Beguiled by a Baron (The Heart of a Duke Book 14)(7)

Feeling Lord Derby’s stare on them, Vail cupped Tabitha about the nape of her neck. He dragged her mouth close and kissed her for the other man’s benefit.

Tabitha instantly melted against him. This time, there was nothing false in her breathy moan.

Vail broke the kiss. “Mayhap later,” he said loud enough for the gentlemen passing by them. He swatted her once on the buttocks and turned to go.

“Vail?” she called out, staying him.

Pausing, he looked back.

She drifted closer. “There can be a later,” she murmured, fiddling with the lapels of his cloak. “I can…”

He pressed his fingertips to her lips, staying those words. She’d grown too close. Wanted more. Hoped for something he could not give her. Something he could not give any woman. He’d loved once and lost hard…a young woman who’d rejected him because he hadn’t a coin to his name. From that betrayal, he’d learned to keep his guard up and let no one in.

Tabitha sighed. “You’re the only bloody nob who’s uninterested in a place in my bed, Vail Basingstoke,” she muttered, though he detected the flash of regret in her eyes.

“I don’t bed the women in my employ,” he said to soften the blow of his rejection. Resuming his march to Derby’s table, Vail didn’t wait for an invitation and simply tugged out a chair.

The bald nobleman swallowed; that audible evidence of his nervousness stretched across the din of the room. “Ch-Chilton,” he greeted, pushing an empty glass and bottle of brandy across the table. “A brandy.”

Vail reclined in his seat and then steepled his fingertips together. He proceeded to tap them in a deliberate, silent staccato. “I’m displeased with you, Derby,” he said in a frosty tone.

All the color leeched from the earl’s cheeks. “W-with me?” he yanked frantically at his cravat, rumpling the perfectly tied gastronome knot. “C-Can’t imagine why. I’ve done nothing.”

Abandoning his casual pose, Vail leaned forward and placed his elbows on the surface of the table. “Haven’t you?” he asked in a menacing whisper. “I don’t take well to liars,”—the earl trembled, his legs shaking so hard, he knocked the table and his glass splattered droplets upon the scarred surface—“nor do I deal with men who break their word once an agreement has been reached. Why, those men, I won’t even sell to.” It was the ultimate trump for these men obsessed with their books and manuscripts. Some of the leading peers of Society would cull and hunt down first edition works and rare copies at the cost of their own names and reputations.

Derby lifted his palms in supplication. “Haven’t broken anything. I wouldn’t—”

Vail narrowed his eyes. “Think carefully before you finish that sentence,” he warned.

The earl’s shoulders sank. The book in question was Sir William Dugdale’s first edition work of The Baronage of England. Having discovered it was in Derby’s possession, Vail had taken advantage of the other man’s desperate need for finances to win the script at a favorable price.

The pale nobleman matched Vail’s pose and leaned across the table. “I’ve an explanation. One you can appreciate.”

“Do not tell me what I can, will, or will never appreciate,” he said, coating that warning in ice.

“Of course, of course. Forgive me.” Derby spoke so quickly his words rolled together.

Vail would lay down his life for his siblings and the one person he called friend. But where members of the peerage were concerned, He’d fleece them of their fortunes with a smile and sleep at night all the better for it.

“I was trying to fetch more for it. Surely you can app…?” At Vail’s pointed look, the man’s throat muscles moved. “I want that Chaucer,” he said, giving Vail the first honest truth since he’d joined him. “If I can fetch more, I can pay you more.”

“And if you’d deny my payment for a spoken contract, then you’ll never even set foot inside the auction house when bidding commences,” Vail said flatly. “Are we clear?”

The other man had the look of one who’d imbibed too much and was about to toss the contents of his stomach up for it. “W-we are.”

Vail motioned for Tabitha. The young woman instantly rushed over. “Can oi be of service,” she purred, playing her part to such perfection a Drury Lane actress couldn’t manage.

“If you’ll clear the table?”

Pouting, she made quick work of putting the barely touched bottle of brandy and two glasses onto her tray. Expertly balancing that burden, she withdrew a clean rag from her bodice. Had Derby been cleverer—at all clever—he’d have noted the fabric was of a quality and cleanliness at odds with the establishment they now frequented. After Tabitha dusted the surface and sauntered off, Vail reached inside his jacket and fished out a specific pair of gloves. Carefully pulling on the white cotton articles, he peered down his nose at the earl. “The book.”

“Yes. Yes. Here. I have it.” The older nobleman leaned under the table and fiddled with his valise. He straightened and handed it over.

Collecting it, Vail proceeded to the front page. With the same expert eye that had shaped him into one of the most successful and most ruthless booksellers in England, he took in every detail of the volume in his possession. He noted the coloring and quality of the page and the vibrancy of the ink. Vail paused, lingering his perusal on the author’s name marked on those pages. With his gaze, he traced the specific loops and turns of Dugdale’s flourishing signature. With careful movements, he closed the book.