anything you like, after our business is concluded.”
“What does she owe you?” Tom said. He was tired of talk when the problem could be easily solved by action.
Mortimer considered him thoughtfully. “Mr.… Poole, is it?”
“Yes. Tom Poole.” Seeing the moneylender’s face wrinkle to admit a smile, Tom added sarcastically, “Yes, that Tom Poole. Nouveau riche, gold mine–owning Tom Poole.”
“Are you really prepared to pay her debts?”
There was that look again—the one Tom had seen too often in other men. Mortimer had caught the scent of money like a hound after game. “I will pay you what she owes, and not a farthing more.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Margaret said indignantly. “I’ll have you remember, gentlemen, that this is my house. I will not have you going on about my affairs as though I am not even here.”
Her defiance was genuine. It was also, Tom thought with a flash of surprise, undeniably appealing. He knew this woman had fire in her the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. But he also had to admit she had a point. He was taking liberties, and she deserved to be better treated.“Miss Vaughn, perhaps you and I might have a word?” He turned to Mortimer and added pointedly, “In private.”
Margaret glanced from him to Mortimer. His eyebrows lifted a fraction, but then he gave a small nod of his head. He must have quickly calculated which moves would give him the best odds of getting his money. “We’ll just wait in the hall while you two sort this out.”
Reluctantly, and with another malevolent look at Tom, Jake followed his employer out the door. When the door closed behind them, Tom turned back to Margaret. He expected her to drop her guard a little now that Mortimer was out of the room. Perhaps show Tom some measure of gratitude or relief.
Instead, she turned her fury on Tom. “Mr. Poole, I bitterly resent you coming in here and acting in such a high-handed fashion. I’ll have you know that I am perfectly able to handle my own affairs.”
“Are you?” Tom said sharply. Her attitude was stoking his own anger. He could only admire her strength if it did not lead her to foolish actions. “Your engagement to Denault is broken and the moneylenders are threatening you with prison. Do you call that being in control of your affairs?”
She flinched at his words, but held her ground. “My engagement has nothing to do with it.”
“Apparently it does,” he contradicted.
She glowered at him. “Were you eavesdropping before barging in here?” Her voice was caustic and brittle. “What a gentleman you are.”
“I have done plenty of things for which I might not be called a gentleman,” Tom conceded. “However, I would hope that trying to help a lady isn’t one of them.”
She continued to glare at him. “I’ve already told you I have no need of your assistance.”
“I’ve observed that people rarely tell the truth about themselves,” Tom pointed out. “In fact, I’m learning that this becomes more necessary the higher one goes in society. Greater rank requires greater deception.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Margaret retorted.
“Don’t I?” Dear Lord, what was it going to take to get her honest? He wanted to help her, but he couldn’t do it unless he could get past her defenses. If he had to be brutally frank in order to do so, he would. “Let’s talk about Paul Denault. Off he goes to America, and comes back a supposedly rich man. Then he gets himself engaged to the richest heiress in London, who for some reason has a secret need for moneylenders. I’m guessing he was nothing but a fortune hunter—only he discovered there was no fortune to hunt. Is that what happened, Miss Vaughn? Was he taken by an even greater charlatan than he is?”
This struck home. Margaret took several steps back, her face contorted in anguish. She bumped up against the desk and put out a hand to steady herself. Her other hand went to her
“What does she owe you?” Tom said. He was tired of talk when the problem could be easily solved by action.
Mortimer considered him thoughtfully. “Mr.… Poole, is it?”
“Yes. Tom Poole.” Seeing the moneylender’s face wrinkle to admit a smile, Tom added sarcastically, “Yes, that Tom Poole. Nouveau riche, gold mine–owning Tom Poole.”
“Are you really prepared to pay her debts?”
There was that look again—the one Tom had seen too often in other men. Mortimer had caught the scent of money like a hound after game. “I will pay you what she owes, and not a farthing more.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Margaret said indignantly. “I’ll have you remember, gentlemen, that this is my house. I will not have you going on about my affairs as though I am not even here.”
Her defiance was genuine. It was also, Tom thought with a flash of surprise, undeniably appealing. He knew this woman had fire in her the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. But he also had to admit she had a point. He was taking liberties, and she deserved to be better treated.“Miss Vaughn, perhaps you and I might have a word?” He turned to Mortimer and added pointedly, “In private.”
Margaret glanced from him to Mortimer. His eyebrows lifted a fraction, but then he gave a small nod of his head. He must have quickly calculated which moves would give him the best odds of getting his money. “We’ll just wait in the hall while you two sort this out.”
Reluctantly, and with another malevolent look at Tom, Jake followed his employer out the door. When the door closed behind them, Tom turned back to Margaret. He expected her to drop her guard a little now that Mortimer was out of the room. Perhaps show Tom some measure of gratitude or relief.
Instead, she turned her fury on Tom. “Mr. Poole, I bitterly resent you coming in here and acting in such a high-handed fashion. I’ll have you know that I am perfectly able to handle my own affairs.”
“Are you?” Tom said sharply. Her attitude was stoking his own anger. He could only admire her strength if it did not lead her to foolish actions. “Your engagement to Denault is broken and the moneylenders are threatening you with prison. Do you call that being in control of your affairs?”
She flinched at his words, but held her ground. “My engagement has nothing to do with it.”
“Apparently it does,” he contradicted.
She glowered at him. “Were you eavesdropping before barging in here?” Her voice was caustic and brittle. “What a gentleman you are.”
“I have done plenty of things for which I might not be called a gentleman,” Tom conceded. “However, I would hope that trying to help a lady isn’t one of them.”
She continued to glare at him. “I’ve already told you I have no need of your assistance.”
“I’ve observed that people rarely tell the truth about themselves,” Tom pointed out. “In fact, I’m learning that this becomes more necessary the higher one goes in society. Greater rank requires greater deception.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Margaret retorted.
“Don’t I?” Dear Lord, what was it going to take to get her honest? He wanted to help her, but he couldn’t do it unless he could get past her defenses. If he had to be brutally frank in order to do so, he would. “Let’s talk about Paul Denault. Off he goes to America, and comes back a supposedly rich man. Then he gets himself engaged to the richest heiress in London, who for some reason has a secret need for moneylenders. I’m guessing he was nothing but a fortune hunter—only he discovered there was no fortune to hunt. Is that what happened, Miss Vaughn? Was he taken by an even greater charlatan than he is?”
This struck home. Margaret took several steps back, her face contorted in anguish. She bumped up against the desk and put out a hand to steady herself. Her other hand went to her
Similar Books
