipped the corners of his sinful mouth. “Or tidy up the room while completely naked,” he said. “That works, too.”

“Both.” She laid out his clothes on the bed, from socks to top hat, in the shape of a man. “Now, imagine that all your
company sells are complete suits. How many customers will you have?”

“For complete suits? Nothing else? Probably not so many.”

“But those who
did
make purchases would bring in a great deal of revenue. My father and another Scots rival of his, a man named Carnegie, believed you could do this with business. Own every aspect of production. In this case, outfitting a man. Carnegie has ambitions to do it with steel. Own the coke, the ore, the railroads, the refineries—so that the price of the final product is his to determine.” She shrugged. “It goes vertically, top to bottom.”

“Like this suit.” Pausing, he pulled back the covers and urged her to climb back into the warmth of his bed. Viv complied eagerly. She wrapped around him, soaking him in, while his hands found her backside and her breasts. All over. Every inch just . . . his.

“But Elden is only buying up brokerages,” he said.

“So now imagine your clothing shop only sells ascots. In fact, it was the
only
business in the whole of Kimberley that sells ascots, because you’ve bought out all the competition. You could charge any price, and a man who wished to wear a complete suit would need to pay it.”

“Cecil Rhodes is determined to own the entire Hole. Perhaps Elden sees the future. The only way he’ll be able to compete is to determine which diamonds make it to Europe, and at what commissions.”

“Then he needs rid of us.”

“Well, that certainly isn’t going to happen.”

Viv stopped petting his chest. Her fingers rested in the spaces between his ribs. “I feel like such a fool.”

“About what?”

“Elden. You’re a much better judge of character than I am.”

Miles kissed her hair, then rolled her back and gazed down. She could fall into his earthen brown eyes and live there forever. She would be safe there now. “I think we both saw what we wanted to see,” he said. “I saw an ambitious, successful, passably handsome man spending too much time with my wife. What conclusion was I left to draw but an uncomplimentary one?”

“And me? What explains that I was willing to think so highly of him?”

“Because you miss your father.”

He held her when she shivered through a sweep of unexpected grief, then made love to her when she ached for more. Never once did she doubt he would do just that.

A
nd here you can see
the best-quality carbons. There are literally thousands, my lord.”

Ike Penberthy sat across from Miles in the upstairs office at Christie Brokerage, explaining the results of his weeks spent cataloguing. Columns of notes regarding size, quantities, and grades lined sheet after sheet of paper.

Miles assumed by default that Penberthy had assembled a similar system in the crawl space for keeping the piles neatly ordered. He was simply that meticulous, but not in Smets’s grating, submissive way. No matter what nerves he might feel in presenting his findings, Penberthy did not fidget with the brim of the hat he held in his lap.

“Excellent work.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

No fawning or excessive sense of indebtedness. Another good sign. He had combed his hair, trimmed his curly blond beard, and dressed neatly for this meeting. More than mere grooming, he held Miles’s gaze with the confidence of a man
who knew his worth. Once given the opportunity to prove himself, he had done so with gusto.

Miles no longer thought to pay him well because of some altruistic concern for his wife and family. After all, there were literally thousands of people in Kimberley living with similar burdens. No, this was about honoring a job well done.

“I want you to consider assuming control of this new wing of our business’s model,” he said. “Smets obviously does very well with the brilliants, but you would be in charge of the carbons. All decisions about their market value, how much to pay the mines for what they sell—this would be your domain.” He peered at the man, judging each reaction. Wider eyes. Nostrils that flared over a quick intake of air. But also a straighter back and shoulders that squared to assume new weight. “Do you think you can manage?”

He asked the question even though he already knew the answer. Penberthy nodded once and said, “Yes, my lord. I have no doubt.”

“Neither do I. Now, Lady Bancroft tells me that the flat above Westmeade’s Milliners is available to let. I suggest you prepare Mrs. Penberthy for the task of moving your children and belongings there.”

“Moving . . . ?”

“Of course. Your new salary will be more than adequate, I assure you. And from what Lady Bancroft tells me of the work your wife has accomplished for the Women’s Auxiliary, she deserves better accommodations as much as you
do.” Rather than endure a round of profuse appreciation that would do neither man’s pride any good, Miles raised his eyebrows. “Well then, we both have work to do.”

Penberthy stood, his hands a little less steady now as he smiled. “You have my gratitude, my lord.”

“And you have mine. You’ve earned this, and I intend to rely on you to the point of beastly tedium. Good day to you, man.”

Penberthy departed, his steps almost imperceptibly lighter. Miles grinned to himself. But the tasks of the day remained. Viv had charged him with drafting a formal letter to the Board and their key suppliers. Any mining company that didn’t appreciate trading in carbons would be released from obligation at the conclusion of their existing contracts. They were gambling that enough time would pass for them to prove the viability of Miles’s idea.

The task of formally winning them over would be an arduous one. He needed to bring to bear every shred of aristocratic authority, maybe even make a few promises—Parliamentary promises. A letter here. A suggestion there. Just the hint of favor from a man such as his father might be enough for most of these rags-to-riches entrepreneurs.

Except for the likes of Neil Elden. That would require more . . . aggression. Miles and Viv debated long into the night, every night, regarding how to neutralize their biggest threat. Ideas from bribes to intimidation to fraud inquiries came to naught. Miles argued for a preemptive strike, while Viv maintained the need for subterfuge. Let Elden reveal his plans first. Their debate would surely continue, but always
they ended on the best of terms: sweating, panting, and completely sated.

He was beginning to
adore
business.

So, yes, Miles had his work cut out for him, while Viv did her part by greasing the wheels with the usual gaggle of influential matrons. A very full afternoon. But in his mind, he was still at breakfast. Oh, the way she’d teased him with sideways glances. She’d taken an inordinate amount of time slathering butter and jam over a thick slab of fresh bread, then nibbled and licked and slowly devoured her breakfast in a manner that he could only describe as sexual.

The minx.

No wonder he couldn’t see straight, couldn’t think straight. He would begin a new sentence, then remember how Viv’s inner thigh muscle had tensed when he put his mouth on her, the way she would sigh and relax as the initial shock gave way to slow, building pleasure. He’d begin adding a column of numbers, then feel the hard pressure of her heels digging into his lower back. Her body always welcomed his every stroke, no matter how hard, how deep.

A blissful homecoming.

They had turned a corner. Miles could see a real, lasting marriage. So close now. Soon, after they solved the business’s problems and he could promise her the future she deserved, he would declare his intentions once and for all.

So what was he doing in the cramped little office in the brokerage house? He should be at
their
house. To spend another moment away from her was a monumental waste.

Miles rubbed his eyes. He scratched the back of his neck.
He stood and paced the tiny room, which was like pacing the interior of a hatbox. With as much bearing as he could muster, he glared at the account ledgers and the unfinished letter.

“Give me one good reason,” he said.

But the truth of it stared back, a festival of ink scratches and paper piles. He would do his duty. Work first, then play. How novel.

Mumbling curses under his breath, he loosened the hangman’s noose that Adam still insisted on calling an ascot. He yanked it off and returned to his desk.

“Very well,” he said. “You win. But I don’t have to like it.”

“Throwing in your hand so soon, Miles?”

He turned in his chair and found Viv at the top of the pinched little stairwell.

She looked especially beautiful, despite the telltale circles beneath her eyes. He smiled at the sight, knowing he had kept her up too late. Her luminous hair was a plaited halo, topped with an elegant emerald bonnet that did marvels for the precious green flecks in her irises. A sleek beige silk gown molded to her body—a body he wanted beneath his once more.

Would the sight of her ever refrain from stopping his heart? He didn’t want to see the day when it did. To take something so exquisite for granted would be as great a waste as spending time apart. She held herself with such mystery. He’d become so enamored of her that he no longer wondered where his pride had gone to. He was, quite simply,
hers
. Every other consideration paled.

“My, my, aren’t you the sneaky one,” he said, rising. “Checking in on me?”

She remained poised at the top of the stairs. “Do you need checking in on?”

“Absolutely.”

“Up to mischief?” Her smile quirked as she said it.

“No, in truth. Not up to much of anything.”

“Having trouble concentrating?”

Her lips bowed around a private smile as her gaze traveled down the length of him. She took her time, lingering, lighting him on fire with that slow perusal. She was most definitely teasing him again. It was like becoming accustomed to a talking cat.

He cleared his throat, then reached for the glass of water on his desk. “You could say that, yes.”

“I can relate.”

Removing her hat and gloves, she breezed into the room as if she hadn’t just used her eyes to undress him. With a grace she couldn’t shake if she tried, she sat lightly on the edge of his desk. A hint of sugar fused with her warm scent. Perhaps she’d had a scone or another sweet treat with her tea.

“You see,” she said rather airily, “I simply couldn’t marshal the wherewithal to follow those silly conversations. So much gossip, about which I could really care less.”

Miles edged closer until they sat side by side. Their hips touched. The heat of her body eased over his. “Preoccupied?”

“Entirely.”

“May I inquire where your mind preferred to tarry?”

Mischievous passion did a little dance across her expression. “In your bed.”

His jaw had dropped. What manner of gentleman gaped? Perhaps one whose wife insisted on startling him to the point of mindlessness.

“And what,” he said, his voice rough, “do you find so interesting about that particular piece of furniture?”

“I like how it feels. I never suspected that a piece of furniture, as you so astutely pointed out, could be so . . . entrancing.”

He traced a line from her cheek down to her jaw, then along the silken column of her throat. The hot pulse in his veins intensified, thrilling through each limb. “Do go on, my lady.”

She glanced down at where he touched. “Only if you do.”

Miles grinned. He outlined the slope of her breast through the worsted silk, still just one finger, until he gave into the urge to cup, to knead, to claim. She moaned softly and arched into his touch. Even beneath layers of clothing, her nipple pebbled against his palm. “You were saying?”

“Hm?”

“About my bed.”

“The mattress is soft. Yet it provides marvelous . . . support.”

“Support is quite necessary, you know,” he said. “For the back, in particular. When you sleep.”

“I wasn’t thinking about sleeping. Your bed smells like you. Makes me wonder why I’ve denied us for so long.”