Priceless by Christina Dodd

Walpole insisted Adam’s integrity was unblemished, but Adam knew better. His father had stained the family honor, and nothing could cleanse it.
    Northrup continued as if he didn’t notice Adam’s distraction, “It’s as if a great midsummer madness has swept the city.”
    “How so?” Adam pulled out a trash container to toss the bit of velvet, then hesitated and placed it in the desk drawer instead. What about this woman he was betrothed to? She’d been so nervous when first they met, he’d believed she would try to cry off. Indeed, he’d heard her beg LordGaynor not to make her speak to him, seen her look of desperation when Lord Gaynor pressed to set a wedding date.
    Setting his new hat gently atop the overcoat, Northrup turned back to Adam. “The South Sea Company has offered fifty thousand shares to be put on the market for one thousand pounds apiece.”
    Adam stared into the desk drawer. Yet her appearance wasn’t so dreadful, he thought. A discerning eye revealed a wide and merry mouth, given to smiles and ripe for kisses. Life, her gaze told him, was a serious business, but still she found humor in her father’s posturing and his own too serious manner. And regardless of the fashion, he liked the golden tone of her skin. So she had no reason to be nervous with him.
    “Lord Rawson?” Northrup said.
    Maybe she was nervous because he’d been less than gracious when presented with her. Maybe she was nervous because she feared the marriage bed. Maybe she didn’t know about his father and the disgrace.
    “Lord Rawson?”
    “What? Oh.” Adam leaned back in his chair. “One thousand pounds apiece? That’s over the current market price.”
    “Twenty-five percent over the market price,” Northrup said. “But the terms are attractive. All they’re demanding is a down payment of ten percent, and the rest is to be paid in installments.”
    “No more than I expected.” Adam templed his fingers at his lips, and their sensitivity reminded him of the kiss he’d shared just a few moments ago. Bronwyn stirred the fires of his passion, if not his sentiment. His mother complained he armored himself against emotion, and indeed he did. It was safer, cleaner, less painful, and he’d had enough pain to last a lifetime. “Have they sold it out?”
    Northrup’s boyish face lit. “Not yet, but they soon will.”
    His enthusiasm at last focused Adam’s attention on the business at hand. “Did you buy any?”
    “No, sir,” Northrup said earnestly. “I followed your instructions and didn’t buy you any.”
    Adam’s mouth tightened. “I meant, did you buy some for yourself?”
    Northrup flushed.
    “That’s a new overcoat, is it not?”
    “I needed a replacement for my cloak.” Northrup’s hauteur came tardy and with too little conviction.
    Adam regarded his secretary thoughtfully. “It’s been a hard comedown, working for me, hasn’t it?”
    “Oh, no, sir,” Northrup hastened to reassure him. “It’s been a…a learning process.”
    Not believing it, Adam snapped, “Perhaps you should remember you’re no longer the prospective marquess of Tyne-Kelmport.”
    “I never forget it,” Northrup said, stiff with dignity. “Nor do I complain.”
    “That’s one thing in your favor.” Wielding his knife, Adam trimmed the tip of his quill. “I suppose I understand your eagerness to invest in the South Sea Company. Just sell your stock when I tell you, and you’ll stand to make a profit.”
    “I’ve worked for you for two years now, my lord. I’ve picked up on your methods, and I believe I’d best handle my stock by myself.”
    Adam studied the young man. Hands on waist, Northrup tried to look mature and brave, but he betrayed his agitation when he licked his lips. “A bit independent, aren’t we, Northrup?”
    Something in Adam’s gaze seemed to remind Northrup of his place. “I beg your pardon, my lord.”
    “I took no offense.” And he hadn’t. His secretary was a useful young man, no