Could they turn the situation to their advantage—assuming Caitlin could control any impulse to throttle the man? Gregory leaned back in his chair and slowly and deliberately set his pen into the pen holder, allowing it to fall into place with a definiteclick.
He stared at Coulter and let the silence stretch until the agent shifted nervously, then quietly asked, “Do you seriously imagine I came into the country so I could spend my time discussing the price of cloth?”
Coulter’s eyes flared, and he glanced even more nervously at Caitlin, as if hoping she would rescue him.
Gregory hid a predatory smile and, eyes narrowing, leaned forward, skewering Coulter with his gaze. “Tell me—would you have felt moved to interrupt me had Miss Fergusson been Mr. Fergusson?”
Coulter’s eyelids flickered, and he glanced uncertainly at Caitlin. “Yes, well—she’s not.”
“Of course she’s not, man! Yet by my direction,sheis in charge of arranging all contracts for the sale of Hall products and produce. Surely you don’t mean to question my judgment?”
Coulter squirmed. “Of course not, sir.”
Gregory nodded. “Just as well. Having recently gone through the past year’s accounts, I can testify that Miss Fergusson is more than up to the task. Indeed, she’s been highly successful…” He let his words trail away and brought his gaze once more to bear on Coulter, this time with a knowing look. “Or isthatthe real reason you thought to push your way into dealing directly with me rather than negotiating with her—because she knows the worth of our products and will not settle for anything less than an appropriate price?”
Coulter looked faintly green. Agitatedly, he waved his hands. “No, no. It’s just…”
Gregory gave him a moment to flounder, then shifted his gaze to Caitlin’s studiously straight face. “Miss Fergusson—please take Mr. Coulter back to the study and, if he fails to offer you a price you deem acceptable, have Cromwell show him out.”
“Yes, Mr. Cynster.”
As Gregory picked up his pen and, already looking down at his letter, arrogantly waved them off, struggling to keep a most unprofessional grin from her face, Caitlin swung around, grasped Coulter’s sleeve, and under her breath, hissed, “You’d better come before he loses patience and instructs me not to deal with you at all.”
Coulter looked at her with wide eyes, then turned and scurried to the door
Half an hour later, Caitlin returned to the library with a wide and richly satisfied, not to say smug, smile wreathing her face.
Gregory looked up as she strolled in, and scanned her features. His lips lifted. “Good price?”
She laughed and averred, “The best we’ve ever had.”
Two days later, after a relaxed luncheon, Caitlin and Gregory were on the point of quitting the dining room to return to their respective, now-customary domains when Cromwell appeared, escorting Davy Cruickshank.
Without any of his usual formality, Cromwell said, “Sir, miss, Davy’s just come running from Nene Farm.” He prodded Davy’s shoulder. “Go on, lad. Tell them.”
Davy—all of seventeen and lanky with it—glanced nervously at Gregory, then switched his gaze to Caitlin. “It’s Mr. Biggs, the cattle agent, miss.”
Caitlin groaned. “Let me guess. He’s being difficult over the price he’ll pay?”
Eyes widening, Davy nodded. “He’s saying there’s no market for our yearlings, and he’s not paying anything like he did last year. Pa says that’s not right. He sent me to fetch you.”
Caitlin patted Davy’s thin shoulder. “Your father’s correct, and he did right to send you. If anything, we should be getting more this year than last. I’ll come straightaway.”
She glanced at Gregory and arched a brow. After their teamwork with the grain agents and the cloth merchant, she had to wonder what they might achieve here—if he was willing.
Meeting her gaze, he smiled in anticipation. “I’ll come, too.” He looked at Davy. “It’ll be faster to take my curricle—you can ride on the back.”
Caitlin smothered a laugh as Davy’s eyes grew round, and he stuttered a rushed acceptance.
Ten minutes later, Gregory tooled the curricle down the lane that would take them to Nene Farm. The cattle stud lay on the other side of the river, and they had to drive over a humpbacked bridge to cross the swiftly moving water.
When he slowed his horses to take the upward curve, he glanced back at Davy. The lad was sitting on the box seat and hanging onto the rail at the rear of the front seat with both hands. His huge eyes were locked on the horses, and the look on his face stated very clearly that he was having the time of his life.
Gregory hid a grin, then, sobering, glanced at Caitlin before returning his attention to his bays. “This seems to be a pattern.”
When she didn’t immediately respond, he looked her way and saw she was giving the matter some thought.
He guided the horses down the other side of the bridge, then flicked the reins and set them pacing swiftly again.
