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Mid-sentence, Macalester’s lanky form jolted as he realized to whom he spoke. “Mr. Irons, sir!”
“Mr. Macalester,” Nicholas replied patiently.
The woman’s soft mouth parted.At least I’m not the only one surprised, he thought.
Her brother stepped forward, eyeing Nicholas with grim determination. The reminder of the trespassers’s purpose jarred him back into reality.
“I’m Nicholas Irons. I hear you wish to speak with me. Captain Miller, I presume?”
The American extended his palm almost aggressively. “Captain Elijah Miller.” After they shook hands, he turned to the woman. “My sister, Mrs. Helen Gray.”
At first—before the implication of Mrs. registered—Nicholas was grateful for the excuse to shift his attention to her openly. Then his muscles tensed in visceral objection.
Mrs.
His bow of greeting was unusually stiff.
Was that sadness clouding her eyes upon hearing her own name? Was she as unhappy to be married as he was to discover it?
Don’t be a fool,he told himself as she dipped her head in greeting. When her crisp blue eyes focused on him again, all he saw was intelligence—and tenacity.
Nicholas glanced at the engineer, who’d already returned to the assembly of his model. “Mr. Macalester, we’ll leave you to your preparations.”
Just then, the man pressed too hard upon the stairway that snaked around a water tower, sending an adjacent piece flying.
Mrs. Gray gasped.
Tracking the piece’s trajectory, Nicholas calmly stepped into its path and, with a quick snatch of his hand, captured it from the air. After setting it on the table next to Macalester, who stood flummoxed, he faced Captain Miller and Mrs. Gray. “Would you join me in my office?”
“Obliged to you for meeting with us,” replied the captain briskly.
Nicholas stilled his tongue against correcting him. The courtesy of a swift in-person rejection, offered in light of the overlooked reply, hardly counted as a meeting. He certainly wasn’t elongating their time together because he couldn’t part with the woman…
“If you’ll follow me,” he intoned.
Mrs. Gray stepped closer to Macalester, who followed her with owlish eyes. “Thank you for showing us your magnificent wheel.”
Before the man could stutter a reply, Captain Miller spoke. “Those timbers we discussed. If you want superior quality, ask Mr. Irons for my direction, but you’d best act quickly.”
Ah. So Miller wasn’t only seeking an investor for his brazen tea venture; he pushed all manner of sales. By the time they reached his office, Nicholas resolved to dispense with the siblings quickly.
Upon entering, he turned and extended a hand toward the sitting area—and the sight of Helen Gray had the tips of his ears burning. She regarded him with total attentiveness, and he knew she would be listening as intently as her brother.
The only other women to have visited his office were his mother and sister, butthiswasn’t a social call. What was this woman doing here in connection with trade?
Nicholas forced his attention to the man about his own age—far younger than he would expect for someone in command of one of the most advanced merchant ships ever built.
Miller looked every bit a Yankee captain, his relative youth aside, wearing an ivory shirt and waistcoat under a black coat, and a floppy black bow tie rather than a proper cravat. His auburn hair was more brown than his sister’s deep red; the pattern of freckles across his face told the story of years on deck, squinting against the sun.
“I received your letter, Captain Miller. You have my apologies for failing to respond in a timely manner.”
Instinct silenced him before he proceeded to a rapid dismissal. Feeling the woman’s eyes on him, his plan crumbled. He pressed back into his wingback chair, looking from brother to sister with burgeoning curiosity.
Their arrival in London on the sleek clipper ship that defied imagination had captured London’s attention. As noteworthy as their tea endeavor appeared, however, Miller’s interest in Nicholas's firm was not mutual. He and the owner, David Chadbourne, the Earl of Anterleigh, had already agreed the investment wasn’t suitable.
As if sensing his potential shift, the Americans shared a meaningful look. Captain Miller leaned forward, his forearms on his knees, regarding him avidly. Mrs. Gray sat back in her own chair and cocked her head.
“Andyouhave my apologies for calling unannounced.” His head high, Captain Miller’s apology sounded at once genuine and forced. “My ship must be underway if she’s to return to London with the first tea of the season. Want to make a fortune with us?”
