Page 36 of Real Earls Break the Rules

A muscle ticked at his jaw. “I promised all the ladies a tour, and I’d be delighted to take everyone later.”

…

It was late afternoon by the time Brandon began studying the ledgers from three of his father’s investments. He sat at the large desk in his study and sifted through the numbers. He was tired and distracted. He kept thinking of Amelia when he should be focused on his work.

He’d ventured to the archery field to see her, but he’d been waylaid by Lady Minerva instead and he’d been obligated to help her with her archery. Frustration had churned his gut until he’d seen an opportunity to get Amelia alone.

He hadn’t expected her reaction. She’d looked hurt when she pointed out that he’d been the one to end their kiss in his study last night. It was not for lack of wanting. He’d lost control, again, and had succumbed to the emotion in her blue eyes and kissed her. If they only had a few stolen moments in the protection of the trees, then he’d been determined not to waste a second.

He’d promised himself not to seduce her. But now that he’d made that vow it was as if all he wanted was her. He was driving himself mad. The feelings were foreign and uncomfortable for a man who had never needed to entice women into his bed and had parted easily from them without a backward glance.

He knew he couldn’t control his hunger for much longer. Not when she gazed up at him with a woman’s awakened desire. Not when she’d looked confused and hurt as to why he’d pulled away.

Christ.

He was supposed to be flirting with Minerva, not longing for another. Marrying the duke’s daughter and obtaining her dowry would be a solid source of income that he could use to solve his financial problems. If only he wanted Minerva. If only he could stand her presence for more than five minutes and stomach her eager looks.

He needed Amelia’s special talents more than ever. The sale of the Dutch landscape would cover several of his bills and buy him time until he could right things at the mill and turn a profit. His plan was working so far. Amelia was painting in his study at night and napping in her bedchamber in the day. His sisters frequently napped in the afternoon as well in order to stay up later in the evening. So far no one suspected anything.

A knock on his study door drew his attention.

“Enter.” Brandon looked up from his desk to see his butler in the doorway.

“There’s a Mr. Begley waiting to see you, my lord.”

Brandon put the ledgers aside. “Please see him here, Smithson.”

He’d almost forgotten about his appointment with the new textile mill manager. He’d hired the man the day after his upsetting tour of the factory when he’d fired Mr. Higgins. Moments later a man with deep-set wrinkles around his eyes and mouth walked into the study. He appeared to be fifty, but the darkness of his hair and his athletic build suggested he was closer to a decade younger.

Brandon stood and held out his hand. “It’s good to see you again, Begley.” The new manager was turning out to be much more efficient and competent than his predecessor. Brandon had spoken to several of the mill’s longtime workers and settled on Mr. Begley as the best choice for the job.

Begley took a seat in one of the armchairs across from Brandon’s desk. “Have you had a chance to review the reports I sent, my lord?” Begley asked.

“I have.” The two reports had been delivered yesterday and Brandon had studied them in depth. The first report dealt with the labor at the mill and reported the number of children employed, their ages, weekly hours, and pay. It was a distressing report.

“According to this report, many of the children are under thirteen and a dozen under eight years. They work up to twelve hours per day with little food and two short breaks,” Brandon said.

“The prior mill manager had set the system,” Begley said.

Brandon frowned. “Most are the children of parents who work at the mill while others are from the local orphanage. We pay the children little and those from the orphanage nothing.” This fact had upset Brandon more than the others.

Begley shifted in his seat. “Aye. They are considered apprentices. I don’t agree with it. They aren’t trained in any specific trade, but work menial jobs.”

“I suspected as much.”

“What do you want me to do?” Begley asked.

“Stop it.”

Begley blinked. “Pardon?”

“Stop all of it.” Brandon’s voice was cold and exact.

“Are you telling me to stop all the child labor at the mill?” Begley asked incredulously.

“I am.”

“You understand that means we have to pay more for the adult labor,” Begley pointed out.