“Too expensive and slow. The canals work, which is why she was so smart to secure them.”
“I was the one who did that,” he grumbled.
“And now you know why she will not let you go. You’ve made her too much money.” Murphy blew out a breath as he rocked back on his heels. “You should have been smarter when you first started to work with her. Should have negotiated a better situation or saved more money—”
“I was nineteen. What did I know about negotiation?” She’d brought him into her bedroom, and he’d been too stupid to realize the trap. It didn’t matter that he’d left her bed soon afterwards, he’d remained in her employ and had made himself indispensable. “I was an idiot.”
“We’re all idiots at that age.”
“So help me get free. Let me—”
“I cannot. I’m sorry, but I wish you well.”
Jackson would have argued more. He had plenty of tools of persuasion, but the last few days had taught him when he was beaten. Murphy was not going to change his mind, and so he bowed to the man and still sent a waiter for the good claret. At least Murphy had been kind with his words. So many others had been cruel.
Which left him with his choice of last resort. He needed a business venture of his own, one that he could make profitable quickly and with as small a use of funds as possible. One that remained far distant from Isabelle’s influence. Unfortunately, he was fresh out of brilliant ideas. He knew all the ways to evaluate an existing business, but he had no clever thoughts for a fresh one.
Now he felt glum and stupid. Not the best frame of mind in which to host a party, but he’d promised Aaron and Lucas, and so would do his best. He had seen the Byrn party arrive while he’d been speaking with Mr. Murphy. Elliott and his wife Amber had led the way, followed by Diana and her new husband Lucas, who played the part of Lord Lucifer. The two younger sisters trailed behind. They had the favored box, set near the orchestra pit, and now that they were here, the ball could begin in earnest.
While Lucas brought his wife to the floor, Jackson selected his partner for the opening dance. She was the daughter of a man rumored to need investors in an African gold mine. The girl was nice enough and an acceptable dance partner, but she was three years younger than his youngest sister. He would not marry her even if it meant gaining part of an African gold mine. So he brought her back to her parents as soon as he could and tried to make inroads with the father. It didn’t work. The man rebuffed any attempts at discourse.
Normally he would have taken the hint and withdrawn, but he was becoming desperate. He pushed the matter only to hear what everyone else had told him. “I have no investments available for you. None at any price.”
Damnation. He didn’t know what Isabelle had done to discredit him so thoroughly, but the noose was tightening around his neck. A smart man would give in to the inevitable and invest in her damned canals, but he was angry now. At this moment, he would rather spend the rest of his life slopping pigs in Lincolnshire than give one penny to Isabelle for any reason.
That fury sustained him for another two hours, but eventually it dulled to exhaustion and a frustrated kind of numbness. He tried to appear carefree, especially since he was supposed to be Lord Satyr, an entertaining goat of a man, but he could not force himself to prance one more step and he greatly feared his face had frozen into a distasteful grimace. Which was a lucky thing, because just then he happened to see a woman whose expression matched his mood for misery. She wore a costume of a dog of indeterminate breed as she sat alone in the Rees’ box. He knew that Lord Byrn and his new wife Amber were still dancing, Lucas had been last seen wandering down the Dark Path with his lady wife, and the other sister Lilah was being entertained by Aaron. This woman, then, was Gwendolyn, the bluestocking who looked like she wanted to rip apart the daffodils he had set there with his own hand.
“If you’re going to dismember my flowers, at least give me the chance to assist you.”
The lady jolted where she sat, and her eyes widened over the long doggy nose of her mask. “I beg your pardon,” she said as she straightened up.
“No, it is I who must beg pardon,” he said. “I am feeling tired and particularly violent toward the shrubbery. Please, do kill the flowers while I consider hacking at the ivy.”
She frowned. “That’s not ivy. It’s Common Amelanchier.”
He turned back to her. “Do you have an interest in botany?”
“I do,” she said as she lifted her chin. It was a challenging look belied by the way her shoulders tightened. “I have studied a great deal of the natural world and its mysteries.”
“Then I bow to your greater knowledge. I have spent my time studying man’s mysteries, and I hope you have had better luck answering your questions than I have with mine.”
She arched her brow. “I have solved a few. Which mysteries have stumped you?”
He looked at her for a moment then abruptly leaned forward. “Shall I make a bargain with you?” he asked. But in this, he erred. As he leaned toward her, the sides of his waistcoat fell apart and her eyes abruptly widened at the sight of his bare chest. Jackson was not a vain man, but neither was he unaware of his physical attributes. And since he carefully conserved his money, his form was lean enough to show off a chest strong with muscle. Clearly, Lady Gwen was unused to seeing such a thing.
For a woman who claimed to have studied several natural mysteries, she was certainly flustered at the sight of a man’s body. It really was adorable the way her cheeks turned pink and her mouth went slack. He was about to think her a complete innocent when her gaze abruptly sharpened. Her mouth closed and her brow furrowed. She even tilted her head slightly as she inspected his torso.
“Lady Gwen?”
“What? Oh!” She jerked back while her blush deepened to crimson. “I’m terribly sorry. I was, um, distracted.”
It was only human to be pleased that his body intrigued enough that she forgot the conversation. A gentleman would cover up so as to not tease her delicate sensibilities, but he was Lord Satyr tonight, a man-goat fairy who was usually drawn naked. He shrugged enough that his waistcoat gaped completely open, then he gave her his most charming smile.
“I was offering you a bargain.”
“Of what sort?” Her gaze remained fixed upon his face as if she had to force herself to not look any lower.
“I shall share why I feel murderous toward the shrubbery, if you would explain why you wish to decapitate the daffodils.”