Scandal in Spring (Wallflowers #4)(49)

“It’s harmless, of course,” Daisy continued. “My objective is to encourage a certain gentleman’s attentions, as he seems to be somewhat reticent when it comes to courtship.”

“Reticent?” Llandrindon’s voice was a bare scratch of sound.

Daisy’s estimation of his mental capacity sank several degrees as it became apparent that all he could do was repeat her words in a parrotlike fashion. “Yes, reticent. But I have the impression that underneath the reluctant surface a different feeling may exist.”

Llandrindon, usually so graceful, tripped on an uneven patch of gravel. “What—what gives you that impression, Miss Bowman?”

“It’s just a woman’s intuition.”

“Miss Bowman,” he burst out, “if I have said or done anything to give you the misapprehension that I…that I…”

“I’m not talking about you,” Daisy said bluntly.

“You’re not? Then who—”

“I’m referring to Mr. Swift.”

His sudden joy was nearly palpable. “Mr. Swift. Yes. Yes. Miss Bowman, he has sung your praises for endless hours—not that it has been disagreeable to hear about your charms, of course.”

Daisy smiled. “I fear Mr. Swift will continue being reticent until something happens to flush him out like a pheasant from a wheat field. But if you wouldn’t mind giving the impression that you have indeed taken an interest in me—an outing in the carriage, a stroll, a dance or two—it may give him just the impetus he needs to declare himself.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Llandrindon said, apparently finding the role of co-conspirator far more appealing than that of matrimonial target. “I assure you, Miss Bowman, I can give a most convincing appearance of courtship.”

“I want you to delay your trip for a week.”

Matthew, who had been fastening five sheets of paper together with a straight pin, accidently shoved the point of one into his finger. Withdrawing the pin, he ignored the tiny dot of blood on his skin and stared at Westcliff without comprehension. The man had been closeted away with his wife and newborn daughter for at least thirty-six hours, and all of a sudden he had decided to appear the night before Matthew was to leave for Bristol and issue a command that made no sense at all.

Matthew kept his voice under tight control. “May I ask why, my lord?”

“Because I have decided to accompany you. And my schedule will not accommodate a departure on the morrow.”

As far as Matthew knew, the earl’s current schedule revolved solely around Lillian and the baby. “There is no need for you to go,” he said, offended by the implication that he couldn’t manage things on his own. “I know more than anyone about the various aspects of this business, and what it will require—”

“You are a foreigner, nonetheless,” Westcliff said, his face inscrutable. “And the mention of my name will open doors you won’t otherwise have access to.”

“If you doubt my negotiating skills—”

“Those aren’t at issue. I have complete faith in your skills, which in America would be more than sufficient. But here, in an undertaking of this magnitude, you will need the patronage of someone highly placed in society. Someone like me.”

“This isn’t the medieval era, my lord. I’ll be damned if I need to put on a dog-and-pony show with a peer as part of a business deal.”

“Speaking as the other half of the dog-and-pony show,” Westcliff said sardonically, “I’m not fond of the idea either. Especially when I have a newborn infant and a wife who hasn’t yet recovered from labor.”

“I can’t wait a week,” Matthew exploded. “I’ve already made appointments. I’ve arranged to meet with everyone from the dockmaster to the owners of the local waterworks company—”

“Those meetings will be rescheduled, then.”

“If you think there won’t be complaints—”

“The news that I will be accompanying you next week will be enough to quell most complaints.”

From any other man such a pronouncement would have been arrogance. From Westcliff it was a simple statement of fact.

“Does Mr. Bowman know about this?” Matthew demanded.

“Yes. And after hearing my opinion on the matter, he has agreed.”

“What am I supposed to do here for a week?”

The earl arched a dark brow in the manner of a man whose hospitality had never been questioned. People of all ages, nationalities and social classes begged for invitations to StonyCrossPark. Matthew was probably the only man in England who didn’t want to be there.

He didn’t care. He had gone too long without any real work—he was tired of idle amusements, tired of small talk, tired of beautiful scenery and fresh country air and peace and quiet. He wanted some activity, damn it all. Not to mention some coal-scented city air and the clamor of traffic-filled streets.

Most of all he wanted to be away from Daisy Bowman. It was constant torture to have her so near and yet never be able to touch her. It was impossible to treat her with calm courtesy when his head was filled with lurid images of holding her, seducing her, his mouth finding the sweetest, most vulnerable places of her body. And that was only the beginning. Matthew wanted hours, days, weeks alone with her…he wanted all her thoughts and smiles and secrets. The freedom to lay his soul bare before her.