Regency Surrender: Debts Reclaimed. Georgie Lee
her fingers his muscles stiffened. The easy intimacy of a moment before vanished, the pain straining his expression dampening to something more solid, something she couldn’t read.
She expected him to pull away and increase the wall forming between them. To her surprise, he turned his hand over in hers and slid his thumb along the line of her smallest finger. The slow caress ripped through her, as startling as if he’d stroked her nearly bare chest. If the same excitement raced through him she couldn’t tell. His eyes remained fixed on hers, serious yet tempting, his true feelings as hidden from her as they were from his clients.
Despite his stoicism, she silently willed him to close the distance between them, to take her in his arms and kiss her until she could think of nothing except his touch, his warmth, his body. The urge frightened her as much as it made her heart race with anticipation, but the moment never happened. She pressed her fingertips against his wrist. His pulse beat a soothing rhythm against her skin. It didn’t flutter wildly like hers. It seemed he was reaching out to her, but still holding something of himself back, retreating just when she wanted him to press forward.
The deep bells of St Bride’s tolled nine times, marking the hour. Beneath their ringing, Laura caught Thomas’s faint cries from upstairs. The sound didn’t draw Philip’s eyes from hers, but it interrupted the quiet moment and brought it to an end.
Philip slid his hand out from beneath hers, dropping it to his side. ‘I must help Mrs Marston settle Thomas.’
‘Of course.’
‘Would you care to join me?’
‘No, I’ll stay.’ She’d risked enough of herself with him tonight. She didn’t have the strength for more.
‘Goodnight then.’
‘Goodnight.’
He made for the door, stopping just outside it to face her. ‘In the future, I’ll do my best to consult you on matters pertaining to you and your mother before decisions are made.’
‘Thank you.’
His assurance given, he strode away.
Beneath her palm, the marble still radiated with Philip’s heat. Nothing had happened between them except the faintest of touches, yet it was as if he’d swept Laura in his arms and kissed the breath from her.
If only he had, then she wouldn’t feel so unsettled. For all the passion his fingers had aroused in her, there’d been something rote about his touch, as if he’d known what was expected of him and performed his duties accordingly.
She traced the same marble swirl he had, coming close to the white base of a porcelain shepherdess before retreating. Despite the stiffness in his touch, when he’d spoken of his challenges and his true feelings about her being here, he’d been completely honest. It provided the faint hope that there could be something between them and that he might want it as much as her.
‘Did he show you the knife?’ Jane strolled into the room, attempting to not look too curious and failing.
Startled, Laura jerked her hand off the mantel, nearly sending the small figurine toppling to the floor. She caught it just in time.
‘He did. It was quite fascinating.’
‘So was the trick you played with the fork at dinner.’ Jane smirked, strolling to join her at the fireplace.
‘I didn’t play any trick.’ To her horror, Laura knew exactly what Jane was referring to.
‘Yes, you did. I saw it.’ Jane reached up and straightened the statue. ‘Philip saw it, too. I’ve never seen my brother so stunned. You must do it again at breakfast.’
Laura laced her fingers in front of her, trying hard not to laugh at the absurdity of receiving flirting lessons from this sober thirteen-year-old girl. ‘Should I die in ecstasy over the eggs just to get your brother’s attention?’
Jane failed to see the humour in the remark, regarding it seriously, the way Philip regarded any proposal. The resemblance to her brother was striking. ‘No, you’re right. One time was good, too many will make it comical. You must continue to employ the subtle approach. Mrs Templeton was quite aggressive and put Philip right off her.’
‘Who’s Mrs Templeton?’ It was the second time she’d heard the woman’s name in connection to Philip.
‘Mrs Templeton’s a widow, all large breasts and red hair. Quite crass, though she doesn’t think so. Her husband was another moneylender, an old man. Mrs Templeton set her cap at Philip after Mr Templeton died, but Philip wasn’t interested. She wasn’t right for him.’
‘Am I right for Philip?’ Laura felt quite brave with her enquiries tonight.
‘You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t,’ Jane stated, as if informing Laura of the day’s wool prices.
If only Laura could be so sure. Jane was still a child. There were numerous things she might not know or understand about her brother.
‘If Mrs Templeton was married to a moneylender, then she must know the business and still have her husband’s clients. Wouldn’t it have been prudent on his part to marry her?’ Philip was nothing if not prudent.
‘Her? Here?’ Jane wrinkled her face in disgust. ‘It never would have worked. She’s too fond of her independence to marry again and she isn’t like Philip; she lends to all sorts of questionable people. She’s quite nasty when they don’t repay. No, he’s much better off with you.’
Laura wished she shared Jane’s confidence in her suitability for Philip and his uninterest in the widow. He might not have married Mrs Templeton, but what Jane truly knew about Philip’s relationship with her was sure to be limited. She couldn’t imagine Philip parading his paramour through the house. It was quite possible his proposal to Laura had only come about because Mrs Templeton had rejected his.
The hope she’d experienced earlier dimmed. If his heart lay elsewhere, her chances of securing it were slim. She rubbed her thumb along the tips of her fingers, unwilling to give up so soon after she’d started. There had been something between them tonight, however faint. Whatever his relationship with the widow, Laura possessed the advantage of being here before him each day. She would use that to her advantage, even if she wasn’t precisely sure how.
* * *
Philip sat behind his desk, the ledger open, the pen settled in the crease in the centre. He needed to finish the accounts tonight or it would be one more task to do tomorrow. Through the window, the moon grazed the top of the sill, looking down on the garden outside as Laura had looked down on him this morning.
Philip shifted in his chair, the tension low inside him as disconcerting as when Laura had entered the dining room. He’d sent her to Mrs Fairley out of necessity. He hadn’t expected the results to be so striking. The pale rose-coloured silk had highlighted the slight blush of her skin and exposed the roundness of her breasts. The effect had hit him hard, as had the sigh of delight when she’d slid the morsel of chicken from the silver tines with her full lips.
Philip tugged at the knot of his cravat, working the tightness off his throat. Justin had told him stories of men with strange tastes, ladies’ shoes and stockings driving them to the height of need. Philip had scoffed at the idea, until tonight. If Laura relished every meal in such an uninhibited fashion, he might develop a taste for watching her eat, naked, in the middle of his bed.
He pulled his list of things to do in front of him and wrote a reminder to instruct Mrs Palmer to remove chicken from the menu. He couldn’t endure another meal like the one tonight. He might have walked naked in front of Laura when she’d been a stranger, but he was not about to parade his more carnal needs in front of his future mother-in-law or his overly precocious sister.
The item added, he studied the list. Only a few things remained. Almost every one related to Laura. He stuck the pen in its stand, disturbed by how quickly she’d wound her way into his life. Though if any of the tasks on