Raghav’s mouth twisted in an acidic smile. “Right, the ones who won’t deal with nonwhites for religious reasons.” The same religion that permitted them to buy whisky by the cask prevented them from considering people with brown skin as human beings.
Evan sighed, recalling the shameless way in which they’d asked Raghav be absent of all negotiations. “I told them they could keep their business and that I refused to run interference between them and you on account of their prejudice.”
Raghav shook his head adamantly.
“I told you making money off them is satisfaction enough.”
Evan knew it was true, but blast it all, he shouldn’t have to put up with this bloody nastiness. “I appreciate that, and typically I would agree. However, this isn’t good business, Raghav. I don’t run day-to-day operations,you do, and if they can’t work with the general manager of the distillery, they can’t have the Braeburn.”
“All right.” Raghav shook his head helplessly, but his friend’s grudging smile told Evan he’d made the right choice.
“Is that for me?” he asked when he noticed the envelopes Raghav had left on the table. One in particular sent his pulse racing.
“Yes.” Raghav handed him the bundle and pointed at the dark blue envelope. “From your mysterious ally.” Evan knew he wasn’t imagining the tightness in his friend’s tone. He felt Raghav’s penetrating stare on him as he turned around to open the correspondence. He didn’t like lying to the people he cared about, but in this instance it could not be helped.
As always, the note was short and to the point.
There’s been a positive development. Same place. Eight o’clock this evening.
ACSR
Evan placed the paper back in the envelope and slipped it into his pocket as he considered the cryptic message. It could be anything, really. It could even be the man trying to mislead Evan. He didn’t dare get his hopes up. They’d thought they’d been close a few times before only to hit dead ends.
“Is it good news?” Raghav’s voice jolted Evan, and he schooled his face before turning around. He knew his friend worried about his secret dealings with this enigmatic new associate.
“Maybe,” Evan said vaguely. “I’ll know more tonight.” If Raghav only knew just how much hung in the balance. The future of the Braeburn and finally exacting revenge on his father all depended on this. Tonight it might finally be within reach.
“Do you think this person will really get you what you need to get the Braeburn out of your father’s control?” Raghav had asked this question before, confused as to why a complete stranger would offer to help Evan finally get the documents he needed to extract the deed for the distillery from the duke.
“I have something that is of use to him,” Evan told Raghav, saying more than he should. His friend didn’t look very convinced by that but let it go. There was a reason why Evan had made Raghav his general manager. The man was nothing if not pragmatic. He knew, as Evan did, that continuing to grow and expand a business that they didn’t rightfully own was a particularly perilous game. Every year the Braeburn’s success and profits grew, his father was less likely to see reason. It didn’t much matter how he gained full possession of his business, as long as he finally got it out of his father’s clutches, before it was too late.
Since he’d taken the helm of the distillery that had belonged to his maternal grandfather ten years ago, the phylloxera infestation in France had practically decimated the brandy market. Evan had been one of the first distillers to anticipate that the demand for whisky would grow as brandy production dwindled, and he’d made a fortune because of it. Everyone wanted fine Scotch whisky and while some of his savvier competitors had been able to quickly adapt as the demand continued to increase, Evan had had to cajole his father for every concession that allowed him to expand. He’d offered to buy the Braeburn outright on more than one occasion, but the duke had refused every time. The threat of selling the distillery from under Evan was too effective a tool to keep him docile for his father to ever consider letting it go. Which meant the offer to finally get his distillery and his revenge could’ve come from the devil himself and he would’ve taken it just the same.
“Evan, did you hear a word I said?” Raghav asked impatiently.
“Sorry,” he apologized as he tore into the next missive, this one from the duke.
“Murdoch’s telegram said he arrives this evening and also warned that Beatrice and Adalyn are on the same train.”
Evan groaned but was not surprised about his sisters—they did not like to be left out. His cousin Murdoch was, like Evan, part of the consortium of private businessmen who were financing unofficial British presence at the exposition—since the Crown decided to boycott the event—and had been traveling back and forth between Edinburgh and Paris for months. He was an engineer, and his firm had been heavily involved with multiple projects being built for the exposition, including Gustave Eiffel’s tower.
“I’m surprised they didn’t come with Gerard,” Evan said distractedly as he unfolded the two cards from his father. His sister Beatrice’s husband, Gerard Ruthven—who was the son of the current British ambassador in France—arrived in Paris the week before heading a delegation of financiers who had descended on the French capital looking for investments.
The correspondence from his father was an invitation for the ball his second wife would be hosting in honor of the duke’s sixtieth birthday. Evan refused to even think of the new Duchess of Annan as his stepmother, considering she’d beenhisfiancée before she decided being the wife of the second son of a duke was not nearly as appealing as being a duchess. That experience had cured Evan of any desire for romantic entanglements. His appetite for bedding a beautiful woman when the desire arose remained as healthy as ever, but allowing his emotions for one of them to rule his common sense or detract him from his work? Never again. In truth, he didn’t even have the energy to resent his former lover. Being married to his father was punishment enough.
The thought of icy, aloof Charlotte, who at one time he had considered to be the epitome of beauty, brought back to mind the hellion he’d just encountered. Luz Alana Heith-Benzan could not be more different than the woman he’d fancied himself in love with once. Evan had been drawn to Charlotte’s vulnerability. She’d brought out his protective instincts. She’d always seemed too delicate for the world, and he’d wanted to shield her. Luz Alana, on the contrary, stood strong and tall even when it seemed clear to Evan that she too needed a defender. A woman doing business on her own in a world that constantly repudiated them had to carry more than a few battle scars, but she was unwavering. The difference was, of course, that Charlotte was happy to be taken care of and Luz Alana would not have a man as her savior.
A golden Amazon pulsing with purpose. The rum heiress had certainly elicited a reaction from him, not to protect her perhaps, but to safeguard. To ensure she struck where she aimed, that she accomplished what she intended. But as intriguing as she was, Evan’s own challenges were not going to solve themselves. He was here to sell some whisky and, hopefully after tonight, obtain the last piece he needed to enact his father’s undoing. He could not allow a pretty face and tempting rump to deviate him from the mission.
“It appears there will be a ball to celebrate the duke’s birthday,” he finally told Raghav.
Evan’s disgust rose as he read over the accompanying note asking that he incur the costs of the event. To this request, the Duke of Annan had added a reminder that he’d had multiple offers for the purchase of the Braeburn but had kindly declined them, for Evan’s sake. “I have been bestowed the honor of paying for most it.”
Raghav leaned in to read off the paper in Evan’s hand and made a sound of revulsion. “Your father is an atrocious human being.”
“Which is why I need this plan to work,” he murmured, feeling more determined than ever to do whatever it took to break free from his father once and for all.
“Indeed,” Raghav conceded, then pointed to a tiny barrel adorned with a variety of tropical silk flowers. “What shall I do about this?”
