Scoundrel for Hire (Velvet Lies, Book 1) (18 page)

The millionaire's only reaction was a sip on his cognac.

Rafe decided that Max couldn't possibly suspect him. After all, he'd been playing the role of ducal idiot to perfection.

He reached for his snifter of cognac. "From what you've told me, my dear fellow, Nahele has good reason to haunt your mine."

Max nodded. "I'm glad you can see the sense in all this, Chumley."

Rafe wasn't sure he'd go
that
far. He did believe that Max believed he had a ghost problem and that Cellie could fix it for him. The poor sot had fallen hook, line, and sinker for the lady's con.

Knowing Max was so easily duped made Rafe uncomfortable. He hadn't set out to like Silver's father. Hell, he knew better than to feel anything but contempt for suckers. But Max was a loveable old fool, and Rafe was beginning to see Silver's dilemma.

Cursing himself for a sap, he flashed his most inane smile and racked his brain for a subtle way to discredit Celestia. "Between the moors and the castles, ghosts are a dime a dozen in Britain, old chap. Cranky, noisy, dispirited buggers, if you ask me. Not a one of them is fond of mortals. They're more likely to wreak havoc than lend a hand. No, I wouldn't put much faith in what this Indian spirit tells you. Nahele sounds like the
last
ghost on earth who'd tell Cellie where to find his treasure."

Max chuckled, giving Rafe a wink. "Not to worry, Chumley. Cellie knows
lots
of spirits. I'm sure she can find one who'd love to spill the beans on Nahele's big secret. There's really not much honor among thieves, 'specially the dead ones."

"Oh, jolly good. Or perhaps I should say Jolly Roger. Dead men
do
tell tales, what?"

Max joined him in a hearty guffaw, which was more than Rafe's abysmal pun deserved. He felt the flush of elation from being so appreciated by his audience. At this rate, he'd be juggling for Max by midnight.

"I like you, Chumley." Still grinning, Max dropped into a leather captain's chair and propped his feet on the map-littered desk. "You're funny. And laughter's in short supply around this house. You have any children?"

Caught off guard, Rafe felt the momentary constriction in his chest. Hell,
children.
He tried not to think about them. After Gabriel's death eight years ago, Sera had insisted that Rafe keep a secret correspondence with her. He'd agreed because he loved her; even so, he couldn't help but worry about his influence over an impressionable kid sister, or any child, for that matter. His was a doomed soul. What kind of legacy could he leave a child—other than shame?

"No," he admitted, his tone betraying more longing than he'd intended. "No children."

Max sighed heavily, twirling his glass stem and watching the flash of amber highlights. Rafe had never seen the man so pensive; indeed, moments earlier, he would have sworn Max didn't have a melancholy bone in his body.

Intrigued, he lowered himself onto the lumpy, green-and-blue plaid of a wing chair. Not until the rock dust finally settled did Max rouse himself to speak.

"Silver's... well, she's changed. She's not as happy as she used to be. Back in Philly, I mean. Out east, she'd caught the eye of a bright young man, he'd come from good stock..." Max's voice trailed off, and he shook his head. "Everything seemed to be going well, judging by her letters. But then, like a bolt out of the blue, she wanted to move west. I never could understand why. She wouldn't talk about it much."

Max waved toward the inky, star-speckled night beyond the window. "I mean, look around you, Chumley. I'm a grizzled old miner, and Aspen's not exactly high society. There's not much here to offer a well-bred city girl like Silver. Hell, five years ago when she came here, the best lodging I could offer was a tent. Meanwhile, Townsend-—that was her sweetheart's name, Aaron Townsend—he was building on his daddy's ironworks fortune. Folks said he had a knack for politicking. He's already snared a congressional seat in the Pennsylvania legislature."

Rafe arched an eyebrow. So Silver had left her hoity-toity beau to live with her papa? In a tent?
Interesting.
Rafe couldn't help but wonder why. He had a hard time picturing a mining-camp Silver, hammering stakes into the earth, scrubbing clothes on a boulder, pouring flapjacks on a flame-licked griddle...

"Silver must be devilishly fond of you," Rafe murmured as these visions began to fade. The genuine warmth in his voice surprised him.

Max's eyes twinkled, hinting at their old mischief. "That's just it, Chumley. My daughter's
too
fond of me." He rubbed out his cigar on his boot heel. "I reckon Silver means well, but we don't see eye to eye. Especially about Cellie. Silver wants me to be respectable in this pissant town. Hell, I just want to hunt treasure and love my woman. A son would understand a man's needs, but a daughter..." He grimaced. "It's gotten so that I have to sneak out the back door of my own house!"

Rafe nodded sympathetically, somehow managing not to laugh. That sounded like Silver, all right.

"It's a sad state of affairs," Max grumbled, "when a man can't even, uh,
entertain
his fiancée in the privacy of his quarters. Here I am, walking around as guilty as a schoolboy, and I'm the parent in this house!" He reddened, smiling sheepishly at his outburst. "What it all comes down to, I reckon, is that Silver needs a distraction."

"A distraction?" Rafe asked mildly.

"Sure. Something to take her mind off fornicating—well, off mine, anyway. Don't get me wrong, Chumley. I love my daughter. Think the world of her, in fact. She's sharp as a tack. Knows her way around a dig. Good company in a rainstorm, too. It's just that... well, these days, she's a bit of a nuisance."

Rafe did a masterful job of keeping the grin off his face. "I daresay a grown daughter
would
be a tad inconvenient," he commiserated. "Females can get persnickety when it comes to a gentleman's romance."

"You catch my meaning?"

"Oh, quite."

"Good." Setting down his cognac, Max leaned across his desk. In an uncharacteristically bold manner, he raised his eyes and drilled Rafe with a stare of sapphire steel. "Chumley," he said bluntly, "how'd you like to marry my daughter?"

Chapter 7

Rafe nearly choked on his cognac. "Marty her, you say?" How he kept from laughing at this latest proposition from a humbugging Nichols, he'd never know.

"Silver's a helluva gal," Max insisted. "You won't find any better. And I saw the way you eyeballed her. You're not opposed to her looks."

Rate's jaw nearly hit the carpet. Max had watched him leer at Silver? And Max hadn't run for the nearest shotgun in paternal outrage?

"Why, this... this is all very sudden," Rafe managed to gasp.

"You saw the kind of shindig she throws," Max countered hastily. "I hear shindigs are popular among you blue bloods back in London. And Silver's real refined. She's got class. You won't have to worry about her dancing a reel when she should be dancing a jig, or some such thing. Why, she graduated with honors from Miss Trudy Pureheart's Finishing School in Philadelphia. She can play the piano, and bake tea cakes, and embroider like a dream. She's even got a knack for arranging flowers. You can't hardly go wrong with references like that."

"I daresay you're right," Rafe agreed, dangerously close to guffawing. Imagine Silver's father handing her over to him on, well, a
silver platter!

"What's more, my Silver's got a heart of gold. Loyal to a fault, she is," Max boasted, his swelling chest straining the buttons of his waistcoat. "And she's strong. Healthy, too. You won't find her swooning at the drop of a hat or boo-hooing when the going gets tough, like some of those whey-faced, East Coast debutantes. Criminy, I don't know how that fool Townsend let her slip through his fingers. But Townsend's loss'll be your gain, my boy. That girl of mine'll be richer than King Midas after I pass on.

"Not that I plan on kicking the bucket any time soon," Max amended hastily. "But she'll have a sizeable dowry, one big enough even for a duke, I reckon. Shoot, I'll even throw in one of my mines. You've been wanting to learn the business, right, Chumley? Well, I can teach you. We'll be partners. You, me, and Silver. God knows, that girl knows more about smelting and assaying than I do. Whaddaya say, Chumley? You game?"

Rafe struggled to keep a straight face. He thanked God Max could only read his expressions, not his mind. Poor Papa hadn't yet realized he was offering his lamb to the proverbial wolf in sheep's clothing!

If he had one whit of conscience left, Rafe chided himself, he would confess immediately that he was a cad and a playactor.

Fortunately, he was clean out of whits.

"Sink me." Rafe dabbed at his eyes. They were trickling with mirth. "I'm moved, old chap. Genuinely touched. That you would consider me a candidate for your son-in-law is... well, more than I deserve."

"Like I said, Chumley, I like you. You're the best thing that's happened to Silver in a long time."

"I am?"

"Sure. I saw how she looks at you."

Both of Rafe's eyebrows arched at that. He was almost tempted to ask when. Fortunately, even his vanity had its limits. A fortune was at stake. He had to play his cards carefully. Staying on Max's good side might be the only thing that saved him from the penitentiary when Silver tipped his hand.

If
Silver tipped his hand, he mused, his ready humor rising to the fore. After all, he wasn't the only one with everything to lose in this game.

"There's just one other thing, Chumley," Max said so solemnly that Rafe's survival instincts snapped to attention. "We ain't got any kind of deal unless you make my little girl happy."

The older man fixed him with a dire stare, and Rafe flinched, feeling acutely base once more.

"Shower her with roses and fofarrow, fine wines, and love poetry," Max said, his underlying warning hard to mistake. "I expect you to woo her in style. Hell, I don't have to tell you what a woman like my Silver likes."

"No indeed," Rafe murmured.

"And just so there can't be any misunderstanding between us, Chumley, I expect you to keep your mouth shut. About our deal, I mean. Silver will never marry you if she thinks the whole thing was my idea. She's stubborn that way."

Rafe averted his eyes. For the first time since he'd started this con, the magnitude of his deception sank in. If he married Silver, would he have to play this asinine duke for the rest of his life?

In private, as himself, he had no doubt of his ability to seduce Silver. He hadn't yet met a woman who could remain impervious to his charm. But
marriage
to her, for God's sake. He'd only toyed with the idea until now, and he certainly hadn't toyed with it in any context other than his
own
wretched identity. As little as he liked Raphael Jones, was he ready to sacrifice the bastard entirely?

"As a gentleman, I'm sure I shall do everything in my power to satisfy your daughter," Rafe said, careful not to let too much irony drip from his words. "But what if she doesn't take to the idea, old chap? I'm amenable to trying. Silver is, as you say, a rare gem, but a woman's heart is a fickle thing. She might not have the least interest in marrying me."

Max waved a dismissive hand. "You'll just have to get more chummy with her, Chumley. Tell you what. Why don't you move into the guest wing to make it more convenient-like? I'm sure, with the right kind of encouragement, my daughter will like you just fine. You're a pleasant-looking man. You've got good breeding, a sense of humor, a keen wit... Silver's not any kind of fool, you know."

That was the one thing Rafe
was worried about.

"Just you be sure she falls head-over-heels in love with you, son. That's the important part. Even after the nuptials, I want my baby girl singing your praises. I won't stand for anything less. And if I hear one little peep out of her about you not treating her like the thoroughbred filly she is, well..." Max's round face actually grew ominous. "I'll thrash you within an inch of your life. And don't think I can't do it, Chumley."

Rafe glanced at the chapped and calloused hands resting on the desktop and recalled that Max still swung a pickax. He suspected the stocky millionaire could, indeed, beat the tar out of him, if given a chance.

But Rafe had no intention of giving Max a chance, much less a reason. Why would he? The man had just offered him a multi-million-dollar silver mine, a partnership in his family business and, most mind-boggling of all, his paternal blessings if Rafe were to seduce his daughter into matrimony. For the first time in his life, Rafe thought he might die and go to heaven.