Betina Krahn (48 page)

“I think it’s time you were promoted. Come with me.” He took her by the hand and led her into the conference room, where he seated her at the table and proceeded to lay out his diversified empire on the table, using the charts his staff had shown her two days ago.

As he talked, she watched his mouth move and her skin grew warm and sensitive beneath her bodice. She saw his hands move and his shoulders flex as he picked up one chart and laid down another, and she couldn’t help wondering if he knew how to waltz. Her gaze fastened on his chocolate eyes, and she felt a sweet shiver and wondered if they had ever seen the sun come up while lying in a woman’s arms.

“So you see, I have a good many assets,” he said, laying the last chart aside.

“Yes,” she said with a telling bit of thickness, “I can certainly see that.”

“And I take a hand in the management of every one of my interests.”

“Ummm,” she said sweetly. “That must keep your hands very busy.”

“Quite.” He smiled nervously. “Though not too busy to
add additional interests … which brings me to my point. I am thinking of making an acquisition.”

“Oh?”

“Something along the lines of a merger, actually.” He settled one thigh on the edge of the table, half sitting, leaning toward her. “Something that would require considerable time and energy. A highly personal transaction. And I wonder if you might be interested in hearing more?”

He was testing the waters, asking her feelings about the possibilities between them. Her heart beat faster.

“I have no need of a
merger
, your lordship. In fact, a union of the sort you refer to would effectively strip me of all my assets and place all of my worldly property into other hands. Where women of substance are concerned, marri—
merger
always works to a man’s advantage. By law the moment a woman enters into such an agreement, her property passes over to her husband in its entirety, and he is free to do with it whatever he wishes. Married women share this dismal lack of property rights with children, criminals, and the mentally insane.”

“My desire for you is anything but fiduciary, Antonia.”

“So you say, your lordship. But I am of a mind to think the law may have a bit of wisdom in it, after all. It is possible that there is something in marriage that drives women to desperate acts or renders them childish, imbecilic, and sometimes irrational.” She smiled with a bit of mischief. “I suspect that thing may be
men
.”

Caught back, he was about to reply when Hallowford came rushing into the conference room, out of breath.

“Your lordship—thank heaven you are still here!” he gasped out.

“What is it, Hallowford?” Remington said, rising and frowning at the man’s harried state.

“News from New Market. Bridgeman has made a preemptive offer to purchase Sutton Mills, and unless we can
exercise our option and complete the transaction by week’s end, the owner intends to accept Bridgeman’s offer.”

“He can’t do that!” Remington declared, going rigid in an attempt to contain his ire. “We had an agreement. I was to buy controlling interest—convert the ownership to a stock basis and issue a solicitation for additional shareholders. The mills need an infusion of money and equipment in order to take advantage of the rising market for—” He halted and narrowed his gaze on something only he could see. “I believe I need to pay Sutton a visit—refresh his memory on just how binding a handshake can be. Hallowford, send round for my carriage.”

He started for the door, turned, and caught Antonia by the hand. “Get your hat, sweetheart. You’re coming, too.”

The ride to New Market took the better part of two hours, and in that time Antonia watched Remington and his men, Hallowford and Evans, plotting out a strategy for confronting the waffling owner of the mill that was slated to become a pillar of Carr Enterprises’ holdings. It was an ambitious project, socially as well as financially, for there was a certain reorganization involved that would permit a number of employees to participate in the ownership through the sale of earmarked shares. It was also a project in which Remington and his staff had already invested considerable time, money, and entrepreneurial pride. And now the entire project was threatened by the entry of a well-heeled spoiler into the picture. Loss of the project would mean the loss of thousands of pounds and of some face in the financial world.

“Sutton, my friend!” Remington said, boldly offering the fellow his hand when they were shown into the owner’s offices. After handshakes and introductions they were offered seats and coffee, both of which they accepted. Then Remington came to the point. “I understand you’ve received another offer for the mills. Not surprising, really.”
He glanced admiringly around him. “There is a great deal of opportunity here.” Then he pierced the rotund and moist-faced Sutton with a sharp look. “What did surprise me was word that you were seriously considering it.”

“Well … a man must … surely look to his best interests in such important matters,” Sutton said, straightening and stretching his neck as if his collar bothered him.

“True,” Remington agreed, with a smile crafted of burnished steel. “But a man must first look to his honor, else he will find others regard his word with the small respect that he shows for it.”

What followed reminded Antonia of a chess match: move and countermove. A demand thinly cloaked. A concession adroitly made. A suggestion, then an assertion; provocation, then conciliation. She watched in fascination as Remington’s mien went through every conceivable permutation of human emotion: anger, outrage, determination, calculation, condescension, pleasure, confidence, sympathy. It was a highly charged and competitive game. And in the end Remington won.

After two hours of wrangling, posturing, negotiating, the final price was fixed, and papers—which Remington had already prepared for a future meeting—were signed. They departed with an air of triumph … which gradually deflated as the carriage lurched along, carrying them back to London and to realities Remington dreaded.

He relaxed back against the seat, looking as if he’d just run a long-distance race. The aggressive posture eased and the mesmerizing force of his countenance drained. Only then did she realize he had been under great pressure, even while seeming confident and appearing to enjoy the fierceness of the negotiation.

“Congratulations, your lordship,” Hallowford said, his shoulders slumping.

“Thank you, Hallowford,” Remington said, expelling a
deep breath. “Now all we have to do is find the small fortune we have just promised to pay Mr. Sutton two weeks from today.”

“Find the money?” Antonia asked, frowning. “Surely you have enough money. You’re a very wealthy man.”

“And most of my wealth is in property and investments. I don’t keep hundreds of thousands of pounds just lying around, any more than you do.”

“But why would you agree to buy it if you don’t have the funds?” she asked.

He smiled ruefully. “Because it makes good business sense, believe it or not. And a great deal of business is done with borrowed money. Now all I have to do is convince the bankers that it makes good sense.” He chuckled grimly at the confusion on her face. “Welcome to the world of high finance, Antonia. I won’t ask you what you have learned from this little bit of men’s work. From the look in your eyes I don’t think I’d like the answer.”

He couldn’t have been more wrong, for the turmoil he glimpsed in her face merely reflected the upheaval occurring in her attitudes and the softening of her heart. Remington was engaged in a competition, too, she realized—one with larger prizes and more devastating consequences, but not so unlike the one faced by young Davidson. And like the clerks at the Emporium, Remington competed under the pressure of responsibilities, obligations, and expectations … from his co-owners, his employees, his backers, his bankers, and even the public at large. It suddenly struck her that to some extent, all men probably did so.

For all their apparent command and control of the world, men—even men of power and privilege like Remington—had their pressures and problems, too. If today was any example, the wielding of power and influence was not necessarily a pleasurable experience. And even in victory
there were fresh obstacles and worries to contend with.

As she watched Remington relaxing back into the seat with his eyes closed, she was overcome with a great feeling of tenderness for him. She glanced at Hallowford and Evans, who seemed as drained by the experience as their employer, and realized it was a good thing they were in the carriage, too. If they hadn’t been, she would have slid across the carriage and taken him into her arms to ease the strain in his face and frame … in a very direct and female sort of way.

When they arrived at Remington’s office, it was pin-drop quiet at a time that would normally have been bustling with sound and movement. Markham was waiting in the outer office and shoved to his feet with a look of great relief when Remington and Antonia entered.

“Your lordship! Thank heaven you’ve returned.” He hurried forward, then stepped back to give them room.

“What is it, what’s happened?” Remington demanded, searching his assistant and trying to anticipate what had sent the usually unflappable Markham into such a state. The bank … his uncle … “Did you take Uncle Paddington to the bank?”

“He was not at home.” Markham clasped and unclasped his hands, looking flushed. “His butler said he left yesterday and might not return for several more days.”

“Gone?” Remington said, mildly alarmed. Uncle Paddington managed rather well in his local environs, but traveling outside London, and alone … It didn’t bear thinking about! “Did his man say where he went?” Markham’s high color drained visibly.

“Yes, my lord. To Gretna Green.”

Remington was slow to catch the implications of it. “Gretna Green? Why on earth would he want to go there?”

Antonia was only slightly more perceptive. “Surely not the sort of place a gentleman of his age would go, even on holiday. Why it’s a marriage mill … full of shopgirls and junior clerks who have run off together … and …” Something in her description of the place made her halt uneasily and look to Remington.

“That’s ail he said?” Remington demanded of Markham, shocked by the thoughts that sprang to his mind.

“That … and he left orders to have ice and champagne ready when he returned.” Markham looked pained to have to add: “And oysters.”

“Oy-sters?” Remington choked out, looking as if he’d been punched in the gut. “Gretna Green, champagne, oysters … For God’s sake—the old boy’s eloped!”

“Eloped?” Antonia’s immediate reaction was disbelief, followed closely by a flare of anger. “Why, the bounder! Aunt Hermione will be crushed!”

“Crushed?” Remington turned on her in amazement. “Good God, Antonia—who do you think he’s run away
with
? It can only be your aunt Hermione—he doesn’t know any other marriageable women!”

Every bit of color in her face drained, too. “Don’t be absurd. Auntie would never—” She halted, stunned. But Hermione
had
, at least twice before. In fact, she had something of a passion for elopements. Her last two husbands had both swept her
away
in the dead of night and carried her straight to …

“Dearest Lord!” She lifted her skirts and ran for her hat and gloves.

Remington grabbed his hat and was at her heels by the time she reached the stairs. “Where are you going?” When they reached the landing, he pulled her to a halt.

“I cannot believe she would do such a thing without a
word to me. She’s at home right now—I’m certain of it.” But she was apparently not so certain of it that she could refrain from seeing with her own two eyes, that Hermione was safely at home.

“I’m coming with you,” he insisted, searching the anxiety in her face and sensing that what she discovered at home could have direct bearing on how she felt about him.

The ride from the City to the Piccadilly seemed to take forever. Lorries stalled in the streets and unexpectedly thick traffic delayed them. Each turn of the wheels beat like a muffled drum in Antonia’s heart. When they finally reached her house, she lurched out of the cab ahead of Remington and raced up the front steps. Throwing open the front door, she called to her aunt and headed for the drawing room, where Hermione often sat doing needlework this time of day.

“Where is she?” she demanded of Pollyanna and Prudence, who looked up from their knitting with surprise. “Aunt Hermione—where is she?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Pollyanna said. “I haven’t seen her since …” She frowned, unable to say just when she had seen Hermione last.

“I haven’t seen her either,” Prudence said. “Not since … was that yesterday morning? Why? What’s happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost—”

“She may be … m-missing,” Antonia said frantically. “I have to find her!”

She rushed out into the hall just as Remington entered through the door she had left standing open. “Is she here?” he called to her, but she didn’t seem to hear him as she rushed toward the stairs at the end of the hall. He went up the steps after her, and together they encountered Eleanor in the upstairs hall.

“Have you seen Aunt Hermione?” she demanded.

“Haven’t seen her for some time … good to see you, your lordship!” Eleanor smiled at him.

Antonia rushed into Hermione’s room, calling her name, and startled Daphne Searle and Elizabeth Woolworth, who jumped up from the bed and the settee with their mending in their hands. Antonia blinked, then stared at them.

“What are you doing in here?”

“This is where Aunt Hermione assigned us to sleep,” Elizabeth said.

“She positively insisted we use her room. She said she would be sleeping elsewhere,” Daphne added.

“When was that?” Antonia demanded furiously, going to the clothes chest and wardrobe, opening drawers and flinging doors wide.

“Well … yesterday morning, not long after I arrived,” Daphne said, alarmed by Antonia’s rising anger. “She said she knew you wouldn’t mind my staying.”

Antonia couldn’t speak. She stood looking into a half-empty wardrobe. The truth seeped through her like the penetrating aroma of cedar that rolled from the chest. Aunt Hermione was gone.