Beth stood before him, her lashes veiling her eyes as she focused on some point upon his cravat. He studied this girl, who held the power to drive all rationality out of his mind. The power to knock him from his foundations. The power to force him to change his whole life. Her head barely reached his shoulder. Christ, how petite and small-boned she really was. It still shocked him. It brought out his protectiveness, made him less wary.
But some of the most dangerous things in life came in small packages.
He let his eyes linger over her delicately etched features and her gently curling, silver- gold hair. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and time only seemed to increase that impression. Anger, resentment, sympathy, protectiveness—which did he feel? He didn’t know and he didn’t trust himself to speak. Damn it anyway. If only she hadn’t followed him here. If only she’d give him a chance to collect his thoughts so he could respond to her properly.
In his business dealings he was used to making decisions quickly. He was used to reading people’s reactions and responding in the most diplomatic, effective way possible. Negotiation was second nature to him. But here, in the world of passionate emotions, he was wholly lost.
She touched his arm, a tentative feathering of her fingers over his jacket sleeve. Despite the protection of the fabric, sparks chased along his flesh. She glanced up through thick, silver-gilt lashes. His heart rate sped. Desire shot from the base of his spine, into his balls, his cock, further clouding his perspective. Ah, but she was very good at flirtation. Her sensual skills were deadly. He’d better never forget it.
Her sky-blue eyes implored him. “Don’t be angry. My brother will repay you.”
He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest, as if that could protect him from her effect on his senses. “It’s not the money, Beth, it’s the disloyalty.”
Her mouth—her soft, pink, delectable mouth—dropped open slightly. “Disloyalty?”
“Yes, disloyalty to my wishes.”
“But you said I could spend the money as I chose.”
“No. I told you, expressly, that the money I gave to you was solely for your own use. I don’t care what you spend it on, so long as you spend it on your needs and wants alone.”
“I wanted to help my brother. He got himself into some trouble with a moneylender.”
His patience snapped. “I have already given your brother funds, enabled him to better his position—generously.”
“He doesn’t know how to handle money. He—”
“But you broke faith with me, Beth.”
The sharp sound of a handclap cut the air. Beth’s image and that of the shabby backroom shattered like someone had thrown a rock into a mirror. Shock washed over him as his wharf-side office came into focus. He jerked his head up.
Over the desk, a tall, redheaded scarecrow grinned at him like a moron.
Thomas Watson, his oldest friend. Good God. What the devil was Watson doing here? Who’d let him in? The front entrance was kept locked on Sundays. Couldn’t a man spend an afternoon in peace in his own office?
Watson’s amber eyes fixed on him and narrowed as if deep in speculation.
Grey shifted uneasily, feeling as though Watson could see right down into his tempestuous thoughts, and turned his attention back to the column of numbers on the page.
“Have you lost weight?” Watson’s mother hen tone grated on him. Grey’s quill tore through the paper.
He tossed his quill onto the desktop and swung back in his chair. “What?”
Watson’s bushy, red-gold brows lifted. “That’s some greeting. I came to Philadelphia to find out what’s been holding you here.”
“Why? Have you suddenly appointed yourself my keeper?”
Watson shrugged. “Someone needs to be. You work yourself a hundred times harder than any other man in your position would. I’d wager all I own some niggling matter has dominated your attention.”
“Oh, it’s something very important, I assure you…” Grey’s voice trailed off at the end. Five hundred dollars. Christ. He wouldn’t even have found out if a drunken McConnell hadn’t grasped his hand and thanked him profusely for getting him out of trouble with an aggressive moneylender.
She’d disregarded his wishes—willfully so—yet when faced with it, she’d crossed her arms over her chest. Her eyes, glossy and hurt, had stabbed into him a moment before she’d turned away. “You don’t understand my position with my family.”
Even now, just remembering her haltingly spoken words, his stomach twisted. He took a deep breath and tapped his fingers on the desktop.
Oh, he understood her position. Too well. It was that same soft heart, that same blind loyalty that so beguiled him, that got her into trouble. Her half-siblings were vipers who sought to gain what they could from her new association with him and she was a fool to be taken in by them. What had they ever offered her but endless toil and pain? She didn’t need them any longer. She had him now.
He’d grasped her by the shoulders and spun her back to face him.
“Beth, if you are to be my wife, you ought to start by respecting my wishes. You ought to give me some of this mindless loyalty you bestow on your family.”
She stepped back. “I am sorry, Grey. I didn’t realize…”
“I seek to give you everything. All I ask in return is a little loyalty.”
Her soft pink mouth trembled. God. He’d lost himself then. Utterly lost himself. He pulled her close, brought his mouth down on hers, crushed her to his chest and tasted his fill of those lips.
Sweet, unbearably sweet sensation wiped everything else out of his mind.
Yet upon waking this morning his sense of confusion had been so great that he’d decided not to visit Southwark today. Just as well—he had a lot of business to get caught up on.
“Where the hell were you today?” Watson’s question startled him. Pulled back him into the present moment.
Grey scowled. “What does it look like? I’ve been here, working.”
Damn, he’d been sitting here eating his heart out over his discordance with Beth like a jackass. Again. So much, he’d wholly forgotten Thomas. And this after he had vowed to put the matter from him and concentrate on audits. Instead, he’d thought of nothing else all day. He was losing all control over his emotions.
“I expected to see you at the Exchange.”
Grey’s scowl deepened. “There’s no Exchange on Sundays.”
Watson rolled his eyes. “It’s Monday, Sexton.”
“The devil you say!”
But if it was Monday he’d missed an appointment with Mr. Post, a merchant banker who had expressed an interest in investing in his privateering voyages. Impossible. Grey would never have allowed himself to miss such an important meeting.
Wait. His valet, Will, had mentioned the meeting that morning, asking him if he wanted his diamond cravat pin. Grey reached up and felt the pin’s distinctive shape at his throat. He glanced down and saw his second best cutaway coat and pantaloons, the new, pale gray satin waistcoat and his best Hessian boots. By damn, he did seem to be dressed for an important meeting.
Christ, it was Monday.
He looked up and met Watson’s stare. His friend’s gold-brown eyes narrowed. “What is the matter with you, Sexton? It is not like you to miss the Exchange or be forgetful.”
“I must be getting the fever that is going around.”
Watson frowned. “I have heard nothing about a fever.”
“Sure about that? I tell you I am turning sick with something.” It seemed as plausible an excuse as any for his lapse in personal discipline. Anything but the truth.
He was stunned that he could forget any important appointment. Much less one of this magnitude. A cold sweat broke over him.
This was how a man lost control over his affairs.
This was how a man lost his business.
His meager breakfast of bread and strong coffee began to sour. He resisted the urge to place his hand over hi
s stomach and rub.
“Will you join Jenna and myself for supper tonight?” Thomas’ voice cut through his thoughts once more.
Grey struggled to focus his attention on his friend.
“We’re staying with my great aunt and you know how well her cook prepares duck.”
“No, I can’t.” Grey swept his hand over the papers and ledgers strewn over his desk. “I am so behind on all of these audits.”
He’d never neglected business like this before—a glaring sign of how much he’d allowed his control to slip.
Watson glanced at the desktop. “Audits, huh? I don’t know why you bother with employing clerks or office managers at all. You don’t trust them to do their jobs without constant supervision. Well, Jenna will be disappointed.”
“I am sorry, but business takes priority.”
“I shall leave you to it, then.” Watson turned away.
As Grey watched him walk to the door, his gut twisted. He should tell his oldest and dearest friend he’d become engaged to marry Beth. But he didn’t want to deal with Watson’s disappointment right at that moment. Watson wanted Grey to marry Jenna, his nineteen-year-old daughter, and took every opportunity to push her at him.
Until recently, Grey had had no intention of ever marrying again. Moreover, he had nothing in common with Jenna. The girl was pretty enough and biddable, a model of deportment and grace. She’d make a man in his position an excellent wife. Yet she cared for nothing but clothes shopping and society gossip. Besides, for Christ’s sake, he’d once held her leading strings.
Watson paused at the door and turned. “Shall I see you tomorrow at the Exchange?”
“You may count on it.” Grey forced his lips into a semblance of a smile.
As the door closed, Grey collapsed against his chair back. That meeting with the investment banker had been an important matter. It’d be the ultimate humiliation if any of his business associates should guess how he was losing control.
And, God—Beth’s silver-blonde beauty was so extraordinary, wouldn’t it just be apparent to everyone, once his engagement was announced, exactly what had happened? That he’d been compelled to ask for her hand just to get her into his bed.
Except that wasn’t how it had happened at all.
She’d thrown herself into his path and allowed him—correction, she’d all but begged him—to bed her. Actually, they hadn’t even made it to a bed. He’d thoroughly fucked her in his carriage, almost before he knew her name—the kind of experience an adolescent boy dreamt of in his virgin bed but that never, ever happened in reality.
However, it had happened, and no man with any fire in his blood could have resisted her. However, for Grey it had been more complex than that. He’d looked into her sad, sky-blue eyes and been blindsided by a tidal wave of sexual possessiveness tempered only by a tender sympathy he’d had no ability to defend himself against.
Then she’d run away from him, repeatedly, until he’d been driven near insane with the need to claim her for his own. But she’d thrown his carte blanche back in his face and made it clear she would accept nothing less than marriage. It’d been a damned uncomfortable position, as if she’d held his feet over a fire.
He’d returned to a well-ordered life in New York City that had meant nothing without her. What else could he have done?
He’d pledged himself.
Damn it all, what else could he have done?
He tapped his fingers on the desktop and tried to release some of his tension in a lengthy exhale.
Yes, yes my friend, what else could you have done?
He’d wanted her.
Wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.
Wanted her more than he should ever want anything or anyone.
Such intolerable longing, it was a weakness that had taken him by complete surprise but one he’d been powerless to deny.
And now she was his but he hadn’t found any peace. She dominated his waking thoughts and pulled his mind away from business matters.
A prickling sensation arose at the base of his skull.
An uncanny feeling that his father was watching him from beyond the veil.
“Some men appear to focus with diligence on their business yet inside, their ears constantly strain for the rustle of petticoats.” Ashahel Prosperity Sexton had fixed his only son with those steely eyes that seemed to penetrate layer upon layer of self-defenses, revealing every shameful detail of Grey’s feverish nocturnal, adolescent imaginings. “Will you prove to be a petticoat-minded man?”
Yes, Grey did appreciate feminine beauty.
He did enjoy the physical pleasures that could found with a woman in bed.
What ridiculous pains Grey had gone to, as a young man in his early twenties, to hide his various dalliances with women, his one weakness, from his father.
Occasionally, vague snatches of gossip would reach the senior Sexton’s ears.
“A daydreamer! An idealist! A useless romantic boy who has grown into a man totally enthrall to the allure of quim! This is my son. My son.” The last was said with a full measure of incredulousness. His father had slammed back in his seat dramatically, sighing with exaggerated effect. Then he had looked up and his cold gray eyes had raked Grey, disdainfully. “What did I ever do to displease the Creator so much that he feels the need punish me in this manner?”
The sense of Grey’s hackles being raised increased. Despite his better sense, he couldn’t help but rub the back of his neck.
Perhaps, even now, Father was seeing his oft-voiced prophecy coming true—a prophecy that his daydreaming son did not possess the strength and focus needed to hold on to the family business.
Well, Grey would be damned before he’d give his father the satisfaction. Anything related to his business must once again take first priority in his life. It always had before. It had been the very focal point of his life.
Again, he rubbed the back of his neck. After the dissolution of his first marriage, he had never imagined that he would ever be so weak to any woman again, certainly not this slip of a girl. Yes, Beth was twenty-three but she was untried in so many ways. Unsophisticated. A servant’s daughter. A girl from an impoverished background who was totally inexperienced with his world. To him, a gentleman of thirty-seven, used to older, worldly women, Beth did seem like a girl.
He’d always pointedly avoided young women like Beth. Yet he’d been unable to resist Beth. No man could have. Lamenting that fact was futile.
Yes, he did feel resentment towards her for her ability to affect his emotions.
But he was far more unhappy and frustrated with himself for allowing it.
However, he simply wasn’t thinking clearly.
And that was a dangerous, intolerable thing.
Every person who depended on Sexton Shipping for their livenhood depended on him having a clear head and making the correct decisions, every hour of every day. Missing chances to increase income was just the start of a dangerous slippery slope to bankruptcy and ruin.
Not only for himself but everyone dependent on him.
He was not like other men.
He didn’t have the luxury of being out of his head in love.
Yet, surely, a man of his experience could gain the upper hand in his own engagement.
Christ, he needed to take control of the situation. But what were the first steps?
Mr. Post was going back to Baltimore tonight. Grey would go and ask for a second chance to see him there and beg his pardon for the missed meeting today.
A week away from Beth would clear his head and set his priorities where they needed to be.
He picked up his quill and hastily penned a note to her.
Chapter One
“You’re going to have to behave.”
His cool tone, with its undercurrent of tolerant amusement, made Beth bristle. She forced herself to relax and smile at him. Seductively. Dazzlingly.
Grey Sexton remained unmoved, his silver eyes distan
t, the skin over his angular cheekbones taut, his strong jaw jutting with as much arrogance as ever. Tension poured off him, making her own neck muscles tighten. She’d known him in many moods but never so completely unresponsive.
Her heart began to hammer. What had changed?
Silence fell between them. As the carriage clattered towards Third Street along the pebble stones, her stomach fluttered. What had happened to the uncontrollable passion that had always flared between them? For the weeks of their courtship he’d been so warm, so attentive, so affectionate, the way she’d only suspected he could be. That warm affection had melted the very last of her defenses and made her fall utterly in love with him.
Now, his handsome, hard-boned features remained closed, controlled.
Like ice.
Like a stranger.
Maybe the attentive lover had been a façade on his part, designed to gain her trust and secure her commitment? Or maybe it was a dream she had conjured from her own imagination.
Maybe the man she had fallen in love with had disappeared forever. No, she couldn’t accept that. She simply had to try to break through his icy exterior to the warmth beneath. Warmth she needed. She put her hand on his leg, whence he had so recently removed it, and traced her fingers over the fine, soft wool of his pantaloons. His powerful thigh muscles tensed. She glanced up.
His gaze was fixed on her moving hand, his pupils dilated and the skin drew more taut over his cheekbones. How well she knew that expression. She smiled and laughed softly. What a ninny she was to worry. Nothing had changed. He would not be able to resist twice.
She reached the growing swell at his groin. Dear God, he was so huge and hard—as he was always. Heat flooded her veins and a tingling ache spread into her loins. She pressed her thighs tightly together.
His hand swept down and clamped hers. She caught her breath and a shiver raced through her, making her nipples pebble and her breasts swell. His hands were so large and strong, his skin so deeply tanned against hers. She couldn’t glance at his hands without recalling how they felt, so sure and skilled on her body. Wetness flowed from her core. She crossed her legs more tightly, turned and leaned closer to him.
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