Sapphire. Rosemary Rogers

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      4

      One month later

      “Lord Wessex, so glad to make your acquaintance at last.”

      Blake turned from the open window in the law offices that looked out on the busy London street, and settled his gaze on the short, stout barrister walking toward him. “Mr. Stowe,” he said sharply, ignoring the barrister’s thrust out hand, “I am not accustomed to waiting.”

      “My apologies, my lord.” Lowering his head in a cordial bow, Stowe continued. “There was a distraught widow on my doorstep this morning. I couldn’t turn her out.”

      “We had an appointment, nine sharp.” Blake brushed past Mr. Stowe and the bespectacled clerk seated uneasily behind a high mahogany desk.

      “Right this way, my lord.” Stowe bustled by, leading him down a short hall into a spacious office paneled with dark walnut wainscoting and two walls of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with leather-bound legal volumes. “Please have a seat.”

      Blake glanced down at the red leather wingback chair in front of an elegantly carved walnut desk large enough to accommodate a small dinner party. The barrister had good taste, at least. Blake had a desk similar to this in his own office back in Boston. “A Dresden Partners pedestal desk,” he said, nodding with approval. “Ebonized molding, very fine.”

      “Th-thank you, my lord.” Stowe hesitated, seemingly startled by Blake’s compliment. Then he walked behind his desk, flipping back the tails of his black serge coat, and waited to take his seat until Blake sat first. “It was my father’s, God rest his soul.”

      Blake eased into the chair and caught a faint scent of good French tobacco on the red leather, a scent as tantalizing as a woman’s. It was a chair he wouldn’t mind adding to his own collection. He’d lived in the mansion he’d built in the exclusive Beacon Hill area of Boston for nearly two years, but it was still not entirely furnished. He liked to choose his furnishings carefully, taking consideration with each and every chair, table and chest of drawers. It was how he preferred to acquire all of his possessions.

      “Your father was obviously a prosperous man, and I can see you have followed in his footsteps.” Blake sat back, pinched the fine pleats of his black wool trousers and crossed one leg over the other. “But your firm did not come recommended by my associates here in Great Britain. No one had even heard of you when I placed inquiries. Have you the sense it takes a man to get out of the driving rain? I haven’t the time for incompetence.”

      The barrister offered a hesitant smile, obviously unsure how to take measure of Blake Thixton, the new Earl of Wessex.

      “I can assure you, my lord, that I am quite competent.” Stowe brought his hands together, settling into his chair. “And now the estate can be settled.” He picked up a pair of round-framed gold reading glasses and pushed them onto his nose before reaching for a pile of documents on his desk. “As stated in my letter, some months ago when Lord Wessex died without issue, his chattels were passed on to you, his closest heir by blood as the grandson of his uncle.”

      Blake’s gaze drifted beyond Stowe to the shelves of books behind him. “I never knew Lord Wessex, sir, and while I was born in London, my parents immigrated to America before I was old enough to walk.”

      “Funny how that is, sometimes. Makes no difference to the law, though. By the laws of English entailment, you are the legal heir of the late Earl of Wessex.” He skimmed the document written with great flourishes as if it was the first time he had seen it. “There is the title, of course.”

      Blake frowned. “Of little use in America. My business acquaintances are more interested in the volume of their merchandise I can ship СКАЧАТЬ