Valebrook’s eyes brightened even as he frowned. “I’ll have to give it some thought, Hawthorne. But you have two weeks to persuade me.”
Two weeks. Callum’s inner child stomped his feet and screamed. Two weeks? He’d hoped to convince Valebrook of the merits of his plan on the firstnight.
“Lovely,” he ground out, and Valebrook laughed.
“Don’t look too excited. My wife has quite the array of activities planned.”
Callum shot James a dark look. When they’d received the house party invitation at their office in Edinburgh, both men had been surprised—more accurately, James was surprised, Callum was aghast. But the party was the ideal opportunity to find additional supporters for their business. Developing new technology for maritime engineering was costly; Callum had the plans and business acumen, and James had the charisma, but Valebrook and his lot had the money. And unless he dug the company out of debt, no one would ever see what the future could hold.
“We’re looking forward to it,” James said with a grin, and Callum felt the slightest measure of tension leave his chest.
He never resented his cousin for his easy way with people, his natural charisma that attracted everyone around him, a glowing light drawing in his onlookers. Callum, with his awkwardly large stature, quiet nature, and tendency to glare, was much better behind office doors, designing the mechanics that would make hismachines a reality. Machines that would enrich his pockets—and those of his cousin—beyond measure.
But Callum would spend the rest of his life in a hovel if he could buy his cousin’s safety. And a poor man can’t afford to bribe government officials in perpetuity.
Valebrook motioned towards Callum’s glass. “Another?”
When had he finished it? He had to keep his wits about him if he was going to survive the fortnight. “I need a wee bit on my stomach before I drink more.” And a few minutes without having to force a pleasant countenance.
“Bridget set up a lovely buffet in the music room.” At Callum’s furrowed brow, Valebrook gave a wistful smile. “Bridget is my countess.”
Ah, James had warned him about this. The earl was apparently smitten with his new wife, married a decade after his first countess had passed. James had described their hostess as eccentric and eager to modernize the aristocracy, whatever that meant.
“Thank ye,” Callum mumbled, releasing his breath as he nodded to his host and exited the ballroom as quickly as he could without causing alarm.
He needed a respite from the horrors of socializing. A drink and a plate loaded high with something hearty, although he was unlikely to find food larger than his thumbnail. As long as he avoided distractions, keep himself from being noticed beyond his business dealings, he’d survive the house party and be bound for Panama before the month was out, his accounts indestructible.
But as soon as he turned the corner and smashed into the woman carrying a glass of champagne, he knew she would shatter all his carefully laid plans.
Chapter 3
Callum despised champagne. Abeverage being inherently celebratory ran counter to a Scotsman’s notion of the purpose of alcohol. A man drank to forget, to drive away the demons and ignore the past.
Men drank whisky, relished the burn as it scorched the throat and settled like fire in the belly. Whisky was a punishment as much as a luxury, whereas champagne was…
Rapidly soaking through to his undergarments.
He snarled as he stepped back, nearly slipping on the parquet floors as he put distance between himself and the woman staring at him, aghast.
And he froze. She was bonnie, despite the scowl marring her face, with full cheeks splotched with a pink flush, wide amber eyes framed with thick lashes. Her lips, the color of ripe raspberries in the heat of summer, parted as she pulled in a breath. A proper lady, the type he never saw on the shipyards, the sort that wouldn’t give him the time of day if they passed on the street. But he had hercomplete attention now. He leaned forward, aching to hear her words.
“What iswrongwith you?“ She ran her hands over her chest and sluiced off the liquid soaking through the fabric across her bosom. And a fine bosom it was; he had no need for large breasts on a woman. Though he had no right to think about her in intimate terms, he couldn’t help imagining having her in his bed. These orbs would fit his palms perfectly, and he wondered if the peaked tips would be the same color as her lips.
But now she was glaring at him, and hadn’t missed his appraisal of her chest. Not the best start, he supposed. “What were ye doin’, lass?”
Bloody hell. This was why James was responsible for talking to posh people.
Those berry lips opened and closed a few times before she puffed out a breath of air. “Sir, I—”
A flurry of activity surrounded them as footmen descended with towels and collected the remnants of broken glass. Callum, needing something to do with his hands, grabbed a towel and pressed it to the soaked bodice of her dress. She gasped and pulled away, taking the towel with her.
Fucking hell. “Let me help ye clean up.”
“Absolutely not.” Her voice was deeper than he expected, richer. If he stepped closer, he suspected she would smell spicy, like mulled wine on the coldest winter day.
He ran his palm over the back of his neck and was surprised to find perspiration had gathered there. How would James fix this? “Can I get ye another drink?”
Her dark brows shot up. “No, definitely not.”
