Cachet (27 page)

"Other than those leather boots on your feet, I don't see nothin' in common. You're a friggin' Limey."

"A talent for attracting ladies with a good deal of coin. When I learned Richelle's father was dying and she's the only child of a wealthy businessman, I jumped at the chance to wed her." He gave Nash a sardonic grin. "Though a good many other wenches over the years have been disappointed that I wasn't the marrying sort." Both men chuckled. Morgan watched Cameron relax and begin to warm to him.

"You don't see no ring through my nose," Cameron snorted.

"But I'm sure there will be a wedding band on Elaine's finger soon. Because the will stipulates the women need husbands to manage the estate."

Now Cameron's brown eyes had a feral gleam in them. "That's what I heard tell."

"One look at this house and the suit you were wearing, and I knew you'd done well enough. That's why I've a notion that we can do some private business between ourselves." Morgan winked and took another swallow of his drink.

"That depends on what you're figurin' to give up," Cameron announced, leaning forward. "Your little bitch has most of the old man's holdin's, and that don't seem right. Elaine had to put out for the old coot the past fifteen years. I hardly ever got to see her and had to baby-sit that gal of yours. She was married to my little brother for while. You know that?"

Morgan nodded and tamped down his anger. "Well, he was never too bright, so I had to check up on her. All the way out to Oregon. Figure me and Elaine earned a lot more than what's declared her share. And I got me a style to maintain. Liquor like this, cards, nice clothes, and such."

Morgan set down his glass. "I've several irons in the fire myself back in England. Can't say I'd opt to stay on here. Not without the proper incentive. Richelle's told me her father left her a factory. Metals of some kind. She wants to sell it, but I should imagine there'd be profits in metals with a war on. This may not be the time to sell."

A broad grin lit up Cameron's face. "Limey, you're smarter than you look. That was always my point. Couldn't get her idiot pa to see what he had."

Morgan rubbed his chin. "I might be willing to sign over Richelle's half of this house. Could even stake you to a few more games of poker with some cash besides, if there's serious money in that factory."

"There's money, all right. North and South both pushin' to outfit their armies. Any time you got two buyers after the same thing, you get a biddin' match. Gone beyond frettin' over bids, though. Play cards yourself?" Morgan nodded. Now Cameron's eyes positively glittered. "Don't lose no sleep if somebody loses big, do you?"

"Not so long as it's the other chap."

Cameron rose and beckoned for Morgan to follow him to the study. "Got somethin' to show you." He pulled the ledger from the desk and began openly bragging how profits had increased. "Hardwick always sold short, worried about his damned reputation. Look what happened since he took sick and I started runnin' things."

Morgan scowled. "Costs are too low for so many shipments. You wouldn't pull the wool over my eyes, would you, Nash?"

Cameron nudged Morgan's ribs. Morgan resisted the urge to grab the bastard and choke the life out of him. "Cost figures are right, but cut shipments down to less than half that. I make up duplicate bills of ladin', one for each side. Most outposts are such a mess, the brass don't know what's in munitions stores or sittin' on docks. Anybody wises up they got shorted, I give 'em shippin' credits, rush a few parts out, and shut 'em up."

"Aren't you the least concerned about what would happen should someone learn you're shipping to the Southerners? That's not exactly cricket, is it? You're outfitting the enemy." Morgan held his breath. Everything rode on this one answer.

"Don't send the goods direct. Riverboat or rail 'em to a depot or warehouse, then I get a third party to move them. You'd be surprised what you can get away with if you plan it right."

Morgan scowled. "But your scheme's bloody complicated. Might be simpler to sell and take my cash. I don't need to get involved in all these shenanigans."

Cameron's expression darkened. "Don't be like the old man. You'd don't want to sell the ironworks. It's like gold linin' your pocket, Limey."

"Gold, you say? How do I know your arrangements won't blow up in my face as soon as I step in? Don't want trouble with your authorities. And it's not as though you've a reputation for masterminding successful frauds. I've checked on you, and all I heard is that you're an occasionally lucky gambler with some connections."

"That all, huh? Did you also happen to hear about a blackleg name of Grubstake who turned up dead in Carson City last year?"

Morgan raised his shoulders in indifference. "I may have. What's he got to do with your factory scheme?"

"Nothin'. He was somebody I owed big. Poisoned him with his own liquor. Debt erased. Ain't nobody lookin' for me, either, cause somebody else got the blame. I got a middleman at the factory. Any problem's his, not yours."

Morgan purposely gave no reaction and appeared lost in thought. Cameron's tone became insistent. "Here's our deal: I want the house and five thousand cash. You keep the ironworks. I'll set up a few sales for a percentage of the take. These here are my private books. Set in the factory office don't show none of this. Elaine doesn't know, neither. I get a third off the top. You keep two-thirds. Damned fair, considerin' I laid the ground work."

"Maybe. I'd have to think about it."

"What's to think about? I'll still be helpin' you! Kind of like a silent partner." Cameron began to laugh. "What you say,
Son
? Once I get hitched to Elaine, you'll be my son-in-law. Tarnation, partners and kin! I like it!"

"There's a detail you've overlooked in all this kinship," Morgan announced in a dispassionate voice. "I agree to the percentages and the five thousand. However, I want the stepmother servicing my needs when Richelle's indisposed each month. Elaine's past child-bearing age, so she shouldn't suffer the same indisposition. I know Richelle's first pregnancy was yours, not your brother's. You've had both the women. I want the same arrangement.
That
would be equitable."

"Now wait a just a goddamned minute!"

"Why? You intend to take a cut of my money. I want a cut of your wench. I'm a lusty fellow. Don't like abstinence a week out of every month."

"You friggin' nuts? I don't care what that lyin' bitch Richelle told you—"

"Only that you'd forced yourself on her. I could do the same to Elaine, or we could come to a gentlemen's agreement now."

"Gentlemen's agreement?" Cameron gaped. "You think I'd ever
agree
to let some other man bed my woman? Christ Almighty!"

"Come on, Nash," Morgan snorted. "You let Richelle's father bed the blonde for years. But then, he was an 'old coot', as you put it. Probably not much between the sheets, while I'm quite virile. Elaine might not be content with you once she's had a real man plow her field."

As Morgan expected, the last remark brought Cameron's fist up, swinging wildly.

Morgan unleashed every ounce of the stoked fury in his soul. He seized the younger man by the shirt and flung him against the wall. "I love Richelle, you worthless son of an infected whore! You and your sniveling brother foully abused her and left her to die on the frontier. Fitting retribution that she survived, while Cletus caught pneumonia and died."

"My brother—"

"Shut your face! I've got something for you, on behalf of my wife. Something she should have given you years ago."

Morgan's knee shot forward and up, connecting with Cameron's groin. Morgan straightened the lapels of his frock coat. He left the study without glancing back at the slumped American writhing helplessly on the floor.

"He's all yours, Richardson."

Chapter 23

Richelle and Morgan sat in the law offices of Jeremiah's attorney. "This is my husband, Morgan Tremayne. He'll sign any requisite documents. I've decided to sell the ironworks." She reached into her bag and withdrew a business card. "This man's the buyer. He'll contact you in a day or two."

Morgan stared at Richelle in dumbfounded silence. She'd said nothing about selling the factory. He'd fabricated that lie when he'd met with Cameron, but never revealed the specifics of their conversation to Richelle. How could she be saying this now to the barrister?

"I'd be pleased to assist you, Mrs. Tremayne," the man replied. "I've ordered your father's bank accounts consolidated. Here are vouchers for the expenses my firm has incurred to date. With your husband's approval, I'll reimburse them from estate funds."

Richelle nodded. The lawyer thrust a pen at Morgan. "Sign here please, sir. And here. Thank you."

Small fingers came to rest on Morgan's sleeve. "I'll want your recommendations as to specific terms, Morgan. I think I've been offered a fair price, but of course you'd know best, since you've been over the records for the factory."

Morgan found his voice. "There may be a problem. The factory manager was arrested for supplying war materials to the Confederates. It may be difficult to convince a purchaser that Madam Tremayne had no part in those dealings."

"It's all right," Richelle interjected. "He knows I wasn't involved."

"Yes, I believe he's aware your wife's been out of the country and—" The attorney stopped speaking when Morgan rose and walked out of the office.

Richelle found him pacing furiously on the sidewalk outside the law building. He whirled around as the door shut behind her and began fuming before she could descend the steps.

"Why go through the pretense of needing my opinion, Richelle? You're already in negotiations with a buyer. I'm only needed to sign papers. That's the way of it, eh? Too bad I left the sealing wax in the holding company office! Why bother bringing me here with you at all, Richelle? You can even place my seal on any document you choose. You've got your own goddamned ring now!"

"Morgan, please stop railing at me."

"What am I to you, Richelle, if not the minor technicality you needed in order to gain control of your assets? That's why you proposed that night in the brothel. You knew about the remarriage clause."

She shook her head as she reached his side. "That wasn't the reason. At least not my primary reason."

"But it
was
part of it!" He headed up the street, striding so fast she had to trot to keep pace.

"Morgan, stop!" she shouted. He halted, but didn't glance back. When she drew even with him, he stared off into the distance.

"I don't want any connection to that factory and Cameron," Richelle panted. "Surely you can understand. And honestly, I was approached with an offer on the ironworks. I didn't tell you, because I intend to use part of the profit to repay you for our passage. There was no point in bringing it up. I knew you'd only argue about taking the money. But it's
my
debt to you, Morgan Tremayne, and I mean to repay it. I never wanted you to sell your granary."

He cocked his arm. "Let's get something to eat. I'm hungry." He led her to a small restaurant.

"You're still upset with me," she observed as he pulled out her chair.

"Disenchanted. I somehow convinced myself that my wife—should I ever decide to take one—would look up to me and admire my business acumen."

"I do. I have the deepest respect for you."

They paused to give the waiter their orders, then Morgan looked into her eyes. "All I thought about while away from the village in London was that I'd finally found the woman who'd make an ideal wife. A modest little female clerk named Rachel who seemed to understand me and admire me. When Boyd's wire came, I was frantic. I couldn't lose my darling Rachel. But I lost her, anyway."

Richelle shook her head slightly. "You didn't lose the woman who admired you, Morgan. You didn't lose me, just your illusions about me. And I know what a talented man you are. I could never have entrapped Cameron and arranged all of that without your help."

"But you can arrange a good many other things without me." He turned to gaze out the restaurant window. "You're harboring second thoughts about a cramped cottage and life in a small English village. I note you didn't announce plans to sell Hardwick House."

"I'm not having second thoughts." Her reply sounded more petulant than she'd intended. "But I'm not ready to make that decision. You didn't sell your family's home. You have no desire to live there yourself, but you never sold it. I've always loved the brick manor. All that time on the frontier, I longed to be back in my family home here. And it's my legacy, Perhaps the attorney could act as my rental agent, like Boyd does for you."

"
Did
," Morgan corrected, mounting irritation in his voice. "It's no longer a rental property. I thought you understood I'll be giving up my rooms at the inn. It's one of the matters I intend to discuss with Boyd when I return. However, at the rate things are progressing, I shan't be seeing him before the turn of the century."

"Having a little sarcasm with our sandwiches, are we? No one asked you to sail here, Morgan, remember? I didn't go looking for you in London or beg you to come on the voyage with me. Coming here to the States was purely your decision."