Justin frowned. He had a well-deserved reputation for ruthlessness in his business dealings. No doubt half of London would expect him to evict the old crone as soon as he arrived in the capital, but he had no desire for a fight in this case.
“Agreed. I have my own house on Curzon Street. I’ll stay there until matters are resolved.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
Justin winced at the honorific title.
Turnbull placed the leather satchel on the edge of thedesk. “I’ll leave these documents for your perusal. And should you need any further assistance, I am entirely at your disposal.”
Justin waved him away. “Thank you. I’ll be in London by the start of next week. Simms will see you out.”
When the clerk finally left, Justin sat back in his chair and gave an audible growl.
What in God’s name had he done to deservethis?
His acquaintances—friends and enemies alike—said he had the devil’s own luck, but it had been his own tenacity that had turned Thornton & Co. from the modest, single-ship enterprise he’d inherited from his father into the astonishing success it was today. His fleet conveyed everything from luxury goods from the Continent, to timber and furs from Canada and North America.
Being named heir to a dukedom was a surprise, certainly, but Justin had no doubt of his own abilities. The duchy would be lucky to have him. He would be infinitely better at running it than any of the previous incumbents, had they stayed alive long enough to accept the position. Those idiots would have gambled the place away, or fleeced the tenants to line their own pockets.
Justin rubbed his cheek, testing the dark stubble that shadowed his jaw. He hadn’t bothered to shave that morning. He’d expected no visitors, had no woman to impress. Anne-Marie, his most recent paramour, had finally tired of what she called his “cruel inattention”—namely, his desire to get back to work instead of lounging around in bed after pleasuring her—and had flounced back to her French homeland two weeks ago.
She’d undoubtedly used him for a free voyage back from Canada—Montreal being less lucrative in terms of potential suitors than she’d hoped—but he’d been perfectly amenable to sharing his cabin for the tediousAtlantic crossing. He’d been neither shocked nor saddened to see her go. Her parting words, however, rang in his ears, and to his surprise, they still stung.
“You are a beast.” Anne-Marie’s magnificent eyes had flashed with indignation and her equally magnificent bosom had quivered beneath her lace fichu. “And you know what? I pity you!”
Justin had unwisely allowed his snort of amusement to escape. “Pityme? Why? I’m one of the wealthiest men in England. I can buy whatever my heart desires.”
“You’aveno heart. Only desires.”
His raised brows had incensed her even more. Anne-Marie plopped her bonnet on her head and tied the ribbons with furious, shaking fingers. Her accent always became more pronounced when she was emotional.
“You ’ave passion, but nolove.” Her eyes filled with a scornful, withering expression that caught Justin like a punch to the chest. She stabbed her gloved finger at him. “You,Justin Thornton, are a man who knows the cost of everything, and the value of nothing. Nothingimportant, at least.”
With that excellent parting shot, she’d slammed out of the house and out of his life.
It was just as well that she’d left, Justin reminded himself. He made it a rule to limit his liaisons to a maximum of three months, which not only avoided boredom, but also prevented either side from developing deeper feelings that might complicate an otherwise agreeable relationship.
His parents had married for love, and the dreadful toll that grief had wreaked on his father following his mother’s death was something he planned to avoid at all costs.
He’d blamed his recent stretch of celibacy for why he was so on edge, but if he was honest, he’d been plaguedby a smoldering sense of dissatisfaction for long before Anne-Marie had left. Until her parting diatribe, however, he’d never considered that the thing he might be missing could be… something that couldn’t be bought.
Something like love.
He instantly dismissed the notion as absurd. He was a grown man of thirty, not a child in leading strings. He had no shortage of friends, colleagues, acquaintances whose company he enjoyed. When he had a physical desire, he sated his passions with whichever woman happened to catch his interest, as long as they were amenable. His affairs were mutually satisfying arrangements, in which love played no part.
Abstinence was clearly addling his brain. The brief, clinical pleasure he received from his own hand was no substitute for being with a woman. But women were, on the whole, a pain in the arse. Even semiprofessionals like Anne-Marie. They alwaysclaimedto be happy with a casual arrangement, but they always secretly wanted more.
More commitment.
More emotion.
More than he was willing to give.
Justin exhaled loudly.God, what a morning.
The weight of the unexpected dukedom felt like a lead cloak around his shoulders and he rolled them to relieve the tension.
He’d be inundated with women in London, even more so than usual, once word of his inheritance got out. Matchmaking mammas would be thrusting their quivering, doe-eyed daughters at him as prospective brides, while society wives and widows would be privately offering him carte blanche.
