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Authors: Wicked Fantasy

Nicole Jordan (6 page)

BOOK: Nicole Jordan
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Her horse and groom awaited her in the drive, but her thoughts were so distracted, she noticed nothing else until she came face-to-face with the very object of her wicked fantasies.

Antonia halted abruptly, her eyes widening. With complete nonchalance, Trey Deverill leaned against the stone-and-ironwork livery post, watching her, his arms folded over his broad chest, one highly polished boot crossed over the other. He was dressed for riding in a tailored, bottle green coat that reflected the green in his eyes, and he wore a tall beaver hat over his thick, unruly hair, which seemed to tame his rakish good looks the slightest degree.

For a moment, Antonia simply stared at his strong, rugged features. It was disconcerting to find Deverill on her doorstep, and even more disconcerting to remember how thoroughly he had occupied her thoughts only a short time ago—

Heat rose in her as unwillingly she met his gaze. Could he tell that she’d been entertaining erotic visions of him all morning long? That vivid dreams of him had haunted her sleep last night and so many other nights?

Closing the final distance between them, she forced herself to offer him a calm greeting. “Were you waiting for me, Mr. Deverill?”

“No, I thought I would call on the milkmaid,” he replied, a lazy, amused charm in his sea green eyes. “Of course I was waiting for you, sweetheart.”

Beyond him, Antonia saw, her groom stood holding the bridles of her skittish bay mare along with his own hack, while a big strapping chestnut stood patiently nearby, chewing the bit—evidently Deverill’s mount, she deduced.

“How did you know to expect me? I suppose Mrs. Peeke told you I usually enjoy a daily ride in the park?”

Deverill shrugged. “It wasn’t difficult to determine your routine, since the stables have a standing order to deliver your mount at this time every morning.” He glanced at her solitary groom. “Heward isn’t accompanying you, I see.”

“He doesn’t care to rise so early,” Antonia answered truthfully. “Nor is he as fond of riding as I am.”

“Good. I prefer to enjoy your company uninterrupted.”

Antonia arched an eyebrow. “I don’t recall inviting you, Mr. Deverill.”

His smile was innocent and devilish at the same time. “You didn’t. But I have a business matter to discuss with you that wasn’t appropriate to introduce at the ball last night.”

Antonia didn’t know whether to believe him, but she made no further protest. A morning ride in Hyde Park with Deverill, chaperoned by her groom, was unexceptional, and since he wasn’t the kind of man to give up, she suspected she would do better to concede gracefully now and get any conversation over with.

She hadn’t counted on Deverill touching her, though. When she went to mount, he ignored her groom and took hold of her waist. Antonia drew a sharp breath, her spine tensing as her body eagerly responded to the memory his touch evoked. For a moment their eyes locked, and she felt certain Deverill understood exactly how he affected her. Then, with an ease that betrayed immense physical strength, he lifted her onto her side-saddle.

Trying to remain cool, Antonia busied herself adjusting the skirts of her riding habit and gathering the reins while Deverill swung up on his chestnut. The spirited bay mare danced a little in anticipation, but Antonia easily brought her under control, and they set off at a sedate pace toward the nearby park, her groom following several discreet lengths behind to give them privacy.

It was a glorious morning for London—cool but bright with sunshine, the traffic mild enough that they negotiated the streets with ease.

“I had forgotten how pleasant an English morning could be,” Deverill remarked after a moment.

“India is extremely hot, is it not?” she asked politely.

“Intensely. Even at sea, the air was hot. I much prefer a more temperate climate.”

“Will you be remaining in England long?”

He shot her an enigmatic glance. “That remains to be seen.”

“So what business matter could you possibly need to discuss with me?” Antonia said. “Since Napoleon abdicated his throne last year, Maitland ships have no longer needed your protection from the French navy. And the Barbary corsairs have generally been tamed. The only business connection I can think of is the steam venture you engaged in with my father.”

Years ago Deverill had invested in her father’s attempt to design and build a sailing vessel that could additionally be powered by steam, although that enterprise had yet to bear any fruit—and most likely would not, now that Papa was no longer here to lend his designer’s brilliance to the scheme.

“I’m not here to talk about the steam venture,” Deverill answered. “I’m more interested in discussing how Baron Heward is running your father’s shipping empire. It seems odd that he would assume control of such a vast enterprise when most peers wouldn’t stoop to dirty their hands with trade.”

Antonia lifted a questioning brow. “I think it rather magnanimous of Lord Heward. He stepped in to act as adviser because neither I nor my trustee have experience running a shipping firm. I am indeed grateful to him.”

“And your new director. How much do you know about him?”

“Barnaby Trant? Why . . . not much. I have little to do with the company’s inner workings. I do know that Lord Heward hired Mr. Trant last year to manage the shipyards and the merchant trade.”

“I visited my own offices yesterday and learned some troubling news about how Trant is operating.”

“What news?” Antonia asked warily, giving him her full attention.

“It regards my American cousin, Brandon Deverill. When Brand inherited his family’s Boston shipping concerns some years ago, he began purchasing an occasional vessel from your father. Before America’s war with England broke out, he commissioned four ships from Maitland Shipping and paid seventy percent of the purchase price. All four were completed but never delivered. Yesterday I learned they were confiscated nearly a year ago by your Director Trant, shortly after he was hired. And he never returned the commission. Obviously he took advantage of Britain’s hostilities with America to default on the contract, but I’m inclined to consider his actions theft.”

Antonia felt her mouth pull in a puzzled frown. “Surely Mr. Trant means to refund your cousin’s money.”

“He’s had plenty of opportunity before this. The war has been over for six months now. Besides, Brand wants his ships. But Trant has refused his repeated requests for delivery. It’s unlikely Trant made such a significant decision on his own. More probably, Heward authorized it.”

A furrow formed between Antonia’s eyes. She had difficulty believing Heward would have supported such an unethical action. “I will ask Lord Heward to untangle the problem with your cousin’s ships, although I doubt he is responsible for their confiscation.”

Deverill smiled faintly. “You might also mention that if necessary, Brandon will apply to the British courts and bring suit against Maitland Shipping to insure his vessels are delivered as promised. But that would be tedious and expensive. And I expect a nobleman like Heward would prefer to keep our dispute quiet. I myself would prefer to avoid an altercation, since I want Maitland Shipping to continue building our ships.”

“Very well, I will tell him,” Antonia replied.

“The missing ships aren’t my only concern, either,” Deverill said as they crossed the street to enter the park. “I don’t believe that Heward is the best man to advise you. Or that Trant is the kind of director your father would want in charge of his legacy.”

Antonia gave Deverill a cool glance. “You wouldn’t be basing your opinion on personal dislike, would you?”

His mouth curved briefly. “I admit I don’t much like Heward, but in this case, my qualms are based on his business practices. Since he took over as your adviser, Maitland Shipping has developed a reputation for being ruthless, some might even say unprincipled.”

“Pray what are you talking about?” she demanded, not liking Deverill’s suggestion that the company’s reputation had diminished. “What practices have they engaged in?”

“For one thing, they’ve crushed several smaller competitors by hiring away their captains and spreading unfounded rumors about their ships being unseaworthy.”

The accusation concerned her greatly, yet even if it was true, that didn’t mean Lord Heward was behind it; Director Trant was the more likely culprit.

Antonia found herself rallying to her betrothed’s defense. “I expect there must be a mistake. Lord Heward would never do anything dishonorable.”

“I’m not so certain about that. There are other rumors about Heward’s business dealings also, some even more unsavory.”

She gave Deverill a sharp glance. “What rumors?”

His unexpected hesitation surprised her. “I’m not certain I should tell you. I don’t want you running back to Heward and sharing my suspicions.”

Antonia felt herself stiffen. Deverill was treating her like a child—or worse, a helpless woman without a brain in her head. “I am not one to bear tales, Mr. Deverill.”

He shook his head slowly. “On second thought, I might do better to discuss it with your trustee and leave you out of it altogether. I don’t want to put you in any danger with Heward.”


Tell
me, Deverill! Before I ride off and leave you right here.”

He scrutinized her for another moment, as if debating whether he could trust her. “Very well. I’ve heard two different reports about Maitland Shipping running slaves.”

“Slaves?” Antonia repeated blankly. “But slavery was abolished in Britain nearly a decade ago.”

“True, but the profit is immense enough to make the risk worthwhile for unscrupulous merchants.”

The allegation startled her into silence.
Unscrupulous;
there was that word again, Antonia thought, disquieted. It was the second time Deverill had used it in conjunction with Lord Heward. She wanted to hurl the accusation back in Deverill’s face, but when she examined his expression, she knew he was deadly serious. Another sudden reflection also made her hesitate: Her father might have trusted Heward, but then Papa had also trusted Deverill, for many more years.

“You are saying you think Heward is unscrupulous?” she asked carefully, keeping her tone noncommittal.

“I am saying,” Deverill replied, “that I suspect Heward of colluding with your new director in illegal activities, specifically transporting slaves.”

Antonia eyed him with a troubled frown. “Those are grave accusations, Mr. Deverill. Do you have any proof of your suspicions?”

“No, but rumors have a way of being true, and you ought to have them investigated. Your father would have adamantly opposed using his vessels to transport slaves.”

Dismayed, Antonia nodded. Her father had despised the very idea of slavery. It alarmed her to think Deverill’s charges might have even an ounce of merit.

“But you will need to step carefully,” he added. “You can’t mention a word of this to either Heward or Trant. Alerting them will only give them the opportunity to hide the evidence.”

“I assure you, I won’t breathe a whisper to Lord Heward,” Antonia responded. “I don’t want him thinking for one moment that I don’t trust him—because I do. Besides . . . have you considered that he may be entirely innocent? He could very well have been duped by Trant.”

“If so, then he isn’t properly supervising his hireling and shouldn’t be in charge of your father’s legacy.”

Antonia’s frown darkened. It was indeed possible she had made a grave mistake by letting Heward appoint Trant as director. “Very well, presuming Trant is guilty . . . then how do I investigate?”

“The barrister who oversees your fortune in trust is considered highly reputable. Can you vouch that he has your best interests at heart?”

“Phineas Cochrane? Why, he is one of the most honest men I have ever met,” Antonia declared. “Papa trusted him implicitly, and so do I.”

“Then you can begin by having him carefully examine the account books. As your trustee, Cochrane is obliged to periodically review your holdings to see how they are being managed, so his scrutiny shouldn’t raise any undue suspicions.”

“But what would that prove?”

“It could expose any irregularities . . . any vast sums unaccounted for. The tonnage for each merchantman is fixed, and a captain must record cargo. Since slaves fetch ten times the price of tea, it shouldn’t be hard to determine if your captains are falsifying ladings. Unless they are pocketing the extra profit, in which case, you need to know.”

Antonia’s frown deepened. “And if they are?”

“Then you will have a harder time rooting out the problem. You’ll need to put agents on each of your vessels to report directly to you.”

When her mare suddenly shied at a passing curricle, Antonia had to direct her attention to maintaining her seat. And when she had the horse under control once more, she shook herself. Deverill’s suspicions were purely speculation as yet. She would not leap to any conclusions. Lord Heward and Director Trant should be considered innocent until proven otherwise.

“Very well, I will have Phineas look into the matter,” she told Deverill.

“If you need help in any way, I am staying at Grillon’s Hotel,” Deverill offered, naming a fashionable hostelry on Albemarle Street.

“Thank you, but I believe I can manage.” She didn’t want Deverill interfering with her concerns; if there was a problem with Maitland Shipping, then she would have her trustee deal with it. “Now, if you don’t mind, Mr. Deverill, I came here to ride.”

She urged her horse into a canter, leaving him to follow if he wished.

Deverill did wish. Yet he was satisfied that he’d given Antonia a warning to ponder. He’d seen the understanding in her keen eyes; the concerns he’d raised about Heward and her director had troubled her. She wanted to protect her father’s legacy even more than Deverill did.

And even if, as a woman, she was at a disadvantage in the exclusively masculine world of the merchant marine, she was intelligent and shrewd enough to find a way to scrutinize the operations of the company she’d inherited.

He did not, however, intend to tell Antonia of his suspicions regarding the much more emotional subject of her father’s death. In the first place, she was unlikely to believe him, Deverill reasoned. She didn’t know him well enough to trust him over and above the nobleman she planned to marry. And if she did credit the possibility of murder, then she might be disturbed enough to confront Heward directly about the accusations. And that would not only warn the baron he was being investigated, but conceivably put the housekeeper, as his accuser, in danger as well.

BOOK: Nicole Jordan
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