Hunt smiled sardonically. “Much as I would like to take all the credit, modesty compels me to reveal that Westcliff had something to do with it. He and his brother-in-law are my business partners.”

“Obviously the combination is highly successful,” Matthew replied.

Hunt turned to Westcliff. “He has a talent for flattery,” he remarked. “Can we hire him?”

Westcliff’s mouth twitched with amusement. “I’m afraid my father-in-law would object. Mr. Swift’s talents are needed to built a factory and start a company office in Bristol.”

Matthew decided to nudge the conversation in a different direction. “I’ve read of the recent movement in Parliament for nationalization of the British railroad industry,” he said to Westcliff. “I would be interested in hearing your thoughts on the matter, my lord.”

“Good God, don’t get him started on that,” Hunt said.

The subject caused a scowl to appear on Westcliff’s brow. “The last thing the public needs is for government to take control of the industry. God save us from yet more interference from politicians. The government would run the railroads as inefficiently as they do everything else. And the monopoly would stifle the industry’s ability to compete, resulting in higher taxes, not to mention—”

“Not to mention,” Hunt interrupted slyly, “the fact that Westcliff and I don’t want the government cutting into our future profits.”

Westcliff gave him a stern glance. “I happen to have the public’s best interest in mind.”

“How fortunate,” Hunt commented, “that in this case what is best for the public also happens to be best for you.”

Matthew bit back a smile.

Rolling his eyes, Westcliff told Matthew, “As you can see, Mr. Hunt overlooks no opportunity to mock me.”

“I mock everyone,” Hunt said. “You just happen to be the most readily available target.”

Westcliff turned to Matthew and said, “Hunt and I are going out to the back terrace for a cigar. Will you join us?”

Matthew shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t smoke.”

“Neither do I,” Westcliff said ruefully. “It has always been my habit to enjoy a cigar every now and again, but unfortunately the scent of tobacco is not welcomed by the countess in her condition.”

It took a moment for Matthew to recall that “the countess” was Lillian Bowman. How odd that funny, feisty, furious Lillian was now Lady Westcliff.

“You and I will converse while Hunt has a cigar,” Westcliff informed him. “Come with us.”

The “invitation” didn’t seem to allow the possibility of a refusal, but Matthew tried nonetheless. “Thank you, my lord, but there is a certain matter I wish to discuss with someone, and I—”

“That someone would be Mr. Bowman, I expect.”

Hell, Matthew thought. He knows. Even if it hadn’t been for those words, he could tell by the way Westcliff was looking at him. Westcliff knew about Bowman’s intention of marrying him off to Daisy…and not surprisingly, Westcliff had an opinion about it.

“You will discuss the matter with me first,” the earl continued.

Matthew glanced warily at Simon Hunt, who gave him a bland look in return. “I’m certain,” Matthew said, “that Mr. Hunt doesn’t want to be bored by a discussion of someone else’s personal affairs—”

“Not at all,” Hunt said cheerfully. “I love hearing about other people’s affairs. Particularly when they’re personal.”

The three of them went to the back terrace, which overlooked acres of manicured gardens separated by graveled paths and carefully sculpted hedges. An orchard of ancient pear trees was visible in the lush green distance. The breeze that swept across the gardens was thick with the perfume of flowers. The turgid rush of the nearby river underlaid the rustle of the wind in the trees.

Sitting at an outside table, Matthew forced himself to relax back in his chair. He and Westcliff watched Simon Hunt clip the end off a cigar with a pocket knife. Matthew remained silent, patiently waiting for Westcliff to speak first.

“How long,” Westcliff asked abruptly, “have you known about Bowman’s plan for you and Daisy to marry?”

Matthew replied without hesitation. “Approximately an hour and fifteen minutes.”

“It wasn’t your idea, then?”

“Not at all,” Matthew assured him.

Settling back, the earl laced his fingers over the lean surface of his midriff, and surveyed him through narrowed eyes. “You have a great deal to gain by such an arrangement.”

“My lord,” Matthew said prosaically, “if I have one talent in life, it’s making money. I don’t need to marry into it.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” the earl replied. “I have one more question to ask, but first I will make my position clear. I have great affection for my sister-in-law, and I consider her under my protection. Being well acquainted with the Bowmans, you undoubtedly know about the close relationship between the countess and her sister. If anything were to make Daisy unhappy, my wife would suffer as a result…and I will not allow that.”

“Understood,” Matthew said tersely. There was biting irony in the fact that he was being warned away from Daisy when he had already resolved to do everything in his power to avoid marrying her. He was tempted to tell Westcliff to go to hell. Instead he kept his mouth shut and remained outwardly composed.