The Masterful Mr. Montague Read Online Free Page B

and consulted it. “As it happens, I can spare Lady Halstead half an hour tomorrow morning.” He glanced across the desk. “When would be the best time to call?”
    Miss Matcham smiled—not a dazzling smile but a gentle, inclusive gesture that somehow struck through his usually impenetrable businessman’s shields and literally warmed his heart. He blinked, then quickly marshaled his wits as she replied, “Midmorning would be best—shall we say eleven o’clock? In Lowndes Street, number four, just south of Lowndes Square.”
    Gripping his pen firmly, Montague focused on his appointment book and wrote in the details. “Excellent.”
    He looked up, then rose as Miss Matcham came to her feet.
    “Thank you, Mr. Montague.” Meeting his gaze, she extended her hand. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
    Montague gripped her fingers, then had to make himself let go. “Indeed, Miss Matcham.” He waved her to the door. “Until tomorrow.”
    After seeing Miss Matcham out of the office and on her way down the stairs to the ground floor, Montague closed the door, then stood stock-still, his mind replaying the interview, dwelling on this aspect, then that . . .
    Until he shook free of the lingering spell and, wondering at himself, strode back to his desk.
    H is eagerness, the ready-to-be-engaged enthusiasm that carried him to Lowndes Street at eleven o’clock the following morning, was, he tried to tell himself, engendered more by the sense of fate dangling something new—some financial irregularity outside the norm, a tantalizing prospect certain to excite his jaded inner self—than by any lure attached to the lovely Miss Matcham.
    She opened the door to his knock, instantly obliterating his attempt at self-deception. He would have sworn his heart literally sped up at the sight of her. Then she smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Montague. Do come in.”
    Reminding himself to breathe, he stepped forward as she stepped back. He walked into a narrow front hall; a quick survey showed decent artwork, good-quality furniture, polished woodwork, and painted walls. All was neat and tidy. The sight confirmed that, as he’d suspected from the address, Lady Halstead wasn’t short of funds. She might not rank as high in wealth as the majority of his clients, but she would have assets worth protecting; in consulting for her, he wouldn’t be wasting his time.
    Miss Matcham closed the door and joined him. With one hand, she directed him to the room on their right. “Lady Halstead is waiting in the sitting room.”
    He inclined his head and gestured for Miss Matcham to precede him, seizing the moment to wonder anew at the effect she had on him. He didn’t quite understand it; she was lovely to look at—he could, he felt, stare at her for hours—yet she was no raving beauty. Today, she wore a pale blue morning gown that skimmed her curves in a distracting way—at least, he found it distracting. Being indoors and thus bonnetless, her coiffure was on display, so he could better appreciate the thick lushness of her hair, the dark locks confined in a bun at the back of her head but with one sweeping wave crossing her forehead, softening the line of her brow and emphasizing her pale, flawless, milk-and-roses complexion.
    Following her through the doorway, he forced his gaze from her and scanned the room. A very old lady with wispy silver hair and refined features sat in a straight-backed chair, her forearms resting on the padded armrests. She was dressed in dark bombazine, with shawls draped about her shoulders and also over her legs. An ebony cane with a silver head rested against the side of the chair.
    Miss Matcham went forward. “This is Mr. Montague, ma’am.” She glanced at Montague. “Lady Halstead.”
    As Miss Matcham moved to take the armchair to Lady Halstead’s right, her ladyship, who had been shrewdly studying him, held out her hand. “Thank you for calling, sir. I’m sure you are a very busy man—I will endeavor