After a Fashion (A Class of Their Own #1)(60)
“I’m fairly sure I’d regret it more if I continued doing business with you.”
Silas let out a laugh that held more than a touch of malice. “In case you’ve forgotten, Oliver, I’m privy to information that can ruin you. All I have to do is let your competitors know about the underhanded methods we’ve used to gain inside information. Once those juicy tidbits get out, your reputation will be in shreds.”
Drawing in a deep breath in order to calm the temper that was swirling through him, Oliver took a step closer to Silas. “Clearly I’ve allowed you far too many liberties in regard to my business ventures, but by all means, let the truth come out. I’m willing to accept full responsibility for actions that have been taken on my behalf, even if I had no direct knowledge of those actions.”
“You and I had an unspoken agreement that I was to do whatever it took to close a deal.”
Oliver shrugged. “Perhaps we did, but I now have a problem with doing business that way.”
“How noble of you, but tell me this—you may not be concerned how the business world will view you after the truth comes out, but how do you think society will react? More specifically, how do you think that new ladylove you seem so reluctant to talk about will view you after she becomes privy to your shady dealings?”
Oliver knew exactly how Harriet would react. Her eyes would turn a dark shade of violet, her lips would definitely thin, and then . . . she’d launch into yet another lecture, taking him to task for transgressions he was evidently guilty of perpetuating. After she was done, she’d no doubt expect him to correct those transgressions, and . . .
“Is something amusing you?”
Blinking, Oliver realized his lips had taken to twitching as he’d been picturing Harriet and her indignation, but now was hardly the moment to become distracted, not with Silas threatening to ruin him. Taking a second to get his amusement firmly under control, he gestured to the door. “Perhaps it would be best if you were to take your leave.”
“I’m not leaving until we get matters settled between us once and for all.”
“We’ve settled everything we need to settle.”
“Forgive me, gentlemen,” Mr. Blodgett interrupted in a very loud voice from the doorway, causing Silas, who’d been approaching Oliver in a somewhat aggressive manner to stop in his tracks and glare at the butler. To Mr. Blodgett’s credit, he didn’t so much as bat an eye. “A Reverend Gilmore has come to call, Mr. Addleshaw. He’s waiting for you in the drawing room.”
Silas stopped glaring at Mr. Blodgett and swung his attention back to Oliver. “A reverend has come to call, Oliver?” Not bothering to allow Oliver a response, Silas laughed and shook his head. “It certainly explains your new position on ethics. I find the idea of you entertaining a man of God rather disturbing, but . . . to each his own.” He made a point of grinding the cigar even farther into the rug, then strode to the door. Looking over his shoulder, he sent Oliver a sneer. “Do make sure to have that reverend say some extra prayers for you—you’re going to need them.” With that, he vanished from sight.
“Good heavens, sir, is everything all right?” Mr. Blodgett asked.
“Mr. Ruff and I have dissolved our business relationship, and I’m afraid he’s not happy with me at the moment, but now is not the time for us to discuss the matter further. Reverend Gilmore is here, you said?”
Mr. Blodgett nodded. “He’s in the drawing room, but I’ll be happy to tell him you’re unavailable if you’d like some time to yourself after your unfortunate encounter with Mr. Ruff.”
Oliver smiled. “Thank you for that, Mr. Blodgett, but I’m not exactly comfortable turning away a man of the cloth.”
He headed for the door and then walked down the long hallway, entering the drawing room a moment later. His attention settled on an older gentleman who was studying one of the many paintings hanging on the walls.
“It’s by Delacroix,” he said, walking to join the man who turned and smiled back at him.
“It’s beautiful, and I have to imagine it’s quite priceless,” the man replied as he held out his hand. “I’m Reverend Thomas Gilmore, Mr. Addleshaw, Harriet’s guardian, if you will.”
Oliver shook the offered hand. “Harriet told me to expect you, although she wasn’t exactly clear on when you’d be paying me a visit.” He gestured to a settee done up in a blue watered silk. “Would you care to take a seat?”
Reverend Gilmore moved to sit down, his gaze settling on another painting, this one by Bonheur, hanging a few feet away from the Delacroix. “You have quite the collection of fine paintings here, Mr. Addleshaw. May I assume this is a room you seek out often to enjoy a bit of peace?”
Oliver lowered himself into a chair beside the settee. “I rarely spend much time in this room, Reverend Gilmore. I have an art dealer in my employ who travels around Europe, searching for paintings that are supposed to ‘speak to me.’ I’ve never quite had the heart to tell the man I’ve never heard or felt anything from a painting, but that I look at my acquisitions as more of an investment opportunity.”
“How . . . sad,” Reverend Gilmore began before he nodded, just once. “While I would love nothing more than to discuss your reasoning behind purchasing breathless works of art but not appreciating or sharing them, that’s not why I’ve come to call. I’m here to discuss Harriet.”