“Every woman is a diamond of the first water.” Still sitting on her desk, he leaned forward, bringing his sculpted face and very Roman nose only inches from her own. “Every woman. You won’t be sullied by me.”

Diana sucked in a quick breath. His words contradicted the way his eyes paused at her lips. Lord Bryant was a dangerous man, but she wouldn’t fall for his charming words. Not even when they were paired with his fine brow, now raised in seeming concern for her situation.

“I have much bigger problems than my reputation, Lord Bryant,” she said, straightening in her chair. “Every day a barrage of men passes through this office under the pretense of being interested in investing when, in truth, all they are looking for is an easy path to railroad ownership. I don’t have time to deal with all of them.” Mr. Broadcreek’s leering face flashed into her mind. He was getting bolder in his actions toward her. And yet she couldn’t outright disdain him, not with the friends he had in Parliament. “While I would like to possibly marry one day, it is at the moment the farthest thing from my mind. When the time comes, I will most likely find a gentleman far outside of London who doesn’t care a fig about what Society has to say about me.” Hopefully a man like that existed. At the moment, it was hard to imagine not being wanted. Men were practically hounding her now. “At least allow me to keep your portrait, and do not deny the rumors.”

He snatched up her portrait of him and examined it. She wished she were a better artist. Every flaw seemed to jump out at her as he carefully perused her charcoal. “I will be taking this,” he said finally. “And if I hear another word about the two of us, I will be back.”

Sliding off her desk, he turned and walked away from her. If he walked out that door, everything she had worked for over the past few months could come to naught. No railroad act, no profit to share with Charlotte.

She raised her chin. “I can always draw another.”

Lord Bryant stopped. He lowered his head and examined the portrait again, then turned around. “You drew this?”

“Yes.”

“From memory?”

Oh dear. The charcoal wasn’t perfect, but that had nothing to do with her memory. Lord Bryant’s face had haunted her memories ever since meeting him at Nate’s wedding. Blast her childhood fancies. Was it her fault that no men of note ever visited Baimbury?

“Yes,” she admitted. “And I will draw another. I cannot handle all these men on my own. I understand that you are in the middle of an affair with a much more important woman than I, but I promise you this: she doesn’t need you as much as I do.”

“And I can promise you this.” He returned to her desk and leaned forward on it once again. “She does.”