Valerian Inglemoore. Bronwyn Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ why—you didn’t take her into dinner for the sake of old friendships renewed and all that. I did not know the depth of your former relationship was quite so, ah, developed. It is clearly much more than a friendship. No one looks at an old friend the way you looked at her tonight.’

      ‘And how is that?’ He’d been more transparent than he thought, or perhaps Canton was simply more astute.

      ‘Like a starving man looks at a feast,’ Canton said acidly.

      Valerian raised his eyebrows, ready to strike. ‘Is that cliché the best you can do?’ He liked Canton less and less by the moment and not all of it had to do with envy. All his instincts said Canton had ulterior motives regarding Philippa. A man in love and certain of his affections being returned would not feel a need to stake such a blatant claim. Canton’s next statement confirmed Valerian’s suspicions.

      ‘I know you didn’t go to the drawing room to study the Gainsborough when you left the dining room,’ Canton said, referring to the facile lie Valerian had used to excuse himself and to follow Philippa. ‘My footman reported the two of you were out on the balcony, intimately engaged.’

      ‘Spying on your guests? That’s quite an admirable trait,’ Valerian said drily. ‘I wonder how the Duchess would feel if she knew you had her followed. Do you do it regularly?’ He rose, book in hand. ‘I’ve had enough of this gentlemanly conversation. Goodnight, Canton.’

      Lucien rose with him. ‘I mean to have her, St Just. She’s mine. I’m the one who has been here through the years when she was in mourning. You can’t waltz into my home after a nine-year absence and undo in the span of a few short hours what I’ve worked years to accomplish.’

      Valerian stopped at the door, his hand forcefully gripping the knob as he reined in his temper. He’d faced down Mehemet Ali, the renowned Egyptian naval commander. By God, he would not suffer the threats of a viscount’s top-lofty heir whose only pretension to greatness was his father’s title. ‘You’re wrong, Canton. If a stolen kiss and a dinner among others are all it takes to “undo” your hard work, it was never “done” in the first place.’

      He strode purposefully up the stairs to his chambers, fitting pieces together in his mind. He knew now what he didn’t like about Lucien Canton beyond the simple fact that he coveted Philippa: Lucien Canton was dangerous.

      Behind his polished perfection was a lethal streak. He’d seen men like Canton during his years abroad in the highest levels of covert intelligence and diplomacy, catapulted into such positions because of their cunning and arch-shrewdness. To these men, attainment of their goal was everything. Nothing was too sacred to escape sacrifice. There was something Lucien Canton wanted and Philippa was a vital link in his ability to get it. He speculated that Lucien Canton would be willing to do more than marry to secure it as well.

      The man had portrayed no signs of lover-like affections, but had instead acted like a man in possession of a great treasure around which he must place guards and fences. It didn’t take a large amount of speculation, even knowing as little as he did about the state of Philippa’s inheritance from Cambourne, to surmise Canton had his eye on some aspect of her estate.

      Beldon had asked him in the coach if he believed in serendipity. Absolutely not. He had not survived the dark side of diplomacy by luck. He’d survived because he believed a man made his own chances. From the looks of things, Lucien Canton believed that too. That made the man more dangerous than he might have been otherwise.

      He wondered if Philippa knew Canton didn’t love her, but what she owned. If not, he’d be sure to call it to her attention by showing her the depths of his own passion for her. It looked like he wouldn’t make Roseland Hall by New Year after all.

       31 December

      The dancers whirled about Valerian in a dervish of luxurious winter velvets and satins to a rowdy country dance played by the five-piece orchestra seated above the crowd in the small balcony at the top of the ballroom, designed for just such a purpose. The guests were in high spirits as midnight approached. Philippa had done a splendid job playing hostess, making sure everyone had partners for dancing. No one went unnoticed, from the plainest of girls to the quietest of matrons.

      He and Beldon had done their parts to ensure her success in that pursuit. They’d danced with the matrons and charmed the local wallflowers until they blossomed.

      But for the most part, Valerian had spent the evening listening to the rhythm of Cornwall. What did people think about these days? What was the lifeblood of the Cornish economy? Where did people think their future lay? The answer repeatedly came back to mining.

      It was not surprising. Mining had been an ongoing consideration in the region for literally centuries. Valerian’s own family had mining interests upon which the family fortunes were built. He knew the Duke of Cambourne had invested heavily in tin and copper mines as well as the ancillary businesses that accompanied the industry of mining: smelting, furnace parts and mining equipment.

      What did surprise him was the growing competition. Mining had not yet reached its apex, but the foundations for managing those future interests were being laid now. Mining had become a full blown industry and much more highly politicised than it had been before.

      Valerian had caught snatches of conversations regarding mining-related legislation. House of Commons members, home from the Michaelmas session of Parliament, and members of the House of Lords, debated the need for safety laws that ensured a quality of life for the miners and their families.

      More intriguing to Valerian were the conversations he overheard regarding the merits of importing metal ores from British settlements in Chile and Argentina. The capitalists of the group argued importing would certainly help meet growing industrial need, while other, cooler, heads argued for caution; glutting the market with copper and tin would drive the price down, which in turn would affect the domestic market’s ability to turn a profit.

      Canton sided with the capitalists, avidly arguing for aggressive expansion in South American mining. Valerian’s earlier suspicions about Canton coveting the assets brought to him through marriage to Philippa were finding substantiation in Canton’s avaricious stance on the economics of mining. Valerian made a mental note to ask Beldon about the extent of Philippa’s mining assets.

      ‘Fifteen minutes until midnight!’ The cry went up from the orchestra conductor, who urged everyone to find a partner for the ‘last waltz of the year’. There was an excited flurry on the dance floor as people laughingly paired up.

      Valerian strode purposefully towards the group Philippa stood with. Other than acting as a willing dance partner for her wallflowers, Valerian had stayed apart from her. He preferred to study her movements and behaviour from afar—a certain kind of exquisite torture he’d imposed on himself as punishment for the prior evening. In hindsight, he acknowledged that he had not handled himself well on the balcony. He’d rushed his fences without knowing his quarry.

      Tonight, she sparkled among an already glittering crowd. The deep gold of her gown was an elegant foil for the mass of burnished hair piled on her head and coiffed in strands of gold, woven through the coils like other women wove pearls. Her long neck was shown to advantage with the upsweep of her hair and Valerian was seized with the urge to kiss her nape as he came up behind her. He settled for putting his hands on her shoulders as if he were settling an imaginary cloak about her. He bent close to her ear, saying, ‘I believe this dance is mine.’

      It was a proprietary overture on his part and he knew it well. Most women thrilled to such a seductive, possessive claim. Odds were that Philippa wouldn’t. But neither would СКАЧАТЬ