“You own Rossetti and Millais?” She couldn’t quite keep the shock from her voice. She’d not expected him to be a patron of the arts-other than for paintings of nudes, perhaps. And nudes were not either artist’s speciality.
“You sound surprised.”
“Your reputation is for other things.”
“That’s because gossip is by definition about
“And you’re engaged in cultural endeavors?”
He laughed. “I’m pleased to see you’re not carping by nature. I know women who could seriously outrival that arch look of yours.”
“From all reports you know women who can do most anything.”
“While you’re a country mouse, bereft of feminine artifice,” he sardonically countered.
“Feminine artifice
“Your husband’s gambling, for instance.”
She frowned. “You overstep, Groveland.”
“My apologies. So you became a managing woman,” he noted with a lifted brow.
She knew what he meant; she also knew
“You endorse socialist principles?” He didn’t care, but he enjoyed watching her, and to that purpose, he asked questions.
“I endorse helping those less fortunate. Call it what you like.”
“We all help those less fortunate.”
“If by
“My tenants are well cared for and well paid.”
“Good for you.”
Her gaze had turned heated and not in a way that would advance either his business or personal desires. “Tell me what books your customers favor most. I expect there are certain subjects that sell better than others.”
How incredibly urbane he was, shifting facilely from the contentious issue of the poor to an innocuous topic without so much as a flicker of a pause. Understanding that she wasn’t going to humanize the aristocratic class with a few pithy comments to Groveland, she replied with equal civility. “Travel books are most popular, I suppose.” She dared not tell him the truth: erotica sold best.
“If you allowed me to purchase your store, you could travel wherever you liked.”
“My bookstore is earning a good return. I may soon travel without your money.”
“Soon?”
Good Lord, he was quick-witted. “My profits are increasing nicely.”
“I, on the other hand, could make you financially independent immediately. Twenty thousand would give you considerable independence.”
“You only paid three thousand for the store,” Fitz pointed out, logical when she was not. “With twenty thousand, you could buy another store, do more charitable works, indulge your interest in travel. And in all candor,” he gently noted, setting down his teacup, “your property stands in the way of my project.”
A flush of anger instantly colored her cheeks. “Your project? What about mine?”
He frowned. “You’re being unreasonable.”
“I could say the same of you.”
“Do you realize you’re obstructing a major urban enterprise?”
“
“Of course that’s what I mean,” he irritably replied. “This little bookstore of yours could be anywhere; it doesn’t have to be on this particular corner.”
“I happen to
“That’s different,” he brusquely retorted.
“Because it’s yours, you mean, and you’re rich as Croesus and you always get what you want!” Her voice had taken on a strident tone.
“I don’t,” he gruffly returned. “You’re quite wrong.”
“Then you won’t find it so unusual when you don’t get my store!”
“It’s incomprehensible that you’d cut off your nose to spite your face,” he coldly rebuked. “I’m offering you twenty thousand for a store that’s worth three.”
“We disagree on what it’s worth,” she answered as coldly.
“You want
“Everything
He was surprised at the degree of anger her tirade generated. Every muscle in his body was taut with rage. “There’s nothing I can say to change your mind? ” Twenty thousand was a goddamned fortune and she knew it.
“Not a thing!” Hot, bellicose words.
He was utterly still save for a muscle that twitched over his stark cheekbone. “I could make your life exceedingly difficult,” he said, his voice soft with menace.
She sat back in shock. “Are you threatening me?”
Pushing himself upright in his chair, he leaned forward slightly, the devil glowing in his eyes. “I am.”
Her spine went rigid. “Do what you will,” she snapped, furious at his arrogance. “I’m
He came to his feet in a powerful surge. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” he growled, towering over her.
“On the contrary,” she rebuked, looking up at him, her gaze flame hot, “I know very well who I’m dealing with! A spoiled, self-indulgent debauchee who’s never worked a day in his life or cared about anyone but himself! But I am not intimidated by your wealth and power! I’m here and I’m staying!” As if empowered by her heated words, she rose to her feet in a flash and jabbed her finger into the fine silk jacquard of his waistcoat. “Now, get out!”
He grabbed her wrist in a viselike grip. “You unmitigated bitch.”
She gasped in pain.
His fingers tightened for a flashing moment, then he abruptly released her and bending down so their eyes were level, whispered, fierce and low, “They say your husband jumped. Now I know why.”
She slapped him so hard, a stabbing pain shot down her arm.
He almost slapped her back but caught himself just short of her face. “This isn’t over,” he snarled, letting his