After spending the last several weeks litigating the frivolous claims of Aulton, managing his day-to-day business, and overseeing the refitting of his new acquisition, Her Splendor, to his exact specifications, Nick’s schedule hadn’t allowed much interaction with Emma during the days. Unless he had evening appointments, they spent their nights together.
Aulton’s suits were being destroyed little by little. The criminal conversation and the tortious interference with a contract were readily dismissed as there was no basis for either of the suits. The slander and stealing charges remaining had more of a bite to them.
At every opportunity, Aulton’s barristers and solicitors waved the coroner’s inquest findings in front of Nick’s solicitor, Mr. Odell, and the barristers he’d hired. Confident, Odell had stated the slander charge against Emma wouldn’t stand. The stealing charge against Mary and Emma had yet to be considered.
“Whaley, where is the countess?” While walking down the stairs, he put on the black wool morning coat over his gray silk waistcoat. He was never one to follow his valet’s suggestions that he be properly dressed before leaving his dressing room. Things were more efficient Nick’s way.
Whaley stood at the bottom of the steps with Hamm next to him. “My lord, where she is every Wednesday, E. Cavensham Commerce,” drawled the valet, who relished his saintly duty of keeping his master abreast of the household while alluding Nick was an ignorant fool.
Emma’s maid whirled around the corner with a basket of laundry. Nick ignored Whaley for the maid. “Arial, would you enlighten me about the countess’s schedule?”
“Certainly, my lord. On Mondays, Lady Somerton attends the Royal Archeological Society meetings. This month the lectures are covering the ancient Mayan ruins of the Americas. Tuesdays, she attends the Historical Guild of Greater London. I’m not really certain her agenda—”
“Thank you.” Nick presented his most enchanting smile so Arial wouldn’t take offense. “But I was wondering if you could give me an approximate time when she’ll return home today?”
Arial shook her head. “That’s difficult to predict. The Duke and Duchess of Langham have arrived in town. After Lady Somerton finishes her duties at the bank, she plans to return to Langham Hall for a visit. Sometimes, the duke and duchess host small card parties or intimate gatherings with friends followed by music. If it’s one of those nights, she may stay for several hours, but only if you’re not home,” she added with a sweet smile.
Christ, she’d practically left him by the sound of things. She must have grown weary of him. Already, she had found other amusements to while away her hours. The shock had to be visible on his face.
“My lord, it’s all perfectly safe. His Grace insures that one of his coaches brings her home. Her favorite footman always escorts her inside.”
Perfectly safe, his arse. “Hamm, direct the coach readied.”
“Yes, my lord,” the butler answered.
It didn’t escape Nick’s notice that Hamm raised his eyebrows and grinned at Arial and Whaley.
The front door opened, and Emma entered with a Langham footman acting as a sentinel.
“My lord, may I have a moment of your time?” With sharp, efficient movements, Emma removed her pelisse and hat, then tore off her gloves. “There’s something of extreme urgency we need to discuss.”
Nick nodded and held out his arm. With Emma’s hand linked around it, he escorted her into his study. He perused the never-ending piles of paper that begged for attention. Another letter from Renton stood front and center on his desk. The man must have wasted a fortune on the amount of paper he’d sent over the last five years.
Emma gingerly ran her palms down her skirt. She straightened her shoulders and met his gaze. Immediately, his earlier tension dissolved as if the tether stretching his entire body finally relaxed.
“Please, sit down. I was coming to see you after having my fill of reviewing the refitting proposals for Her Splendor.”
She sat on the edge of one of the navy brocade oversize chairs in front of his desk. He stood until she was seated and followed suit by taking the winged leather chair behind his desk.
“It’s fortunate I saved you a trip. Something happened at the bank … and we should discuss it.” She stopped and blinked slowly. Her mouth quivered, but she took a deep breath and regained control. The movements warned that the tumultuous control she held over her emotions was weak, and a storm was about to be unleashed.
His earlier sense of contentment vanished.
“Tell me.” It wasn’t a question, but a demand. If Aulton’s minions were hounding his wife, he’d hire five hundred solicitors and the same amount of barristers to keep the bastards occupied for years. He’d hire an army to stand guard outside her bank. All morning he’d kept his anger at bay over the earl’s outrageous actions, but he was more than ready to let it loose.
“A gentleman stopped by today with his sister. You’re acquainted with him. He told me you were at Eton together.” Her voice trailed to a whisper while she twisted her fingers together. Immediately, every hair on his body lifted in alert as if electricity had infused the air.
“Who was it?” He leaned his elbows on the desk and kept his voice even, but little else. A restless fury took root, whipping his musings into an orderly chaos that was a familiar companion. What he wouldn’t give to have a sparring partner ready at Gentleman Jackson’s for an intense workout. He needed something to calm the aggravation that threatened to combust into flames of anger. If anyone from that miserable school had deemed to harass or bother her, he’d break every bone in their body. There was a reason he kept fit. Never again would he tolerate a mocking word or jab said against him, and that vow now included his wife.
“Howell, Lord St. John Howell, and his sister, Miss Blythe Howell,” she said.
At the mention of Howell’s name, his mind reeled in protest. He’d never mentioned Howell’s cruelty on that fateful day. That the miscreant dared enter Emma’s bank proved he either was a fool or had a death wish.
He’d made life miserable by gleefully relishing Nick’s humiliation by his father’s hand at every opportunity. If Howell had spent as much time studying as he did making Nick’s life a living hell, the blighter would have made top marks.
But Nick attained his revenge. At the end of the term, he had found Howell and beat him to a bloody pulp. Howell’s incredulous expression when he’d raised his hand to his face and discovered his nose rearranged had made Nick’s wait well worth it. Their paths had never crossed since, and Nick planned to keep it that way.
Emma started to pace, clearly agitated. “He and his sister, Miss Howell, came to ask for a loan. The amount is greater than my reserves. Do you think we could—?”
“No.” He grabbed the first thing he could and crushed it. He chanced a glance. The crunch and crackle of the clutched paper was his father’s missive. He’d pulverized the wax seal bearing the Renton coat of arms to dust.
Fitting coincidence that his father and Howell were at his mercy.
“Under no circumstances will I help that bastard.” Nick was mildly surprised at his matter-of-fact tone. He could have been commenting on the weather. Inside he was seething that Howell had set foot in his wife’s bank.
He forced himself to breathe evenly as he leaned back in the chair. He could still hear Howell’s laughter peal like a jackal before a kill. The blockades he’d carefully constructed for his own survival would hold against any assault, even if came from his wife. His well-honed resistance would withstand her disapproval and condemnation if need be.
Emma glided to the desk and stood before him with her hands braced against the edge. Her rose scent drifted toward him, encouraging him to lean closer. With Howell in the forefront of his thoughts, he couldn’t succumb to her allure or her persuasive powers. Not with this turn of events.
“I know he was intolerably cruel and wicked at school. He told me how he regrets his actions. Please, Nick, they’re desperate,” she pleaded. “They’ve been turned away from every other lending institution. If we don’t help them, they’ll be forced to look at other avenues, moneylenders or—”
“I don’t care if they’re thrown out in the street and have to find lodgings in Seven Dials. You’re not helping them.” He pounded the desk so hard the wood creaked in protest. Papers spilled to the floor as if to escape his wrath. “They’ll not receive a shilling.”
Startled, she stepped away from the desk. The hope in her eyes dimmed. She chewed her lip and studied the view through the window. The miserable fog had lasted all day and made it impossible to see the street from his window. He could practically hear her thoughts whirling into arguments as she stared into nothing.
“Howell doesn’t have the money to break his sister’s betrothal.” The mellow honey in her voice was shaded with a hint of steel. “His sister doesn’t wish to marry.”
She was relentless when she wanted something, and he would expect nothing less from his wife than a meticulously, artful debate. Her green eyes sparked with the brilliance of perfectly cut emeralds, and her flushed cheeks enticed him beyond all reason. Any other time, he’d throw his work aside and take her in his arms, soothing her worry. Unfortunately, he couldn’t—no, he wouldn’t—yield, not even to her sweet temptation. This was an argument she would lose.
“Why am I not surprised? He was always an extravagant spendthrift.” Nick arranged the manifests on his desk. He turned his attention elsewhere as his anger was increasing to a steady boil.
“He was careless and even agrees that he was foolish. Instead of saving, he used every available fund to rebuild his stables. He didn’t realize…” Once again, she leaned across the desk and put her hand on his, her warm touch urging him, willing him to look at her. “Miss Howell is engaged to the Earl of Aulton. He’s anxious to wed her.”
“Howell is and always has been a bloody fool,” Nick offered.
Emma shook her head. “Regardless, they need our help. His sister’s situation is similar to Lena’s. At the age of twenty-five, she’s to inherit a substantial fortune. Aulton’s trying to shore up his depleted accounts. What if he kills her like he did Lena? Once he gets Miss Howell’s fortune, who knows what he’ll do.”
He studied her fingers clasping his fist. Small and perfectly shaped, her hands provided endless comfort when he needed it or maddening sensual bliss when he wanted it. But the tremble in her hands was a sight he didn’t want to witness. Nor did he want to see her hurt and desperate. When she entered his study, the stress of Howell’s request had already creased her brow with worry.
Bloody hell. This was preposterous. How could he even consider her request or let his guard down? He’d not capitulate to Howell or her.
“Howell … they didn’t realize Aulton’s reputation until it was too late. Aulton demands that Miss Howell marry him within the month. She doesn’t have much time.”
“Can’t she just tell him she refuses? Let Howell clean up his own mess.” Nick would press her until she ran out of arguments. “Women break engagements all the time.”
Emma exhaled. She shook her head and pressed her fingers over her mouth as if she was trying to keep her steadfastness from escaping. “Miss Howell explained to Aulton she couldn’t go through with the marriage and apologized. He laughed in her face and threatened a breach of promise suit. He said he’d spent a fortune preparing for their wedding.”
“What about Howell’s solicitors? Aren’t they bright enough to come up with a settlement of some sort?” He chanced a glance at Emma’s face before realizing his error. The glimmer in her eyes mirrored her passions, and it was his greatest weakness. He couldn’t look at her again, otherwise, he’d be lost.
“Aulton will allow Miss Howell out of the marriage only if Howell pays his expenses. Aulton claims the amount is ten thousand pounds. However, she must promise not to marry another until he takes a wife. He’s trying to save his reputation.” She rubbed her arms as if the room had suddenly chilled. “He should realize he doesn’t have one to save.”
“I’m sorry, but I won’t help Howell. I’m afraid he’d never pay it back.” Nick stood and scooped one of her hands and raised it to his lips. It allowed him to concentrate on something other than her face. “That’s my final word,” he whispered as he released her hand. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work.”
“No.” The sharpness in that one word forced him to glance up into her face. Her calm demeanor fell apart in front of his eyes. Emma stepped back and raised her chin in challenge. “This is too important. Miss Howell will face the same circumstances as Lena. With the same result. We can’t allow this.”
“I can and I will.” His tight restraint had frayed and weakened. The final thread snapped. In two steps, he’d rounded the desk and stood before her, the space between them no more than a hand’s width. The heat of his anger radiated around them.
“Do you know what will happen to her? What kind of life you’ll sentence her to?” Emboldened, she wove every softly spoken word into an immovable conviction. She didn’t retreat as her gaze pierced his.
Her skirt brushed against his legs, and the weight anchored him. He couldn’t move, but his fury thrashed and twisted inside his chest, bucking and baying to free itself.
“First, it will be a bruise on the arm, perhaps in the shape of a handprint. Next, it’ll be a bruise on her face with the excuse she clumsily ran into a door, then a broken arm from falling in the pantry as she reached for a basket.” Her chest expanded as she drew a frantic breath. “Finally, she’ll trip or fall down the stairs because she misjudged a step. If she’s lucky, she’ll break her neck. If there’s a merciful God, she won’t have borne him any children, saving them from the same fate or worse as they see their mother destroyed in front of them.”
“It’s not my concern.” He kept his voice flat, though he was horrified at the life she described. In protest, his stomach roiled. She was manipulating him into doing her bidding.
“Perhaps not.” She never blinked. She wouldn’t allow his gaze to leave hers, like a battle of wills between two titans. Only she didn’t realize that he’d never capitulate—no matter what.
He drew back just an inch, just enough to escape her intense concentration, which seemed to shimmer in waves, each assault more powerful than the next.
Her tricks were deadly wicked. The sheen in her eyes pierced him deeper than a stiletto. His determination bled freely, and when mixed with her agony made a deadly combination that threatened everything he’d worked for over the years. He fisted his hands in an attempt to retain his hard-fought control.
“Don’t you see? It was my concern. Lena was my concern, and I did nothing.” Her voice weakened, and a sob escaped. She clutched her hand to her heart. “She wrote and shared the horror of her life in those very words, and I did nothing.”
“Emma, you’ll never get the money back.”
“Yes, I will. Miss Howell promised that once she came into her fortune, she’d pay me back with full interest. Even if she doesn’t”—Emma exhaled—“I don’t care. I’d be saving her life.”
It was an act of kindness on her part when she turned her head. One tear, and he would have surrendered. Never in his life did he want—no, need—to offer comfort as he did now. He desperately wanted to take away the anguish that feasted on her conscience.
“Don’t,” he whispered. Like a magnet he was drawn to her. No matter the cost, he had to comfort her. He moved to take her in his arms. “You’re torturing yourself.”
She whirled away and sought refuge by the fireplace. The flickering light of the flames shadowed her face as if kissing away her grief.
“Then help me.” She faced him, and the fire cast a red halo around her. The soft glow of light seemed to blaze from within her. She looked like an angel, and her words were a plea from her soul.
Her voice called to his heart, the same one he’d so carefully protected for an eternity. The mutinous organ pounded against his ribs trying to break through and reach her.
“If you help Miss Howell, then you help me unlock these chains that have weighed on me since I heard of Lena’s death.” She closed her eyes and tilted her head to the ceiling as if looking for strength. “Please, for me?”
He didn’t answer. Did she have any idea what it would cost him to help the blackguard? It would be akin to self-mutilation. If he gave his soul to the devil, he’d suffer less.
“Do you remember the words you spoke when we married? If you care for me…” The brittle timbre in her voice exposed her vulnerability. “I’m asking you now, if you feel anything for me, please—”
He cleared his throat in a desperate attempt to release the vise that had cinched it closed. Her pain, so pure and understandable, was palatable. But it didn’t diminish the vow he’d made to himself. What kind of a man would he be if he couldn’t abide by his own beliefs and truths?
“Don’t ask that, Emma. I’m sorry, but no. I promised myself years ago, I’d not have anything to do with Howell.” He took a deep breath and released it. He was exhausted, and it was time she accepted his decision. “The answer is no.”
She bent her head. In any other person, it would be a sign of defeat, surrender. She shook her head. Then the vivid green of her eyes caught his, and deep down he knew she wouldn’t relent. He almost gave thanks in relief. This was the creature he’d married, a beautiful, intelligent woman whose strength couldn’t be denied.
“If you don’t learn the power of forgiveness, then how can you expect me to forgive myself? How do you expect me to accept what I didn’t do for Lena? My Lena, who had no family nearby when she needed help. All she had was me.” Emma finally succumbed to the tears and gasped as if it was her last. “All the while she was married to that monster.”
Determined not to concede, he shook his head and increased the distance between them until he sat at his desk. She was close to breaking down not only her defenses, but his. He couldn’t let her change his beliefs. She had the power to strip everything from him, everything he trusted, and then throw it asunder.
“Nick.” The sound of her whisper was a gauntlet extended in challenge. “If you continue the path you’ve chosen, you’ll become like your father—empty and alone.”
“Emma, don’t interfere.” If she thought to use his father to turn his decision, she’d made a strategic error. Just the mention of his name doubled Nick’s resolve.
“Please, for both our sakes?” She balled her hands into fists as she pleaded.
“You’d betray me like this?” As soon as the words escaped, he regretted it. She stumbled a step. Astonishment colored her pale cheeks.
“Betray you?” The bridled anger in her voice didn’t hide her fury as her green eyes clawed him like talons. “All I’m asking for is a loan. How could you compare saving a woman’s life as a betrayal to you?”
Determined not to react, he stared purposely at her.
She pursed her lips into a tight line and exhaled. The gesture hopefully meant she’d seen the error of her thoughts. She studied her hands. “I would never, ever betray you. You’re … my husband. You’re mine.”
The fervent whisper of her words bespoke the truth. He allowed himself to relax. She wasn’t capable of hurting him intentionally or with little regard. He’d accused his own wife of diabolical actions, and it left a sour taste he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to purge from his mouth.
She cleared her throat. “I’ll ask Claire or my mother for assistance then.”
“Absolutely not. I forbid it. You’re my wife and my responsibility.” Running his hand through his hair, he continued. “I take care of you. You’ll not drag your family into this.”
“I don’t want to be your responsibility. I want to be your equal, your partner.”
“I don’t want to argue,” he bit out.
“You have a fortune. I mean so little to you that you’d choose your money over me.” The whispered declaration was as sharp as a slap across his face.
He’d allowed her access to his deepest weakness—the hope she’d love him. He couldn’t tell her what she meant to him because he was a coward to say what was in his heart. Not after the words he’d uttered. If she denounced him as unworthy, he doubted he’d ever recover. So, he responded the only way he knew how, the only thing he’d allow. “If you’ll excuse me?”
“You can make a difference in this woman’s life.” She left her refuge by the fireplace and stood before him. “I saw you do that with Mary Butler when she was so scared for her mother and you offered to take them in.”
She studied him in that inscrutable way she had—the one that could knock a man’s legs out from under him. “The question is whether you have the courage to offer it to others. Don’t let your father and others dictate your actions. You’re a completely different man than them.”
The heat of her gaze burned through him, but he ignored it. It was the best choice for both of them. “This isn’t like Portsmouth and Mary Butler. It’s personal for me like Aulton is personal for you. Howell and my father are lines that will never be crossed.” His lips curled into a sneer. “Don’t push me, Emma. You’ll not like the results.”
“I see the results, Nick, and you leave me no choice.” With an innate grace, she walked away from him.
Her simple act of leaving gouged the foundation of his beliefs. For a brief instant, he felt the rejection, much like he did when his father left him.
“I’ll find another way,” she whispered, but the sound flew across the room like a javelin. She opened the door and gave him a final look, the same disappointment as his father’s reflected in her gaze. Finally, the door softly clicked close.
Like an ancient Celtic warrioress, she’d made an excellent throw. She’d pierced his heart, and his conscience bled with the words.
How could he have let this happen? All his life he’d desperately wanted to hear that he was loved and valued—words that someone claimed him as their own. When Emma had passionately described her love for Lena, everything within him had stilled. The chance for something so rare and so precious with his wife had been before him, and he’d squandered it. In order to keep from changing his mind and running after her, he stared at the neatly arranged papers on his desk. Instead of relief, a familiar numbness enveloped him, one that he hadn’t experienced since that fateful day at Eton.
It was easier this way, so he just … sat at his desk and went back to work.
Later, he entered the library. To pass the time, he poured a small glass of Claire’s family whisky. The spirit’s smoky-peat fragrance matched its taste—bold and fiery. It immediately brought to mind Emma when she’d left his study earlier.
He had to convince her to accept his reasoning. She couldn’t expect him to disregard his own values and principles to help Howell. If only Miss Howell had come to Emma without Howell’s interference, Nick’s decision would be different. However, with that arrogant arse to have asked for the funds, it was out of the question.
Her terse advice to make amends with his father wasn’t even to be considered. Nick would rather find the next ship sailing out of London to nowhere than see Renton again.
“My lord, her ladyship will not be joining you this evening,” Whaley announced as if he were an obnoxious town crier.
“Where is she?” Nick took another sip.
“She’s indisposed.” The valet shed the persona of Somer House’s official proclaimer and addressed Nick directly. “Arial shared our countess is upset over something, but she doesn’t know why.” His surliness returned with a vengeance. “Do you?”
“Have a tray prepared and delivered to my study.” He ignored Whaley’s latest theatrical performance and downed the remaining whisky in hope it would lessen the pain. “I’ll be working the rest of the evening.”
He tried to bury the intense sting at the news Emma wouldn’t join him. She wanted nothing to do with him, and he’d hurt her enough that she couldn’t stand his company.
Just as his father had declared.
He was a fool to even try for anything more or allow such thoughts. Disgusted with his own weakness, so similar to the one he’d experienced years ago in front of his father, he’d turn to the only comfort he could rely on—his work.
He had to stay true to himself. Let Howell go to hell.
* * *
Light from the midday sun beamed into the windows of Emma’s bank. No matter how much light entered, it didn’t diminish the dreariness that seeped into every inch of her office.
Last night, for the first time of their married life, Emma didn’t sleep with Nick. Their argument had been too raw. She’d seen the futility of her actions. She shuddered a breath and managed to keep her defiant heart from breaking. But she was losing the battle. She’d fallen in love, kicking and screaming the whole way. At first, their easy companionship had been ideal, but she’d let her guard down. How simple to dismiss all her objections to marriage.
Eventually, as it always does, the truth tore down the walls she’d created stone by stone, brick by brick, until she couldn’t ignore it anymore.
She believed she’d carved the perfect marriage for herself, one with a husband who cherished her values and beliefs as much as she did. Never did she think the stark truth of his regard for her would be this blistering. His resolve to view the world in a way that benefited only him was a truth she hadn’t wanted to accept. But now she must since he’d made it abundantly clear—he’d never relinquish his own personal vendetta even if it destroyed her. He’d either disregarded her need for absolution or didn’t care.
From her own family and her interaction with Jonathan, she’d finally accepted what she didn’t want to believe—Lena’s death didn’t justify any retribution. She couldn’t stop asking the same question repeatedly, ad nauseam—if it had been Aulton murdered by his wife, would there have been a different standard of justice? She suspected the answer would ravage her so completely she’d lose herself.
A lone tear escaped and dropped to her desk. As she’d feared, she was stuck in a marriage with a selfish man. Her own husband, the man she loved with her whole being, didn’t think her worthy enough to set aside his vows of making money to save a young woman’s life. He’d already become the hardened English lord who put his interests above all others.
The bell rang once more.
She took a deep breath. While he didn’t care, she did. There was a reason she chose to be at her bank—to help others in their time of need. Whether anyone helped her or not was a question she didn’t have the fortitude to examine now.
“Am I interrupting?” Nick stood before her looking every inch the virile, magnificent man she remembered marrying weeks ago.
The rich rumble of his voice caused her heart to squeeze. With just a couple of words, he’d cut her to the bone and made her vulnerable. She closed her eyes. God, she hated this feeling of powerlessness.
“No, my lord.” She blinked, desperate to keep some control so she wouldn’t make a fool of herself.
He nodded to John Small and removed his greatcoat. With eyes locked on hers, he prowled toward her, familiar yet dangerous. A fire smoldered in the blue-green depths and singed what little forbearance she’d gathered to shield herself against his allure. She was nothing more than prey at this point.
He took her hand and raised it to his lips. The gesture made her perfidious heart topple in an endless somersault.
He surveyed the room, and his gaze settled on John. “If you’d be so kind as to step outside and keep customers from interrupting us?”
The footman bowed and took his leave.
“Is he here the entire time?” Nick asked.
No matter the reason for his appearance, she could not and would not turn in to some simpering fool. With a nod, she swallowed the sudden flutters that had erupted in her stomach. “My father wants someone with me at all times when I’m working.”
“I didn’t think.…” With a grimace, he stole another glance around the room. “With my investigator, Mr. Macalester, conducting his business above yours, I didn’t think there would be a need for a full-time escort. I should thank your father and offer to reimburse him.”
“No need. In my opinion, it’s too much,” she said.
“Arial shared that John is your favorite footman, and he brings you home from your outings.”
His outright smile turned him into the man she married, the one who teased and flirted until he got a reaction that pleased them both. This version was so different from the one who denied her request to help Miss Howell.
“I must see if I can be fitted into the Langham livery. I want to be your favorite.” He tilted her chin with one hand so her eyes met his, and she prepared for his kiss. He took her by surprise when he trailed his lips against her cheek. “Show me how you conduct your business.”
From nowhere, renegade tears started to well in her eyes. That was the depth of her despair. Of all the times for tears, this was not it. She took a deep breath in an attempt to control her unruly emotions. “I hoped you’d ask.”
“I’ve upset my wife.” He reached into his pocket, then handed her an embroidered linen. “I can’t stand your tears. Each one is as sharp as a knife and takes a sliver of my heart when it falls.”
“Don’t say such things,” she whispered. This time the square had the letter ‘N’ designed in gold thread with a beautiful scroll design. After she wiped the errant drops away, she attempted another smile. “I’m glad you’re here.”
His expression collapsed into concern. “Emma”—he cleared his throat—“last night…”
She opened the drawer to retrieve Mrs. Jones’ prized woodcarving. Last night had been a nightmare, and she didn’t want to revisit it, at least not yet. She was still attempting to understand what had happened between them. “Do you have an appointment with Mr. Macalester?”
“No, I’m here for you.” Nick took her in his arms and kissed the top of her head as if he were comforting Lady Margaret.
His every move, touch, and word chipped away at her resolve. He made this rift between them appear simple, as if it was a debate over the most appropriate wine to serve with a leg of lamb. It’d take so little to convince herself that he truly cared for her the way she wanted. Was it too much to expect that she was a higher priority than his money and his own past?
“Now, what do you have there?” he asked.
Carefully, pulling back the linen wrap, Emma placed the piece of wood before him. “This is the collateral for the last loan I made yesterday.”
“How much was the loan?” A hint of doubt underscored his words.
“Two pounds.”
His eyes darted to hers, then returned to the carving. “Are you concerned she’ll abscond with the money?”
“Of all my clients, she’s the one who will pay the money back early. She works hard as a laundress, takes care of her appearance, and has already made arrangements for additional work to pay me back. Her son’s wife is carrying, and she needs a doctor’s care. Her family is her whole world.” She presented the carving for his inspection. “That world, my lord, is represented here. Her son carved this for her as a present. It’s the most valuable possession she owns.”
She traced the woodcarving a final time. “There are other things besides money that motivate people. If one looks hard enough, the reasons are always visible.”
An elevated eyebrow proved he held little regard for her theory. His response was further proof of his priorities. She’d chosen to ignore them in the past, but not now. She had nothing else to lose.
“My operation is quite simple. I offer funds in exchange for collateral and only collect a simple interest rate.” She replaced the carving, then pulled open a drawer with a jewelry case inside. “Most women have a piece of jewelry they offer as security. Some bring items such as silver candlesticks. All of my profits go back to the operation. If I continue at this same rate of success, I plan to open an office in Portsmouth or Edinburgh, maybe even Bath. Women need these opportunities. Perhaps one day I’ll have enough monies to start a charity specifically dedicated to women like Lena and Mary and Miss How…”
She let her voice fade to nothing. She couldn’t contain her sadness or the awkwardness that caused a sudden silence between them. With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. “I only planned to stay open a half day, and I’ve still got a lot of bookkeeping to do before I leave.” She stood and grasped several items to put away in the vault. “What may I help you with?”
He clasped her hand tightly. “Howell.”