“It’s seven, Mrs. Percy,” he said warningly. Couldn’t the woman manage his call sheet? Ah, stop it, Montfort, he told himself, you’re getting tetchy.

“Yes, sir.” Elizabeth’s eyes danced; she remembered when all Montfort wanted to do was to stay in the office. “But it’s important. There’s somebody to see you, sir.”

“Does he have an appointment?”

“Well, not exactly—”

“Then tell him to make one,” Hugh said shortly. “I’m going home.”

“Sir, it’s Tom Massot.”

Hugh paused. “Is that a joke, Mrs. Percy?”

“Absolutely not, sir. Shall I show him in?”

“Yes,” Hugh said. “Of course. And then you can leave. I’ll lock the office.”

“Very good, sir,” said the unflappable Elizabeth. Hugh got up from behind his desk; if there was about to be an ugly scene, he didn’t want his secretary witnessing it. Fortunately, the other staff had gone home.

There was an unfamiliar churning in his stomach.

Sophie loved this boy. Hugh wouldn’t feel about her as he did, were that not true. And Tom hated him.

Montfort was used to dismissing the opinion of others. He made his own way, and the rest of the world be damned. But in this case, he didn’t have that luxury.

He hoped the boy wouldn’t try to hit him—

The door opened; Elizabeth Percy, cool and reserved, said, “Mr. Thomas Massot, Mr. Montfort.”

“Thank you,” he said, and to Tom, “Please sit down. Or shall we go somewhere else?”

The Massot boy looked awkward; Hugh did not offer his hand. Perhaps he would refuse to shake it.

“This is fine.”

“I’m glad to meet you,” Hugh began. “I’m glad you came.”

The boy shrugged. He was young and handsome, Montfort saw, but there was little of Sophie in his face. Dark eyes and hair, and a wiry frame; he carried himself as one who has lost some confidence, but perhaps that was a part of growing up.

“I had to. You are marrying my mother.”

“I love her,” Hugh said quietly. “Very much. I cherish her, and I hope you will at least give me the opportunity to prove my worth to you.”

“In your business, you were an enemy of my father’s,” Massot responded.

Hugh noted the tone; it was fairly neutral.

“I wouldn’t put it in that way. That implies a personal element in what was a matter of commerce. In the time that I wanted to acquire House Massot, when your father ran the firm, we never spoke. I didn’t know him. I felt no personal enmity towards him.” Hugh struggled to keep his words to the exact truth. “Look, Tom, if I may . . .”

The lad nodded.