As desperately as Joseph wanted to throw all of his efforts into helping Ellen claim the place in London society that she deserved, it would have been shamefully remiss of him to ignore the threat that Montrose continued to pose. Which was why he found himself striding toward the site of a proposed new series of terraced houses in Fitzrovia on the morning Ellen had been invited to take tea with his mother and Aunt Josephine instead of loitering around Rathborne House waiting for her.
Ellen was important to him. He knew that now, even if he’d been avoiding it like he avoided running headlong into working men and telegraph boys running along the streets near the building site on whatever errands occupied them. Joseph’s thoughts and feelings toward Ellen had changed after learning more about the sort of life she’d lived in Wyoming and the social strains she felt now. He’d been moved by her bravely told tale of exclusion and her sincerest longing to be a part of London society.
Or perhaps, if he were being honest with himself, he had changed his mind when he had held her in his arms and kissed her until they were both sighing. He could admit to feeling something when he let go of the moral restraints his father had bound him in. He could admit that there was nothing morally wrong with kissing a woman either. Though part of him felt sheepish for his old ways of thinking and how swiftly he’d changed his mind once his tongue was tasting Ellen’s.
“Watch yourself, boy,” the man whom Joseph had unintentionally bumped shoulders with snapped, shaking Joseph out of his thoughts.
“Sorry,” Joseph mumbled, then stared ahead at the building site he was heading toward.
Already, he could see the cluster of well-dressed men that likely contained Westminster at its center, standing off to one side of the project. Joseph had done a bit of research in the days since the race, when he’d confirmed that Montrose had set his sights on Westminster. It hadn’t been difficult to discover what building enterprises Westminster was currently involved in. From there, he was able to make a few guesses as to which projects Montrose wouldn’t be able to interfere with and which were vulnerable to attack.
The particular building effort in Fitzrovia that Joseph had learned Westminster would be touring that morning was still in the process of changing hands. It was to be a series of middle-class houses, something that would prove extraordinarily profitable, but the original developer had run into financial trouble. Preparation for construction had continued, but the developer was looking to sell the whole thing to the highest bidder. As Joseph had learned, Westminster had already invested in the original development, along with others, and would stand to lose his investment if the whole thing caved, or if a less than scrupulous investor purchased the project. But if he took a risk and purchased the whole thing outright, he would either make a fortune or lose even more if the value of the thing went down.
It was exactly the sort of situation Montrose would take advantage of. Joseph hadn’t been able to discover where Montrose came into the picture, but he believed that Montrose had also invested in the original development. Which meant that he stood to gain the money he needed for further attacks on the aristocracy if Westminster purchased the project. It also meant he might have the power to decrease the value of the project after the fact by selling his shares, thus hurting Westminster in the long run.
The whole thing was far more confusing than Joseph wanted it to be, but he was confident that if he could just explain things to Westminster, between the two of them, they could come up with a solution.
It was with that spirit in mind that he strode boldly up to the edge of the building site, where the cluster of men in suits stood. Sure enough, Joseph saw Westminster right in the middle, nodding with a frown as he listened to a man who Joseph guessed was the project foreman.
“And the price of bricks is starting to go up,” the foreman was in the process of explaining. He shrugged, then said, “You could go with cheaper materials, if you wanted to cut costs, but there are dangers in doing that, as I am sure you know, Your Grace.”
“I do know,” Westminster said. “The building boom of the last decade has greatly increased the quality of living for many, but I cannot tell you how many shady contractors have attempted to sell me second-rate goods for the projects I have undertaken. The results of building with poor materials range from collapse to illness caused by poisons mingled with the materials.”
Joseph’s brow inched up at the explanation. He wondered if that were it, wondered if Montrose would find a way to make certain Westminster purchased the project, then would turn around and ensure the construction was shoddy so that Westminster’s reputation was damaged. It was a great deal of trouble to go to, but Montrose was trouble personified.
“Your Grace, might I speak to you?” Joseph asked after the foreman finished explaining the cost of building materials and the cluster of men broke up a bit.
Westminster looked like he had more to discuss with some of the men around him, but he glanced Joseph’s way. “Do I know you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes a bit.
“Joseph Rathborne-Paxton,” Joseph introduced himself, stepping around a burly man with his cap pulled low.
Or, at least, he tried to step around the man. When he did, the man shifted to continue to block his path. Joseph sent him a peevish look, then swallowed hard when he saw the man’s implacable expression. Joseph glanced to Westminster and saw no surprise at all in the duke’s eyes over the way he’d been blocked. The rough man must have been some sort of bodyguard.
“My father is the Marquess of Vegas,” Joseph said, hating that he needed to reference his father.
“Yes, I know,” Westminster said. His stiff stance and clipped words were not encouraging.
“Your Grace, I must speak with you about some concerns I have over this project,” Joseph went on, breaking out in a sweat. “Are you familiar with the name Montrose?”
The duke clasped his hands together in front of him, as though impatiently entertaining the ramblings of a child, and said, “I have heard the name, but I am not acquainted with the man, nor do I think I ever will be.”
With a nod, Westminster started to move. He even turned to the foreman as if to ask another question.
“Your Grace, I believe Montrose has targeted you, and that he will somehow interfere with this building endeavor,” Joseph called out. It wasn’t exactly dignified, but he had to get through to Westminster somehow.
Westminster turned, visibly letting out a breath in a show of annoyance. “Young man,” he said, frowning, “I understand that your family has been injured by Montrose, but I can assure you, my behavior has been above reproach, and as I understand it, Montrose only goes after those men who have dug their own grave.”
Joseph’s heart sank into the morass of shame that the truth about his father had left him with. But more than that, the set-down Westminster was giving him touched an even deeper kind of embarrassment within him.
Westminster seemed to see the effect his words had. His expression softened. “You are not responsible for your father’s sins, Mr. Rathborne-Paxton. Perhaps you are even trying to make up for them. But you are very young and do not understand the ways of the world yet. Leave these sorts of endeavors to men of more experience. Good day.”
At least the duke had the grace to touch the brim of his hat to Joseph before walking away and making him feel as though he were still wearing short pants and sucking on a dummy.
Joseph stood where he was for a moment, blinking at Westminster’s retreating back. He noted the smug grins and smirks of the men who walked away with him, dismissing him because he was young and inexperienced. He hated that word. It was the same insult his brothers threw at him every time they teased him about being a virgin at his age. He was inexperienced. Well, how the hell was a man supposed to gain experience when everyone treated him as though he should still be in the nursery?
“Ouch. That had to hurt.”
Joseph whipped around to face whatever new humiliation waited for him. He found a well-dressed man in a coat with an ermine collar striding toward him, his hands in his pockets. The man had a jolly face and wore a smile. That smile and his somewhat unruly, curly black hair and dancing blue eyes were a complete contrast to the richness of the way he was dressed.