How to Impress a Marquess(59)

Harding’s flash men had glanced at each other, as though deciding how to react. The consensus was menacing until Harding broke into deep belly laughter. “Oh, you’re a funny, funny man.” The railroad baron leaned over, plucked the rosebud from Randall’s lapel, and twirled it under his nose. “Smells nice. With your title, pretty words, and face, you could have gone far, maybe prime minister. But you supported child labor laws and the repeal of the Corn Laws, instead of building railroads and prosperity. What will become of our golden boy with his empty head and glorious ambitions if he isn’t reelected?”

Randall had let a slow smile crawl cross his lips. “Careful there, old chap. One word from me and you might lose another railroad.”

Harding replaced the viscount’s rose. “With your title, you think I can’t touch you. The world is about to change; you need to choose which side you’re on before the election. Enjoy your house party. I hope you find a lovely, connected wife. I understand you’ve been a bit lonely of late.”

Randall decided it wasn’t important to tell Isabella how everyone in the gaming hell had watched the railroad baron leave with Randall’s beautiful mistress—ex-mistress—or the stream of colorful curses he’d released under his breath.

Now he gazed out the window in Isabella’s library. In the distance, at the entrance of his home, he could make out ladies in expansive skirts stepping from the carriages. His mother must be cursing him for not being there to greet them.

“I know you make fun of me,” he said quietly. “I know you, like my critics, think I’m shallow and overly ambitious and you disagree with my views.” He turned to Isabella, latching his gaze on her face. “But dammit, I’m a good politician. I’ve all but given my life to this country. I try—”

“You need something solid to hold against Harding.”

“No.” The motivation for his visit sounded so conniving, almost dishonorable when echoed back to him. He sank into his chair, rubbed his forehead, and conceded. “Yes.”