The Twisting (30 page)

chapter THIRTY-THREE

Annmar jumped at
the knock on the door, despite having expected it since the sun set a quarter hour ago. Really, she had thought Mr. Shearing would arrive promptly. It probably never occurred to him this would be his only night. She scanned the dining table the maid had set before the fire and reassured herself her Basin food was ready. She dropped a last look at her chest, once again exposed in the low-cut bodice, and then she turned to the door to greet Mr. Shearing.

He smiled and properly extended his hand. “Good evening. Lovely to see you as always, Miss Masterson.” His smile became broader. “I mean, Ann.”

“Thank you, George.” She gave him a winning smile in return and pulled her hand from his grasp. “We still have business to conduct.”

“Of course.” He extracted the fold of fifty-pound notes from his waistcoat and offered them to her.

She held back her sigh of relief and counted them.

He nodded his approval. “You are already a fine businesswoman. Accurate?”

“To the paper. Thank you.” She stepped to the valise she’d left beside the table and hid the money within her clothes. As she straightened, a
click
sounded.

He’d turned the lock on the door. Her stomach did the same as he sauntered to her side.

You can do this, Annmar.
“I hope my naïveté in these matters doesn’t put you off.”

He smiled, the calm and gentle poise of his features a far cry from the man who had tried to drag her away only days ago. “You’ve turned to me to correct the matter.” His appraising gaze rested on her bosom. “I’ll make sure you aren’t disappointed.”

No, she would see to it he was the one who was disappointed.

He closed the distance between them and, without reaching for her, bent his head to hers. Annmar steeled herself for another rude onslaught, but it didn’t come. Instead, his mouth brushed hers, almost as if this were a test to see if she would turn away.

She stayed still, then when he pressed his lips to hers once more, she moved hers enough, but not too much. He tasted of cigar, disgusting. The thought that this was entirely unlike kissing Daeryn made his touch easier to dismiss. She focused on opening her Knack, testing it, like she and Mary Clare had planned. If she could start a tickle at his ear, a little proof the fibers were present, then she wouldn’t have to worry about convincing him to eat.

The blue haze clarified into the usual threads and moved under her direction. A few threads appeared in his body—precious few. The two sets combined…for a moment. Then, like they had with his men, the threads disappeared into him.

He didn’t raise a hand to scratch his ear. Nor did he raise his head. The pressure of his mouth increased. Any longer and she wouldn’t be able to keep her lips closed. When his hand touched her shoulder, Annmar pulled away, her breath catching.

Mr. Shearing smiled down at her, not twitching a single muscle. It hadn’t worked.

“Uh…” Annmar lowered her gaze and cleared her throat.

He stroked her arm, the barest of touches, like he’d done many times on the factory floor. “It’s all right, my dear. Take your time. You’ll be fine with me.” He stepped away. “What’s this? You changed your mind about dinner and had a light fare sent up?”

Dash it all. She’d looked and sounded just like the inexperienced girl she was.

And he loved it.

Oh, Lord, she’d have to work all the harder to fend him off.

She circled the table, waving for him to join her. “I thought you might like to taste the jam I’m working on.” Despite Mary Clare’s insistence, she couldn’t lie and say she’d
made
it.

“Oh?” He stepped forward and angled out her chair before she could reach it.

My, how used to Basin ways she’d become, not waiting for the gentleman to seat her. Annmar gathered her skirt and sat, then froze as Mr. Shearing placed his hands on her shoulders.

What should she do? The answer came unbidden. She smiled up at him. “I’m so looking forward to hearing about the plans you mentioned this afternoon.” It was something she would have said to him in passing on his factory floor, to gain favor for Rennet’s Renditions.

He beamed at her and took his seat.

Annmar sighed to herself. Of course he’d be willing to talk about his ideas. She put out her hand for his plate, nodding as Mr. Shearing described the shop and its prime location. She liberally spooned Patrice’s preserves on a piece of bread for him and passed it back.

He took the dish with one hand and caught her hand in the other. He squeezed it. “Have I said you look stunning?”

“Uh, no, you hadn’t.” She pulled her hand free. “Thank you.”

“You’ll set a new standard for Bond Lane businesses. The other shopkeepers will scramble to keep up with your beauty.”

Did he want a business partner, a mistress or an ornament? Why did she care when simply being here had compromised her dignity? Stifling a frown, Annmar prepared a slice of bread for herself and began eating, motioning for him to do the same.

He took a bite, but resumed telling her of the machines he had in production, the months of work he could happily provide.
Happily
, he stressed. “Winning the New Works Competition has brought more business than ever to Shearing Enterprises.”

Heavens, she’d forgotten all about the Derbyshire competition. He’d won, naturally.

“And, of course, as you’ve learned, I have a second operation up and running in Blighted Basin. A local manager does what he can, but certain matters flow best under my special attention.” He smiled. She lifted her brows in question, not needing to feign interest in his
special attention
. His smile broadened. “Your talents would help both businesses immensely.”

“Pfft.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I only draw what you’ve created. You’re so successful.”

He nodded. “My machinery is known throughout Derbyshire, so these days it doesn’t take much effort to persuade purchasers, or even mechanics, to my side. But in Blighted Basin”—his cheerfulness slipped for a second—“it’s not simply vying for market share. Those stubborn people aren’t as open to trying new things, so I must work all the harder, sometimes repeatedly, to win them over with my enticements.”

She’d been right. His Knack was persuasion, but she needed more. “How would my drawings help you?”

“By presenting the right image. I can describe the possibilities for their farms, but most haven’t been Outside to actually see them, or my successes. If they had an image to fix on, an image I could also describe, then my efforts would have a point to anchor to.”

“So you’d like me to draw lush farmlands and crops?”

He smiled again. “Exactly.”

“Why not your machinery?”

“For those people, the machines aren’t important. Land is important. Food is important. Their satisfaction comes from both. I don’t understand why, but my Knack works the best when it’s the two together.”

Because the fungus threads connected the three—land, plants and people.
He didn’t know, and she didn’t dare tell him. But she didn’t quite understand what he did. “My drawings would be what then, part of a big campaign to reach all of Blighted Basin?”

He snorted. “Unfortunately, that’s useless. Despite the fact that they all live within the same valley, my Knack only works with the human Knack-bearers. And even then, person-to-person works best. You would travel with me, drawing each landscape for the individual farmer. I picture it this way: We meet with the farmer, walk his fields. I stop to describe how Shining Farm Implements could ease his burden, increase his harvest. You would draw that particular view, the specific crops and possibly the machine working it. You would imbue the drawing with your talent to make it seem alive, specifically the end product, the food or the land. Then I do my bit.”

“Your bit?” she asked with a smile. “Don’t be modest now.”

A smug smile settled on his lips. He reached a hand across the table.

Oh, no. If she didn’t put her hand out, he’d think she didn’t trust him. And to learn the rest, she had to see what he did. Heart pounding in her ears, Annmar opened her Knack and nearly gaped. A single thread of light flickered at each of his fingertips.

Where were those fibers a few minutes ago?
With a hard swallow, she slid her fingers over his palm, watching in fascination.

“All it takes is a touch,” he said. “A look in the eyes and a straightforward message.
This planter will save you time. The reaper will harvest your wheat before any goes bad
.” He shrugged. “Nothing special.”

None of his threads had moved. She didn’t feel anything. She glanced up at his face—

“Your role would be simple,” he said as their gazes met. “And for it, I would make you a partner in my Basin business.”

—and in that second, she felt the crawling sensation on her skin. Her gaze fell back to her hand. Threads swarmed over it, surrounding the places where his fingertips lay against her. “I-I don’t know what to say.”
Think, Annmar.
Thinking was hard, but she knew her mind, she was sure of it. She wanted no part of this. She looked at their hands again. Wait, the threads were coming from her—her threads were holding off his.

She chanced staring a moment longer. Though her blue threads surrounded each of his fingertips, only three had threads.

Either he wasn’t trying or…
he doesn’t have many threads.

But those he did have seemed powerful, if it took so many of hers to ward them off. She better play along to remain clear of his influence. She squeezed his hand and smiled. “Allow me to consider your offer.” She extracted her hand, and as she did, the threads slipped back into his fingertips. Hers raced a moment more, then disappeared into her skin. Her head cleared. She had her confirmation. It might take some sorting out, but now she could turn the conversation. “Why did you leave if you have this talent?”

“For broader opportunity, as should any ambitious resident. That land is the most fertile of any in England, but the few farmers who know what they are doing will never make progress while overrun by ’cambire
wildlife
.”

Mr. Shearing’s comment struck her like a slap. He made the ’cambires sound like…animals. Even if Mary Clare had outlined only a few of the discordant attitudes among different Basin species, Annmar could tell just from Mr. Shearing’s tone where he stood. Any slip of her opinion risked angering him. She lifted her bread, indicating he should eat.

He lifted his as well and touched it to hers as if making a toast. With his gaze locked on hers, he bit into it.

Even if she wished to, she couldn’t stop staring at him and the fibers wiggling through Patrice’s jam. He ate the slice, and she stifled a breath of relief and dropped her gaze to the open jars. She prepared him another piece of bread with the pea nut spread, though it had fewer of the blue threads—

“If we are in agreement, I’ll have my solicitor—”

Her head popped up. “Mr.—George?”

“Yes?”

She had to ward off both disagreeing
and
agreeing. “I must give this…new information more than a few minutes’ thought. I have—” What?
Think, Annmar, think.
“Other needs.”

He grinned, not quite but almost, a leer. “I’m
very
aware of that.”

Heat flooded her chest and cheeks. She started to look away, then stopped herself. She’d fail in this if she didn’t take control. “I mean for the shop,” she said firmly. “Particular materials and equipment I’m used to. The high quality Shearing Enterprises has come to expect for the business’ superior advertising. I would like to make a list. You should review it, and check the latest prices, before we make an agreement.”

“I think we can agree the shop will be completely stocked before you take ownership.”

She affected a sniff. “No, that’s not good business. Our expectations should be up-front. Fair to both parties.”

To her relief, he nodded. “As I said, you are a fine businesswoman. Prepare your list. In the meantime, look over the property.” He handed her a folded paper.

She took it automatically and passed him the second piece of bread. “Thank you, George. Please try this new legume and see what you think. It’s a product your model farms might benefit from growing.”

His eyes narrowed, and he peered at the pea nut spread. “What is this?”

Why hadn’t she thought of pointing out the new crop sooner? Now she had Mr. Shearing’s attention on something that rivaled sex in importance. “This legume hasn’t made it to Derbyshire?” She dropped the paper in her valise, not wanting anything to interrupt.

He ate a bite, his brow furrowed in concentration. He finished the slice and said, “Tell me about it.”

Annmar startled out of her near-trance of watching the blue fibers disappear between his lips. She snatched up the knife and dipped it into the jar while she talked about the legume. On top of the pea nut spread, she layered Patrice’s jam, adding twice the number of threads. While he ate that piece, she prepared the next on an apple slice, since the apples contained more fibers.