“MR. Dodger.”
“Ashebury.” Off Jack Dodger’s tongue, the name sounded like an insult. Not that Ashe blamed him. On the way back from Havisham, he’d given a lot of thought as to how to approach the former gambling-house owner. He’d been surprised that the butler had shown him into the man’s library. He was grateful that Minerva, as of yet, didn’t know he’d come to call. “You’re a brave man to show up here after breaking my daughter’s heart.”
“It was not my intention to break her heart.”
“Yet you did it all the same. I’ve killed men for less.”
“Not recently I hope.”
A corner of his mouth shifted up. Minerva had not inherited the shape of her mouth from her father. Perhaps her mother. Otherwise, it was all hers. “Whiskey?”
At least Ashe was assured he’d live long enough for a drink. “I’m a scotch man.”
“I think I have some on hand.”
Ashe watched as Dodger poured scotch into two tumblers. There was nothing delicate in his movements, nothing polished. Every inch of him spoke of a man who had begun his life in the streets. He might have risen above them, but they still clung to him.
He turned toward Ashe and extended a glass. “Have a seat.”
“I prefer to stand.”
“I prefer to sit.” He dropped into the chair behind his desk, took a sip of his scotch, studied Ashe. “So why did you come?”
“To ask you to take away Minerva’s dowry.”
Arching a brow, Dodger slowly set his glass on the desk. “It’s not often I misjudge a man’s purpose in meeting with me. I must say your request has taken me by surprise. Why would I not honor my promise to provide her with a dowry?”
“Because it will always come between us. Because she will always doubt the reason I married her.”
“I don’t recall giving you permission to marry her.”
“But you will because her happiness means everything to you.”
“And you’ll make her happy?”
“Ecstatically so. But she has been hounded by fortune hunters, and she believes it is her dowry that drew me to her.”
“And it wasn’t?”
“No.”
“What was?”
Ashe wondered if, when he heard the answer, Jack Dodger would break his jaw or blacken his eye. He was likely to do both. “Her legs.”
“And how is it that you happened to see her legs?”
“That’s between her and me. Her legs drew me, but her boldness, her spunk, her cleverness, her character held me. She is quite simply the most remarkable woman I’ve ever known. I love her. Beyond all imagining, beyond any capacity that I thought I had to love. But she will always doubt my veracity if, when she gives me her hand, it holds a pouch of coins.”
“Her dowry is much more than a pouch, boy.”
“I’m well aware. It was a figure of speech.”
“I’ve made inquiries. I know your financial situation. She’ll do without.”
“Never. I can sell a good many of the treasures that I amassed during my travels. They’ll provide us with a tidy sum. Not as much as her dowry, but it gives us a start. Working together, we can build it into something grand for our children. I want her to be my partner. Equal.”
“To come to you with nothing?”
“Dear God, how can you possibly believe there is any part of her that is equal to nothing?”
Ashe saw newfound respect and admiration enter Jack Dodger’s dark eyes, eyes he’d passed on to his daughter, and he knew on this matter at least, he’d won.
MINERVA was sitting in the morning room scribbling down an array of notes when her parents entered.
“We’d like to have a word,” her mother said.
“Now is an absolutely perfect time as I need to speak with you as well. I’ve given it a good deal of thought, and I’ve decided to go to Texas to look more closely into this cattle venture that I want to convince the fellows is worth investing in with me. I’ve worked it all out. I’ll hire a companion and—”
“Minerva,” her mother said, settling onto the sofa beside her while her father took a nearby chair. “Texas is so far away.”
“I’m not moving there forever. I shall be home by Christmas. It’s just that based on my numbers, it’s a wonderful opportunity to branch out, to not be so dependent upon what we can earn here in Britain.”
“You’ll have to talk with your father about that. He’s the one with the head for business.”
She looked at the man lounging in the chair as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Jack Dodger had never been one for formality. “Would you be interested in investing, Father?”
“Will it make money?”
“It should, yes. A good deal, as a matter of fact.”
“I’ll think about it, but first I need to speak with you about a decision I’ve made—with your mother’s blessing.”
She released a laugh that didn’t sound quite like herself. “All right, but you both look so deadly serious. Has something happened?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” her father said. “I’ve decided to rescind the offer of a dowry.”
It felt as though he’d punched her. “Why?”
“Well, for one thing, you said you weren’t going to marry, so it’s not as though you need it.”
“That’s true enough. Don’t suppose you’ll see your way clear to loan me some money so I can invest in this cattle venture I’m so set on?”
He waved a hand. “If you want it, you can have it. I’m talking only about your dowry.” Leaning forward, he planted his elbows on his thighs. “I may have done you a disservice by offering it, by making it so large. I’m afraid men haven’t been able to see beyond it to you.”
“We don’t like the notion of your not marrying,” her mother said. “Of being alone.”
“I’m not alone. I have friends. And I have family. I don’t need a husband to complete my life. So take the dowry. I have no problem with that. It’s not as though a man will marry me without it. And I don’t want to marry a man who”—she swallowed hard, the words difficult to say—“needs it.”
“Like Ashebury?” her mother asked.
“Like any number of men,” Minerva said impatiently. “As for Ashebury, I’m quite over him.”
Smiling, her mother squeezed her hand. “I’m glad to hear that, as he’s joining us for dinner this evening.”
Traitor was her first thought, but she didn’t voice it aloud. After all this was her mother, the woman who had brought her into the world. “You can’t be serious.”
“I thought it would be nice to hear about his travels to Africa.”
Unbelievable. Minerva scoffed. “If you want to hear about Africa, invite one of the other hellions. But I see no reason to burden us with a deceiver such as Ashebury.”
“Yet Ashebury is here, isn’t he.” It was a statement, not a question.
Minerva had heard through the grapevine that Ashebury had left the city. “You mean in London?”
“No, well, he’s in the residence, so he’s technically in London. He’s waiting in your father’s library.”
Minerva leaped to her feet and glared at her father. “You let him in? You welcomed him? Knowing that I despise the man, that I find him despicable?”
“He brought his photographs,” her mother said as though that made everything all right. Why were mothers—including hers—so willing to forgive the hellions all sorts of bad behavior?
“He will not be staying for dinner.” In a rush, she pushed past her mother and headed for the door. “He will not!”
“I don’t think she’s as over him as she thought,” she heard her father say. She seldom was out of sorts with her parents, but at that moment, she was furious. She was not only going to travel to Texas, she was going to move there.
Seething, she marched down the hallway. How dare he show up here! In her home, in her sanctuary.
The library doorway was open. She swept through and staggered to a stop at the sight of him standing at the window. He looked awful, completely, absolutely awful. As though he’d gone without sleep, as though he’d lost weight.
Yet at the same time he somehow managed to look wonderful, completely, absolutely wonderful. Immaculately groomed, his clothing pressed to perfection, everything in order. And he smelled wonderful. Sandalwood mixed with his own unique scent. She had not stopped as soon as she should have because she was near enough that she was able to detect its presence, could see the crystal blue of his eyes, could see not a whisker. He’d shaved before he came over.
“So I understand you’ve been invited to dinner,” she said tartly.
“It was kind of your mother to ask.”
“I’m rescinding the invitation.”
“I thought that you might.”
“If you were any gentleman at all, you wouldn’t have accepted it.”
“Except that I wanted to see you more than I wanted to be a gentleman.”
She slammed her eyes closed. “Don’t.” Opening her eyes, she glared at him. “Don’t say all the right things that are designed to make a woman lose her head. They won’t work on me, and they are a total waste. I’ve just been informed that my father has withdrawn my dowry, so you will need to search elsewhere for your funds.”
“I know about the state of your dowry,” he said quietly. “I asked him to take it away.”
In confusion she shook her head. “Why would you do that?”
“Because as long as you had it, you wouldn’t believe that it was possible that I wanted you more than I wanted the fortune.”
“But you need the fortune.”
“I need you more.”
“You can’t mean that. Your estates, your legacy—”
“Can go the devil.” He grimaced, shook his head. “They won’t. I’ll make sure they don’t. You were wrong when you said that I didn’t care about my responsibilities, that I squandered my inheritance. The estates were not bringing in the income they once were, so I made some investments that, unfortunately, proved to be unwise.” He walked to the desk, placed a slip of paper at its edge, picked up her father’s pen, dipped in an inkwell, and held it toward her. “Write down three numbers, small ones, in a vertical line that I can tally.”
“I don’t see what this has to do with anything.”
“Just do it. Please.”
With an impatient sigh, she walked to the desk, snatched the pen from between his fingers, and redipped the pen in the inkwell. She looked at him askance. “You seem to have recovered from my knee’s causing you to double over.”
“I’m surprised you were able to maneuver so well.”
“I’d left my petticoats at the dressmaker, so I had more room to maneuver. I was hoping for a chance to deliver a decisive blow.”
“You’re a bloodthirsty wench.”
“You shouldn’t be surprised. I told you that first night that I would take joy in killing a man who hurt me.”
“So you did. Three numbers.”
She did as he requested.
5
7
9
Putting a finger on the edge of the paper, he dragged it closer to himself and stared at it. Closed his eyes. Opened them. Squinted. “I can’t tally them. In my head, all I see is chaos. I know they are numbers. I know they form a sum. But I can’t understand them. And I can’t explain why I have such trouble with them. Lord Marsden told me my father was the same way. Numbers made no sense to him. He trusted Marsden. I only found out a few days ago when I went to Havisham. I’ve been too proud to admit that I have this difficulty. So when my man of business gathered information on various investments, I had him explain the risks verbally, I listened to his recommendations, and I made what I thought were the best choices. What he considered an acceptable risk, had I been able to analyze the numbers, I might not have. When I returned to England, I discovered the investments were losing money and, with very little income at my disposal and a ghastly amount of upkeep needed on my estates, I had very little left in my coffers.”
“How can you not understand numbers?”
“I’m at a loss, Minerva. Although I feel stupid, I’m not. I master other things. But numbers baffle me.”
She sighed. “So you lost your fortune and decided you needed to marry a woman with a substantial dowry. And you pursued me.”
“Not exactly. I met a woman at the Nightingale who intrigued me. Then I discovered her at a party and was further taken with her. The fact that she had a dowry hardly mattered. I wanted to get to know her. Then I fell in love with her. I didn’t realize it until she walked out on me.”
With his declaration, Minerva’s heart slammed against her ribs. She had longed for a declaration of love, and yet she was hesitant to believe them. He’d studied her book. He knew the correct things to say. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to toss them back into his face. Rather, she needed to remind him of the reality of the situation. “Except now she doesn’t have a dowry.”
He grinned. “But she knows how to invest. I have a little capital. Whether or not she marries me, I want her to help me rebuild my fortune.”
“Perhaps we could stop talking about her as though she weren’t in the room?”
His smile grew. “Will you help me figure out what I need to do to get back on my feet?”
“I suppose I could see my way clear to do that.”
“When I have no need of a dowry, will you marry me?”
She cradled his jaw. “Ashe—”
“Tell me what I must do to convince you that I love you.”
“I want to believe you. It just seems too incredible to me that someone like you could love me.”
“Because you don’t see yourself as I do. Here, I want to show you something.” He reached into his pocket, withdrew a small rectangle, and handed it to her.
It was a photograph of a woman sitting near a pond. Her face revealed such strength, such character, such invincibility, and yet there was a vulnerability to her as well, a delicateness—
It took Minerva a moment to realize that it was her, the photo he’d taken of her beside Lovingdon’s pond. “I’m actually quite pretty. How did you manage to make me look pretty?”
“You are pretty. You’re more than pretty. But I used shadows and light to reveal what I see when I look at you. True beauty can’t exist without both.”
“What about the photo you took of me at the Nightingale?”
“I didn’t take it.”
“Why?”
“Because it was just for me. Sometimes, something is just so perfect . . . perfect isn’t the right word. It’s more than that. Transcendent. It feels as though it would be a sin to capture it. But whenever I think of charred remains or mangled bodies . . . I think of you, with your long legs and your small feet, stretched out on the bed waiting for me—it overpowers the images that have lived with me for so long. It makes them nothing. They fade away quietly, no longer screaming for attention because they won’t get it, as I have something so much better. Or at least I did before I botched things up. I had you, Minerva. And I desperately want to have you again.”
She, who never cried, was feeling those burning tears once again. “Ashe—”
“I can make do without a dowry. I can’t make do without you. Even if you don’t love me—”
“I do! I tried not to, but I can’t stop thinking about you, missing you, wanting you. Yet I’m afraid that these feelings aren’t real. The love we both claim. What if it’s pretense, like Lady V?”
“She’s not pretense. She’s simply another part of you. Minerva, almost from the beginning, I knew who you were. Everything we had at the Nightingale, we’ll continue to have. Everything we had outside the Nightingale, we’ll continue to have. We’ll have it all.”
And she believed him. The truth was there in his eyes, in the way he smiled at her. “I love you, Ashe.”
The look he gave her melted her heart. It was the sort of look for which she’d waited six Seasons. It was the sort of look that promised an eternity of happiness. “Although I’d rather marry sooner than later.”
“How does the end of the month suit you?” he asked.
“People will think we were forced to marry.”
“We were—because we couldn’t stand to go a night longer without each other.” He drew her in close. “Keep the knee down.”
Before she could assure him, she would, he took her mouth and kissed her as only a man who was in love with her could.