I have what I need, Father. Her eyes never left Leos.
The baron shifted from foot to foot. Leo waited. When someone wanted something, all one had to do was wait.
Bailey, I wondered, that is, I was thinking, if you had a spare moment. We might have a chat. Wansfords gaze slid to his daughter. Privately.
Anything you say to me can be said in front of Anne.
Her father reddened. I rather think the subject indelicate for ladies.
Before Leo could insist on Wansfords candor, Anne spoke. Im certain I can find something that needs mending or perhaps a fatuous romantic novel to read. She glided to the door, then curtsied as she took her leave.
Leos humor darkened. He had nearly run through the streets of London to get home to her, but the pleasure of her company had to be delayed because of her damned father.
The baron turned to him and opened his mouth to speak.
In my study, Leo clipped. At least he kept good brandy there.
Wansford followed him down the corridor to the study. There, Leo poured them both drinks and settled behind his desk. He sipped at his brandy. The baron bolted down his own liquor and took a seat.
Leo felt a shifting within, his other self coming to the fore. It roused, its appetite fathomless, even here in his own home. Without Anne to tame that creature, he became ravenous, merciless.
After fidgeting with his knuckles, Wansford finally spoke. You do very well for yourself, dont you, Bailey?
We had this discussion already. When I was negotiating for the hand of your daughter. Though negotiate was not quite the word for it, since she brought no wealth to the marriage. No material wealth. Little had he known that the true value of Anne came not from her breeding and connections, but from the woman herself.
The more Leo came to know her, the less he respected her father. What kind of man simply sold his daughter to whatever deep pocket would have her? No woman deserved that fate, especially not Anne.
Wansford looked abashed. We never spoke of specifics.
Ive no intention of giving you specifics. My coffers are my concern. No one elses.
They say that you have a rare gift.
Leo frowned. Surely
Wansford wasnt talking of Leos gift of prophecy. No one but the other Hellraisers knew of it.
A gift with ... investing. The baron spoke the word as if it held a faintly rancid taste, and for men like him, it did. Wealth came from the land. Only commoners earned their fortunes through trade.
Leo shrugged. I know my way around Exchange Alley.
The Demon of the Exchange.
The demon who is married to your daughter. Leo leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his desk. There are only a finite number of hours in the day, and I make good use of them. So speak, Wansford. Tell me what you want.
The baron eyed his glass, as though wishing it held more. Leo made no move to refill it.
I would like to make an ... investment.
In trade? Leo raised a brow.
Wansford nodded, uncomfortable. The estate is failing. My sons stand to inherit nothing but arrears upon my death. For all that Im not a very clever fellow, I know I ought to do better by them.
Not a word about Anne. But then, she was now Leos problem.
Now you seek to supplement your finances with a bit of plebian commerce.
Another nod from Wansford.
You came to me, because ... Leo knew the answer, but he enjoyed hearing it from the barons mouth.
No one knows the Exchange like you do, answered Wansford. No one has profited as you have.
Im to be your intermediary. Leo contemplated this. He never acted on anyones behalf. All his investments had been for himself alone. He was no ones broker.
By using a go-between, Wansford wouldnt have to sully his hands through the Exchange.
I already have the scheme picked out. An iron mine in Gloucestershire. Someone told me that it cannot fail.
Everything fails, said Leo.
Nothing in which you invest ever does.
True enough. But Leo had an advantage no one else possessed. Tell me why I should help you.
Wansford had not been expecting this. He sat with a look of dumbstruck bafflement, having fully anticipated Leos eagerness to be of assistance. The man probably thought Leo felt indebted to him. In a way, Leo was, for he had been given Anne. Yet having gained his prize, he looked with disgust upon the man who had surrendered her so easily.
It is the Christian
Leo held up a hand. No homilies. They fall on deaf ears.
The baron stared down at his feet. Leo had seen the paste buckles adorning his shoes, and knew Wansford looked at them now, chipped and dull.
You have no reason to, he said at last. Only consider. He looked up, and Leo saw age and weariness creasing the corners of his eyes, a life of genteel poverty slowly, slowly grinding him down. Though I did little to help Anne, I am her father. She came from me. I cannot claim any of her virtues as my creation, yet there is a part of me that exists in her, however small. That must have some value.
For a long time, Leo studied the baron. Wansford shifted and looked away, uncomfortable.