But still, she missed those first days of laughter. Mrs. Oliver wasn’t nearly as engaging as Nate and Mr. Richardson had been.

Three more months. She just needed three more months. Once she had an act of Parliament passed for another Richardson Rail line to be built, the value of the company would be double what Mr. Broadcreek had originally offered to pay for it. She could sell both the railroad companies and return to Bainbridge with Nate and Grace. Life could finally go back to normal.

She pulled out the last paper she had been working on—an order for more track. It was presumptive to order it now. This would be for the line she hadn’t even started yet, the one she still needed an act for. But if she ordered now before the rush of orders came in when Parliament was in session and passing acts to build new lines, she would save about a fifth of the costs. It was a gamble . . .

The bell over the doorway rang, announcing someone’s arrival. Diana didn’t look up. Now that she had finally gotten rid of Mr. Winston, Mrs. Oliver could deal with whomever had just walked through the door. She needed to finish filling out her order form.

“How can I help you, sir?” Mrs Oliver asked.

It couldn’t have been Mr. Winston or another returning investor, as Mrs. Oliver was excellent with names.

The man cleared his throat, but Diana refused to look up. Just a few more specifications to enter and—

“That is a very nice likeness. Wherever did you get it?”

Diana’s pen froze in her hand. She would recognize Lord Bryant’s masculine drawl anywhere. It rolled over her shoulders and slammed into her chest like sticky, sweet honey. A little bit of charm was pleasant, but his was purposely overpowering. Her head shot up, and her hand flashed to the portrait, slamming it facedown on the desk. Why hadn’t she remembered to return it to the drawer?

She stood and gave Lord Bryant a slight bow. Gone were the haunted eyes from her late-night visit. His clothes were impeccable, his emerald-green striped waistcoat matched his brilliant, flashing eyes. But were they flashing in humor or in anger? She couldn’t tell. “Lord Bryant, how pleasant to see you. Have you come to speak of your investments?”

“Investments?” Lord Bryant shook his head, one of his thick brows arched perfectly. “Speak of investments with the woman to whom I am utterly devoted?” He clicked his tongue. “Don’t be ridiculous. I had much more diverting activities planned.”

That sounded like humor.

Perhaps?

A gasp escaped Mrs. Oliver, and Diana coughed to cover the fact that she had nothing to say in response. Her throat was dry. She had known this day would come, but she had hoped to have more time. Much more time. Lord Bryant held one hand inside his waistcoat. A lazy bend at one knee seemed to encapsulate his nonchalance and power. With not much more than a flick of his wrist, he could put an end to both Barton Rail and Richardson Rail. All she wanted to do was help her family and Charlotte Richardson, and what had seemed like an intelligent idea mere minutes ago was—under the baron’s unscrupulous eye—quickly becoming the most impudent and ridiculous scheme she had ever concocted.