“Daisy has a unique spirit,” Westcliff said. “A warm and romantic nature. If she is forced into a loveless marriage, she will be devastated. She deserves a husband who will cherish her for everything she is, and who will protect her from the harsher realities of the world. A husband who will allow her to dream.”

It was surprising to hear such sentiment from Westcliff, who was universally known as a pragmatic and level-headed man. “What is your question, my lord?” Matthew asked.

“Will you give me your word that you will not marry my sister-in-law?”

Matthew held the earl’s cold black gaze. It would not be wise to cross a man like Westcliff, who was not accustomed to being denied. But Matthew had endured years of Thomas Bowman’s thunder and bluster, standing up to him when other men would flee in fear of his wrath.

Although Bowman could be a ruthless, sarcastic bully there was nothing he respected more than a man who was willing to go toe-to-toe with him. And so it had quickly become Matthew’s lot in the company to be the bearer of bad tidings and deliver the hard truths that everyone else was afraid to give him.

That had been Matthew’s training, which was why Westcliff’s attempt at domination had no effect on him.

“I’m afraid not, my lord,” Matthew said politely.

Simon Hunt dropped his cigar.

“You won’t give me your word?” Westcliff asked in disbelief.

“No.” Matthew bent swiftly to retrieve the fallen cigar and returned it to Hunt, who regarded him with a glint of warning in his eyes as if he were silently trying to prevent him from jumping off a cliff.

“Why not?” Westcliff demanded. “Because you don’t want to lose your position with Bowman?”

“No, he can’t afford to lose me right now.” Matthew smiled slightly in an attempt to rob the words of arrogance. “I know more about production, administration, and marketing than anyone else at Bowman’s…and I’ve earned the old man’s trust. So I won’t be dismissed even if I refuse to marry his daughter.”

“Then it will be quite simple for you to put the entire matter to rest,” the earl said. “I want your word, Swift. Now.”

A lesser man would have been intimidated by Westcliff’s authoritative demand. “I might consider it,” Matthew countered coolly, “if you offered the right incentive. For example, if you promise to endorse me as the head of the entire division and guarantee the position for at least, say…three years.”

Westcliff gave him an incredulous glance.

The tense silence was broken as Simon Hunt roared with laughter. “By God, he has brass ballocks,” he exclaimed. “Mark my words, Westcliff, I’m going to hire him for Consolidated.”

“I’m not cheap,” Matthew said, which caused Hunt to laugh so hard that he nearly dropped his cigar again.

Even Westcliff smiled, albeit reluctantly. “Damn it,” he muttered. “I’m not going to endorse you so readily—not with so much at stake. Not until I am convinced you’re the right man for the position.”

“Then it seems we’re at an impasse.” Matthew made his expression friendly. “For now.”

The two older men exchanged a glance, tacitly agreeing to discuss the situation later, outside his hearing. That caused Matthew a twinge of sharp curiosity, but he mentally shrugged, knowing there was only so much he could control. At least he had made it clear that he could not be bullied, and he was leaving his options open.

Besides…he could hardly give his word on the matter when Bowman hadn’t yet mentioned it to him.

CHAPTER 4

“Obviously Daisy is the runt of the litter,” Thomas Bowman said later that night, pacing back and forth across the small private receiving area attached to his room. He and Matthew had agreed to meet after supper while the other guests congregated downstairs. “She is undersized and frivolous. ‘Give her a solid, practical name,’ I told my wife when the child was born. Jane or Constance or something of the sort. Instead she chose Marguerite…French, mind you!…after a cousin on her maternal side. And then it degenerated further when Lillian, who was only four at the time, learned that Marguerite was the French word for a damned insignificant flower. But from then on Lillian called her Daisy, and it stuck…”

As Bowman continued to ramble, Matthew thought of how perfect the name was, the small white-petaled flower that appeared so delicate and yet was remarkably hardy. It said something that in a family of overpowering personalities that Daisy had always remained stubbornly true to her own nature.

“…obviously I would have to sugarcoat the deal,” Thomas Bowman was saying. “I know you well enough to be certain that you would choose a very different sort of woman for yourself, one with more practical uses than a flighty slip of a girl like Daisy. Therefore—”

“No sugarcoating would be necessary,” Matthew interrupted calmly. “Daisy…that is, Miss Bowman, is entirely—” Beautiful. Desirable. Bewitching. “—acceptable. Marrying a woman like Miss Bowman would be a reward in itself.”

“Good,” Bowman grunted, clearly unconvinced. “Very gentlemanly of you to say so. Still, I will offer you fair recompense in the form of a generous dowry, more shares in the company and so forth. You will be quite satisfied, I assure you. Now as to the wedding arrangements—”

“I didn’t say yes,” Matthew interrupted.