“Why don’t you just agree to see her?” Lance suggested. “If she wants to risk her reputation by meeting with you, then who cares? It’s her own good name on the line, after all, not yours.”
“He’s too busy to deal with some bored Society miss who won’t take no for an answer.” Rowan spoke, leaving his head still firmly buried in the accounts book as he continued with his task. “Besides, the lady’s brother is one of Seb’s partners in an investment, so he won’t wish to jeopardize that, no matter how curious he might be.”
Rowan’s ability to add numbers and still follow a conversation was a trait that continually impressed him, and had since Seb had rescued Rowan from the streets when the boy was only ten years old. Even then it had been readily apparent that Rowan was an intelligent lad, which was why Seb had taught him to read and write. And in doing so, recognized the boy had a gift for numbers.
A gift Seb had made great use of, with Rowan now in charge of overseeing the account portfolios of Seb’s numerous investments and business endeavors. And considering Rowan was only twenty-six, having the Bastard of Baker Street’s confidence in matters of finance was a feat no one else had achieved. Even Lance, who Seb had known for twenty-five years, since they were boys of eight, wasn’t privy to Seb’s accounts.
A fact which had been a bone of contention initially, as Lance had been Seb’s right-hand man since Seb had become the leader of the Baker Street Boys gang when they were fourteen. But, eventually, Lance had come to accept Rowan’s gifts, especially as using them had almost immediately increased profits in the organization tens of times over, which benefited Lance, too, after Seb had turned the organization legitimate and listed his company on the London Stock Exchange, making them all a fortune in the process.
“I did do a little bit of digging on the lady, though, as you asked, Seb,” Rowan said, pausing in his calculations.
“Ha! I knew it,” Lance crowed with a pointed look at Seb. “You are as curious about the chit as I am.” His attention turned back to Rowan. “What did you discover?”
“Not a great deal, apart from the fact that she has a limp and walks with a cane, and is the youngest spinster daughter of the Duke of Beresford.” Rowan pushed his glasses up farther on his nose and frowned. “She has three older brothers who would practically murder anyone if they dared to make fun of her for her ailment, the eldest brother being the one Seb already has a business deal with. Oh and her godmother is the Duchess of Calder, an apparent ogre in Society whom none dare offend.”
“What about her looks?” Lance asked. “My informants have not assisted with such information.”
“Your informants?” Seb raised a brow.
Lance winked. “As I said, you’re not the only one curious about the lady.”
“No, nothing about her looks,” Rowan answered. “Though one can assume she must not be right in the head for wanting an audience with Seb.”
Laughter burst out of Lance at Rowan’s statement, while Seb simply shook his head. His friends clearly thought it highly amusing that a lady would seek him out.
“I mean, seriously,” Rowan continued, “what ruddy duke’s daughter wants to meet with Seb? Clearly, she’s not of sound mind.”
“You think only a mentally unstable woman would wish to associate with me?” Seb asked, even though that very thought had crossed his own mind, regardless that the woman didn’t sound unstable in her letters; quite the opposite actually.
Rowan nodded. “She’s not just any woman, though, is she? She’s a duke’s daughter. Besides, if she’s heard only even a quarter of what has been bandied around about the stuff you’ve done in your time, she’d never approach you. And there isn’t a person in London who hasn’t heard of you. Even a duke’s daughter would have paid attention to some of the rumors, so the fact she’s still pressing to meet with you even after you’ve ignored her requests does make me question her sanity.”
“But that’s the thing, isn’t it,” Lance chipped in. “She’s a duke’s daughter. She would have been spoiled and pampered all her life, without ever being told no before. Mark my words, she’s only miffed Seb is ignoring her, and if she ever did meet you, she’d be scared shitless. Of that, I’d lay a wager on.”
Seb stood and strolled back to the windows overlooking Baker Street. The woman who’d penned those letters to him requesting a meeting was no scared wallflower, even if she was perhaps foolhardy.
Haphazardly, he glanced down at the passing carts and trams in the street below. London was always so busy, with nary a quiet moment. Usually, it invigorated him, but lately it was leaving him feeling somewhat caged in. “I’m thinking of meeting her.”
“What?” Lance sounded baffled. “Even after you’ve repeatedly said you wouldn’t? You never normally change your mind. Rowan’s right, you must indeed be bored.”
“Bored but also curious,” Rowan stated, unsurprised. “After all, how often does a duke’s daughter make contact with someone from the Rookeries, let alone the king of ’em?”
Rowan was right. And the more tenacious the lady got in her requests, the more Seb’s interest was stirred.
“Well, perhaps she is daft, but I still reckon she’d run for the hills if she ever met Seb. Anyhow, it’s time I head off and get to work,” Lance declared as he stood and wandered over to the office door. “Lots of gentlemen needing encouragement to gamble away their fortunes, after all.”
Seb turned from the window and glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was already five, which meant the night was fast approaching, and the night meant money for most of their business endeavors, a fact Lance always took seriously, unlike his other frivolous pursuits of ladies and liquor. Which was why Seb had placed him in charge of the overall
