Pistols at Dawn (14 page)

Chapter 9

Try as she might, Eliza was find it hard to focus on the scrawled columns. It seemed that the ink had taken on a mind of its own, refusing to stand at attention in an orderly row of numerals. Instead, the squiggles of black kept curling into the outline of an aquiline nose, a set of chiseled lips, a fringe of long sable lashes that no gentleman had a right to possess...

With an exasperated oath, she snapped the ledger shut. Were her eyes equaled at fault when it came to looking at other things?

She gave a slight shake of her head. Surely not. The Earl of Killingworth's transgressions were as well documented as the numbers on the lined pages.

And yet...

Eliza slowly thumbed back to the beginning of the section on wool production and spent the next half hour going over each entry very carefully. Then once again the covers fell closed in her lap. If her eyes—and her judgment—were so sharp, why was it that nothing was adding up right?

Lips pursed in thought, she reached for a sheet of paper and a pen.

A low cough interrupted her work. "Miss Kirtland, you needn't feel obliged to spend the whole day trying to make sense of those blasted accounts."

She looked up. "That's the trouble, sir. It
doesn't
make sense. Look here—" The tip of her pen pointed to the top of her notes. "To begin with, the price your steward is claiming to have received for sheared wool is but half of the going rate. Now, look down this column."

Marcus peered over her shoulder. After a moment or two, he muttered an oath. "So the sheep are not the only dim-witted creatures who are being fleeced."

"Correct. And I'm afraid that is not all."

He pulled over a chair and sat down. "It gets worse?"

"Much." Eliza turned to the section on rye and oats. "The cheating becomes even more blatant here. And I've yet to analyze the expenses recorded for upkeep of the tenant cottages." She made a face. "
That
should prove a interesting list."

Marcus rubbed at his jaw. "It would seem your low opinion of me is entirely justified."

She was not so sure...

"The devil take it. Such egregious neglect of my responsibilities is criminal."

"You should be taken to task for ignoring such a prime estate as Killingworth Manor," agreed Eliza. "But it is your steward who is guilty of the true crime. I would guess from these numbers that he has been altering the accounts for some time."

The earl grimaced and swore under his breath. "I shall file charges with the magistrate this afternoon—" Catching her frown, he paused in mid-sentence. "You do not advise such a course?"

"It would be a long and drawn-out proceeding," replied Eliza. "And though the numbers do not lie, they can be made to tell more than one story if one is clever enough. I fear that your man is enough of a snake to be able to wiggle out of the accusations. No doubt he has a plausible explanation for each transaction." She forbore to add that a trial might prove to be highly embarrassing as well as inconclusive, but the earl seemed to read her mind.

"Making me look even more the fool." A lock of dark hair had fallen across his forehead, softening the angular planes of his countenance. For an instant, all Eliza could think of was that he looked far from foolish.

"Well then," he continued, jarring her from such musings. "What would you suggest?"

"Turn your present steward out this instant," she replied without hesitation. "And replace him with an experienced overseer. Someone who is both highly skilled and highly trustworthy."

"The first part is easy enough, but as to the second..." His mouth thinned. "I would think such men would be scarce as hen's teeth."

"Even scarcer."

"That's awfully encouraging," he groused. A harried sigh echoed the rustle of the pages. "So, any idea where I might look?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." Eliza folded her hands atop the ledger. "The candidate I have in mind is scrupulously honest and highly knowledgeable in all the latest advances in agriculture. Furthermore, when given free rein to run things, this person has quickly turned a profit from even the most incompetently managed estate—and usually lowered expenditures in the process." She paused, not looking up. "You will, of course, wish additional references. I can provide you with a list of the local gentry who will corroborate my words."

"If what you say is half true, these services will no doubt cost me a pretty penny," murmured the earl.

She shook her head. "No more than the going rate."

"Ah. A fellow who is noble in both spirit and deed." His dark brows arched in faint amusement. "And just who is this paragon of perfection?"

Eliza allowed a tiny smile. "Me."

* * *

"You?" It took a moment for Marcus to realize that his jaw was nearly buried in the folds of his cravat.

"Yes. Me," repeated Eliza calmly.

"The devil take it," he exclaimed. "I would look worse than a fool if I hired a female to run Killingworth Manor—I would look like a Bedlamite!"

"And why is that?"

"Because... because... bloody hell, I think you know quite well the reasons why."

"Yes, of course I have heard them.
Ad nauseum
, I might add," she answered, making no attempt to disguise the bitterness in her voice. "All the specious, self-serving arguments that men have used since the time of Adam!" The ledger dropped onto the sidetable with a pronounced thump. "It is I who belong in Bedlam for thinking that you might be open to reason."

So much for strategy
. Somehow, she had him on the defensive again.

"Now, that is not quite fair, Miss Kirtland—"

A snort of derision cut him off. "What isn't fair, sir, is that I am not given a chance to prove my ability, no matter that you are in dire need of help and I have a stack of recommendations attesting to the fact that I am very good at what I do."

"I don't doubt that you are a highly capable young lady—" This time, the abrupt halt in mid-sentence was of his own doing. Good Lord, was he really mouthing such pompous platitudes? No wonder she was looking as if she would like to scratch his eyes out!

Tiger, tiger, burning bright...
Contrary to her barb of last night, he was familiar with his books, especially poetry. This was, however, hardly the time to be musing on William Blake, he reminded himself.

Turning his attention back to their skirmishing, Marcus attempted to clear the smoke with a touch of humor. "But be that as it may, I can't imagine why anyone—save for a Bedlamite—would agree to take on the task of dealing with faulty ledgers, fallow fields, sick sheep and moldering grain, no matter what the recompense. I, on the other hand, have little choice but to face up to the muddle."

"It may seem daft to you, nevertheless, it is just the sort of challenge that I would like to try." In the flickering candlelight, he caught a gleam of wetness in her eyes. That they were most likely tears of rage, rather than any show of girlish vapors, caused a twitch of grudging admiration to tug at his lips.

"I may appear odd to you, but I suppose we all have strange notions of what is fun," continued Eliza. "Take, for example, the pursuits you find amusing. I cannot begin to fathom why any sane person would waste his life in such... frivolous pursuits."

He felt the hint of his smile thin to a grim line. "I believe we were discussing
your
resume, Miss Kirtland, not mine."

"No we weren't," she countered, her gaze once again sparking with indignation. "Discussing it, that is. A discussion implies that the outcome has not already been decided."

Damnation.
He tried to scowl, but the sight of her crossed arms and defiant tilt of her chin brought forth a bark of laughter instead. "Very well. Let us abandon hostilities for the moment and assume, for the sake of argument, that I am willing to hear you out, as I would any legitimate applicant for the position. Go ahead and tell me why I should hire you in particular."

She proceeded to do just that. In excruciating detail.

Marcus finally held up his hands in mock surrender. "Enough, Miss Kirtland. I am willing to concede that you are eminently qualified for the job."

"You are?" It was clear his admission had caught her by surprise.

"Yes." Rising from the chair, he moved to the hearth. "But..."

"There is always a 'but,'" she muttered.

A lengthy silence ensued as he took up the poker and carefully rearranged the coals. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her begin to seethe with impatience at his delay. Still, he made himself reconsider what he was about to say one last time before charging ahead. Perhaps he was insane to entertain the idea. But something about her gritty determination urged him to throw caution to the wind.

After all, what did he have to lose?

"I have a proposition for you—a business proposition," he quickly amended. "It is non-negotiable. You will have to take it or leave it."

Eliza's eyes narrowed. "Go on."

"I will hire you for a position at Killingworth Manor, at whatever salary you deem fair..."

A brilliant smile lit her face.

He cleared his throat, knowing his next words would quickly change the cant of that lovely mouth.

"
But..
."

Sure enough, she was back to looking daggers at him. "But what?"

"But it is not the position you had in mind."

Her brow furrowed.

"You will be responsible for deciding what expenses are necessary, what crops are to be planted, what livestock is to be raised—in short, you will be given full authority to run the estate as you see fit."

"I—I don't understand, sir. That sounds like a steward to me."

"So it does." The earl leaned back against the mantel, taking shameless pleasure in watching the parade of emotions troop across her features. "But I am not hiring you as my steward. I am hiring you as my private advisor, an arrangement that is to remain strictly confidential, else the deal is off." Toying with his signet ring, he added, "I must also warn you that the job will only be a temporary one. Or at least, that is the plan."

There was another brief pause as he watched her eyes narrow to slits.

"You see, Miss Kirtland, you are going to teach me how to run Killingworth Manor."

Her response was surprising mild, considering the fireworks he expected.

"If I am to do the job, why can't I take credit for my work and be recognized as your steward?"

"Come now, you are not so naive as that. Given my reputation, how long do you think it would take for all manner of sordid rumors and innuendos to blacken your name once the arrangement became known?"

When she didn't reply right away, he answered for her. "About ten seconds, give or take eight."

"I don't give a fig for what the gossips say."

"Well you damn well should!" he replied, his voice rising. "A reputation should not be handled so carelessly, for once it slips through your fingers, it is gone forever."

Aware that she was regarding him with a rather curious stare, he cleared his throat and hurried on. "So use your head and don't be a bloody fool about such things. And don't forget that there is your sister and mother to consider, as well as yourself."

Eliza drew in a sharp breath, but rather than speak right away she rose and began to pace before the windows.

"Let me get this straight, then," she said after several turns. "I will be in charge of devising a plan to make the estate profitable?"

He nodded.

"And you agree to abide by my judgment when it comes to making all the important decisions?"

"You have my word on it. Until such time in the future when we both agree that I am capable of taking charge."

Eliza looked out at the overgrown gardens and distant pasturelands. "How do I know I can count on you to keep your promise?" she asked warily.

"If we are to work together, I suppose we are both going to have to trust each other." He stared down at his polished Hessians, surprised by how much he hoped that she would. "So, Miss Kirtland, what do you say?"