His breeches were beyond help. At least the coffee had been cooler when it splattered him. If he remained on his feet and made sure his jacket tails were hanging straight then most of the stain was hidden from view.
He had arranged for his lawyer to meet him here so could hardly depart. The wet patch was deucedly uncomfortable; perhaps if he stood closer to the fire the material would dry more quickly. He must decide what action to take. He was certainly not going to pay. They had no right to demand such a thing in the absence of Lord Bannerman.
He smiled grimly. He would make it his business to ruin this bank. They would not be left with the wherewithal to continue to trade by the time he had finished with them. A strong smell of damp cloth and coffee filled the room. This reminded him he had not yet drunk his own brew. He strolled across to the desk, swallowed down his cup and refilled it from the jug.
Rose seemed to be permanently in the centre of some catastrophe or other—he wasn’t sure he was ready to have his well-ordered life turned upside down.
