A Scandalous Lady Read Free Page B

the last thing he needed at this moment was a distraction.
    â€œShe looks genuine.”
    Troyce dragged his attention back to Feagin, bent over the sketchings. “She’s genuine, all right,” he said, promptly forgetting the maid. “One of Queen Isabella’s Armada de la Guardia and a war galleon of the Treasure Fleet of 1622. She was fished out of the Mediterranean over fifteen years ago.”
    â€œWhat kind of repairs are you looking at?”
    He tossed back a swallow of the bitter swill that passed for brandy. “Complete renovation of the deck, replacement mainmast and topmasts, and canvases.”
    â€œShe suffered heavy damages then.”
    Troyce shrugged as if the work was no more substantial than replacing the thatches on a cottage roof. Only the blisters on his hands and the lint in his pockets conveyed the truth. “A sufficient amount as a result of the storms and cannon fire, but not irreparable.”
    â€œHow long before you can have her seaworthy?”
    â€œWith a dependable crew of laborers, three or four months.”
    â€œThat’ll give me time to secure a buyer.”
    â€œBuyers I have in abundance. What I need is capital to make the repairs.”
    â€œYes, five hundred pounds’ worth, I’m told.” Feagin frowned.
    â€œIt’ll draw ten times that much at auction,” Troyce said. Of that, he was certain. The galleon had already garnered the interest of King Alfonso XIII of Spain. Troyce saw no reason to inform Feagin that massive repairs had already been made to the hull, or that those renovations had sorely depleted the de Meir coffers. Once the ship was restored, it would go to the highest bidder, and his present problems would be solved.
    â€œWe’ll split the profits seventy–thirty,” Feagin finally said by way of agreement.
    â€œForty–sixty,” Troyce corrected, wincing as Feagin crumpled his father’s sketchings into a roll.
    â€œI’m financing the work.”
    â€œI’m doing the work, and it’s my ship.”
    Feagin sat back and pondered the bid. “Fifty-fifty or no deal.”
    Troyce inwardly bucked at the terms, but much to his dismay, he didn’t see that he had much choice. Yes, buyers he could recruit for the finished product; no one seemed inclined, however, to purchase damaged goods. And thanks to the horrid state of affairs left to him by his father, there was no longer any money available to invest in this venture, which reduced him to two options: marry a wealthy woman or raise the money himself. He’d be damned if he’d put his title on the auction block. Not that he carried any particular fondness for it, but it and his pride were all he had left to call his own.
    With a single, decisive nod, Troyce agreed to Feagin’s terms. A pouch of coins marking the initial investment, arrangements for the distribution of additional funds and a later view of the progress concluded their business. Then Troyce left the tavern while his new partner stayed to celebrate with the barmaid.
    Outside, he lifted his face to the rain, sucked in a draft of clean moist air, and smiled. Even the gloomy weather couldn’t dampen his suddenly chipper spirits. Feagin might not have been a top-of-the-line choice, but all in all, the meeting had proved more profitable than Troyce had anticipated. For the first time since his father’s death, the burden he’d been carrying lifted. He gave the purse a light toss and his grin broadened at the familiar jangle. Despite the unconventional pact, the ship his father had loved with his last breath would be restored, the future of the barony would be secured, and he . . . well, he’d escaped a fate equal—nay worse—than death.
    Â 
    â€œAny luck yet?”
    Heart leaping into her windpipe, Fanny whipped around and nearly fell back on her heels. “Damn yer eyes, Scatter, I told you to wait in the tunnels. What