White Lace and Promises

Prologue

Philadelphia, PA

June 1812

Five hundred dollars.
Five hundred fucking dollars.
Given straight into the hands of Charlie McConnell. Around and around Grey’s mind those words circled, shoving aside any rational thought.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of mouldering paint and wood. The shock of the foetid odour slowed the swirl of his emotions. He glanced around at the broken-down scraps and sticks of furniture littering the back room of the shop.

This had been her home for almost four years. Four years. God.

The anger inside him churned a bit less intensely. Some semblance of thought returned and with it a hearty dose of remorse.

Yes, he should never have turned his back on her and walked away. Especially without explanation.

But he’d been forced to escape. Anger had struck him quickly, like a blow from some unseen assailant, rocking him to his core. It still quivered in his muscles. God, he’d completely lost his control.

“Grey, please…”

The soft, breathy voice with its slight halting note made him turn.

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 way possible. 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 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—wilfully 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.

He’d taken 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 realise…”

Her soft pink mouth trembled. God. He’d lost himself then. Utterly lost himself. He reached for her, 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.

 
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.