Read Online That Despicable Rogue by Virginia Heath - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Virginia Heath
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Preston have a better wardrobe than Mrs Preston? Or do you both prefer to walk around in shapeless brown wool?’
His dig rankled and her good mood soured instantly. She had a few decent dresses, but not many. Thanks to scheming men like him her brother had been bled dry, which had always left her with very little.
‘Whilst the renovations are going on shapeless brown wool is perfectly suitable for a servant, sir.’
Ross sighed as prickly Prim returned with a vengeance. Her cornflower eyes had narrowed and her plump pink lips had thinned again. ‘I did not mean to sound insulting, Miss Preston, so lower your hackles.’
He watched her face colour and her shoulders stiffen and regretted his words instantly. Their brief accord was clearly over. Stating the obvious was hardly going to get her to think better of him—although why he cared about that he could not quite fathom. Even without the spectacles and mob cap she was still a difficult and humourless woman.
He had managed to make her smile twice, though, so he supposed that was some achievement. She lit up when she smiled. Unfortunately it did not appear that it was an event that would happen particularly often—much like an eclipse or a double rainbow.
‘I am sorry that I have lied to you. I can assure that it will not happen again,’ she said crisply.
Ross did not believe a word of it. She certainly did not look particularly sorry. In fact she looked positively hostile again. The corners of her mouth had already begun to turn down as she glared at him in her customary disapproval.
‘Will that be all, sir?’ she asked flatly, and he realised he had been dismissed. In his own house.
More than a little peeved at her attitude, and confused as to why she disliked him so intensely, Ross shook his head in exasperation and headed to his study.
Chapter Six
H annah had been going through Jameson’s chests for over a week now and still had not found anything even slightly incriminating—despite having endless opportunities to search through his papers unhindered. Yesterday he had gone to London and had still not returned.
The candle she was using had almost burned itself out and her eyes had begun to droop. A quick glance at the clock on the mantel told her that it was an hour after midnight and long past time she went to bed.
She gathered all the documents together and carefully replaced them in the trunk exactly as she had found them. She had to give him credit for being thorough. Each one of the eight trunks she had already sifted through contained every bill, deed or ledger he had ever owned. At least she assumed they did. He might well have destroyed any damning evidence, but how he could ever have found it in such a disorganised mess was beyond her. There was no rhyme or reason to his filing system at all. Tailor’s receipts were mingled with deeds and share certificates.
However, her search had given her a greater insight into the man. He had not lied when he had told her that he made money. Each nocturnal visit to his study had unravelled a little more about his finances and how he had made his fortune. He had a talent for backing profitable ventures and he had stocks in all manner of businesses—from shipping to poultry. It was really quite impressive, and a part of her could not help feeling a little respect at his achievement.
Everything was frustratingly legitimate, and he also made money by investing other people’s fortunes for them and charging ten per cent of the profits made. There were several grateful letters from the great and the good, complimenting him on his astuteness on their behalf.
No wonder he had gained passage into the exclusive gentlemen’s clubs and ballrooms of the ton. A goodly number of them owed him a favour or two, and probably did not feel they could refuse him—and their letters... Some of them were so affectionate in tone that she did wonder if he had made real friends amongst the powerful men of the ton, despite
His dig rankled and her good mood soured instantly. She had a few decent dresses, but not many. Thanks to scheming men like him her brother had been bled dry, which had always left her with very little.
‘Whilst the renovations are going on shapeless brown wool is perfectly suitable for a servant, sir.’
Ross sighed as prickly Prim returned with a vengeance. Her cornflower eyes had narrowed and her plump pink lips had thinned again. ‘I did not mean to sound insulting, Miss Preston, so lower your hackles.’
He watched her face colour and her shoulders stiffen and regretted his words instantly. Their brief accord was clearly over. Stating the obvious was hardly going to get her to think better of him—although why he cared about that he could not quite fathom. Even without the spectacles and mob cap she was still a difficult and humourless woman.
He had managed to make her smile twice, though, so he supposed that was some achievement. She lit up when she smiled. Unfortunately it did not appear that it was an event that would happen particularly often—much like an eclipse or a double rainbow.
‘I am sorry that I have lied to you. I can assure that it will not happen again,’ she said crisply.
Ross did not believe a word of it. She certainly did not look particularly sorry. In fact she looked positively hostile again. The corners of her mouth had already begun to turn down as she glared at him in her customary disapproval.
‘Will that be all, sir?’ she asked flatly, and he realised he had been dismissed. In his own house.
More than a little peeved at her attitude, and confused as to why she disliked him so intensely, Ross shook his head in exasperation and headed to his study.
Chapter Six
H annah had been going through Jameson’s chests for over a week now and still had not found anything even slightly incriminating—despite having endless opportunities to search through his papers unhindered. Yesterday he had gone to London and had still not returned.
The candle she was using had almost burned itself out and her eyes had begun to droop. A quick glance at the clock on the mantel told her that it was an hour after midnight and long past time she went to bed.
She gathered all the documents together and carefully replaced them in the trunk exactly as she had found them. She had to give him credit for being thorough. Each one of the eight trunks she had already sifted through contained every bill, deed or ledger he had ever owned. At least she assumed they did. He might well have destroyed any damning evidence, but how he could ever have found it in such a disorganised mess was beyond her. There was no rhyme or reason to his filing system at all. Tailor’s receipts were mingled with deeds and share certificates.
However, her search had given her a greater insight into the man. He had not lied when he had told her that he made money. Each nocturnal visit to his study had unravelled a little more about his finances and how he had made his fortune. He had a talent for backing profitable ventures and he had stocks in all manner of businesses—from shipping to poultry. It was really quite impressive, and a part of her could not help feeling a little respect at his achievement.
Everything was frustratingly legitimate, and he also made money by investing other people’s fortunes for them and charging ten per cent of the profits made. There were several grateful letters from the great and the good, complimenting him on his astuteness on their behalf.
No wonder he had gained passage into the exclusive gentlemen’s clubs and ballrooms of the ton. A goodly number of them owed him a favour or two, and probably did not feel they could refuse him—and their letters... Some of them were so affectionate in tone that she did wonder if he had made real friends amongst the powerful men of the ton, despite
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