Regency Surrender: Debts Reclaimed. Georgie Lee

off down the hall, allowing the door at the back of the house leading to the garden to bang shut behind her.

      Laura wished she could follow. After a year of looking after her mother, it felt odd to relinquish her duties to someone else, but at least Jane’s attention meant her mother wasn’t left alone in a strange place while Laura attended to business.

      ‘Here you are, Miss Townsend.’ Chesterton stopped at the sitting-room door at the front of the house.

      Laura gave him a smile of gratitude and stepped inside.

      Mr Rathbone stood near the fireplace, reviewing papers. Through the sheer curtains behind him passed the shadows of people moving on the pavement outside. Laura barely noticed them. The only thing she could concentrate on was the soft light coming through the delicate fabric and spreading over Mr Rathbone’s profile. It lightened his dark hair and caressed the strong line of his nose. A fine, camel-coloured jacket draped his shoulders, emphasising the solidness of the long arms arched gracefully in front of him as he reviewed papers. He appeared to her like one of the Greek statues she’d seen in the British Museum. She’d gone there before she’d sold her last decent dress to view the Elgin Marbles and distract herself from her troubles. Like the statues, Mr Rathbone was elegant and refined, yet the memory of his sudden, lethal movements facing her uncle made her shiver. There was an edge of danger beneath his calm facade, one she hoped he reserved only for the worst clients.

      ‘Good morning, Mr Rathbone.’ She tugged down the overlarge bodice, which kept rising up as she moved deeper into the room. She wished she looked as fine and well put together as him, instead of unkempt and thin in her second-hand clothes. ‘You summoned me?’

      He didn’t look up from his papers. ‘My sister’s choice of words, I assume.’

      ‘She has a very interesting sense of humour.’

      ‘She’s a hoyden.’ He reached up and removed the dagger mounted on two brass hooks to a wood plaque hanging over the mantel. Behind it lay a small safe set into the wall. ‘However, Jane is smart and minds herself well enough for someone her age. She shouldn’t give you trouble. If she does, speak to me about it at once.’

      She wouldn’t speak to him. No, she would handle it in her own way and see to it there was more of the spirited young lady on the stairs and less of the dour miss. ‘Yes, Mr Rathbone.’

      Resting the mounted dagger on the floor, he finally met her eyes. ‘Please, call me Philip.’

      His gaze was intense, but not stern, inviting her to explore more deeply the slight bond weaving them together like embroidery over fine netting.

      ‘Yes, of course, Philip.’ The name was as awkward on her tongue as a button held with her teeth while she was sewing. It would take practice getting used to such intimacy with this stranger. Except he wasn’t a stranger, but her husband-to-be.

      ‘And you may call me Laura.’ She adjusted the dress again, then dropped her hands, determined to face him with dignity. Her attire was only temporary and, with the modiste’s help, she’d soon appear respectable again.

      Her confidence wavered. Whatever respectability she regained today, it would be thanks to his coin and effort, not hers. Something in her rankled. She’d struggled so hard to save the business, herself and her mother and in the end she could only do it by falling under this man’s protection. She tried to recall her mother’s encouraging words, or even Mrs Palmer’s simple observation about Philip, but none of them came back to her with enough force to push away the strange regret of not having achieved her own salvation, or the nasty idea she was selling herself.

      Philip broke from her gaze to open the safe and slide the papers inside.

      ‘Are you sure you can trust your sister’s behaviour to a woman who sneaks into men’s houses and threatens them in the night?’ It was a flippant question with an edge of seriousness. He was certainly trusting her now by revealing the safe and the key on the small ring in his pocket which opened it. There was nothing to stop her from stealing the key, emptying the safe and sneaking away with her mother while he slept. She would never do such a deceitful thing, but he couldn’t know this.

      ‘You aren’t a thief.’ He swung the safe door closed and locked it.

      Apparently, he did know she wasn’t capable of robbing him.

      She tugged at the dress, wishing she possessed the same unshakeable confidence in herself and her decision to marry as he did in her and his own decisions.

      He returned the mounted dagger to the hooks. The silver cufflinks holding the crisp ends of his sleeves together over his strong wrists flashed with the morning sunlight. Only the yellowing bruises along his knuckles kept his appearance from being perfect.

      He’d received those bruises for defending her. It was ungrateful of her to stand here lamenting his help because it hadn’t come from her own effort, yet she still hated the idea of needing his charity.

      His papers secure, this pleasant morning repartee came to an end. ‘I asked you to join me because a gentleman is here in need of a loan. It’s the perfect opportunity to begin your training.’

      ‘So soon?’ The eggs threatened to revolt in her stomach. Perhaps she shouldn’t have enjoyed a second serving.

      ‘The prospective client is a cloth importer and your expertise might be beneficial to the transaction. Before I decide whether or not to invest in his business, I need to know if his proposal has merit.’

      ‘My uncle’s plan had merit,’ she challenged.

      ‘Because it was yours,’ he answered flatly.

      ‘But you didn’t know that then.’

      ‘I do now.’

      ‘Yet you still lent to my uncle. Why?’ she persisted, her unease making her quarrelsome.

      ‘As I said before, he possessed the collateral to secure the loan. If he’d rebuilt the business, he wouldn’t have been the first unlikely client to exceed my expectations.’

      She had the distinct impression the remark was directed at her, but it didn’t ease the way his past dealing with her uncle Robert continued to chafe. ‘Did you know about me and my mother?’

      ‘He failed to reveal your presence when he initially approached me, but in my research—’

      ‘Your research?’ Curse it, he was so methodical.

      ‘I research all my clients before extending a loan. I discovered your and Mrs Townsend’s presence.’

      ‘And you were still willing to let him ruin us?’

      ‘No.’ His expression remained impassive, but the force and sincerity behind the single word was strong enough to wilt her anger.

      It didn’t stop her from gaping at him in disbelief, not knowing what to think. ‘But—’

      ‘I’ll explain all to you in good time. Now, we must see to Mr Williams.’ He motioned to the door instead of offering her his arm. ‘Shall we?’

      ‘Of course.’ It was better to face whatever waited for her in his study than to linger here and pick a fight. Being irritable would get her nowhere and it was a poor way to thank him for all he was doing for her and her mother.

      She moved past Philip and he stepped back, as if deliberately maintaining his distance. She was tempted to grasp his hand to see if she could reclaim a little of the connection they’d experienced last night. Instead she strode past him and out of the sitting room, afraid of rattling him with her boldness. With her first taste of this business looming at the other end of the hall, she didn’t want him out of sorts. She was anxious enough about facing a man in need of money without disturbing Philip’s calm.

      Outside the room, he fell in step beside her.

      ‘What should I do?’ she asked.

      ‘Listen. If you hear something alarming,