LITMIR.BIZ

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barely utter the words through the dryness in her mouth. It wasn’t like her to want a man so powerfully, not after the awkward way Lord Howsham had introduced her to the physical side of love, but Mr Connor was no Lord Howsham. There was tenderness beneath his teasing, something she’d never experienced with the earl. This man wouldn’t be rough with her. It would be smooth and easy like sliding into the warm water of a bath.

      ‘Until this afternoon.’ At last he released her and with reluctance she lowered her hand, wanting him to take her from this house now, tonight, so she could delight in the fire filling his eyes and the comfort of his good nature.

      Mr Connor left with more confidence than he’d entered with, when she’d watched him through the crack in the door, listening eagerly for what he might say.

      ‘Well, there’s one matter resolved,’ her father sighed with relief once they were alone. Then he turned to her, his expression clouding with the disapproval he’d meted out to her last night. ‘Now you’ve accepted Mr Connor, there’ll be no calling off the wedding, no matter what happens, or I’ll cast you out of this house without a penny. Do you understand?’

      ‘I do.’ She stared at Mr Connor’s empty glass and the faint outline of his lips along the rim. In her desperation to escape the Rockland house, she’d misjudged Lord Howsham. She hoped she hadn’t misjudged Mr Connor. If he proved even a tenth of the man she gauged him to be, he’d make a good husband. She’d do her best to deserve him and put all of the unfortunate incidents of the previous day, and her life, behind them.

Chapter Three

      ‘Was your meeting with Lord Rockland a success?’ Philip asked as Justin strode into his friend’s study.

      ‘You have no idea.’ He explained to Philip the events of the interview. When he was done, he leaned back against the French door, feeling the sun warming his back through the glass. ‘I suppose you think I’m crazy.’

      ‘I’m the last person to judge a man for taking a wife so quickly, or for the most ephemeral of reasons,’ Philip admitted from where he sat ramrod straight in the chair behind his desk. Philip had proposed to Mrs Rathbone after she’d held him at gunpoint demanding the return of some collateral. It’d been a strange start to a very successful marriage, one Justin hoped to emulate.

      ‘Mr Connor, your father would like to see you in the morning room,’ Chesterton, the Rathbones’ butler, announced with more apology than efficiency. This wasn’t the first time Justin’s father had come here in search of him.

      Justin looked at the liquor on the side table before eschewing the drink. Smelling alcohol on his breath would only give his father another reason to criticise him. ‘I’ll be back.’

      He strode down the panelled hallway of the Rathbones’ house which was situated in Bride Lane just off Fleet Street. Across the street, the bells of St Bride’s church began to toll the noon hour. In a matter of days, he’d have his common licence and a date fixed at the church. It amazed him how the green-eyed hellcat had managed to snare him in a matter of minutes, though he’d rather be back with her than preparing to face the man pacing across the Rathbones’ fine sitting-room rug.

      Mr Green, the young man Justin paid to reside with his father and keep him out of trouble, sat on a bench near the front door. He jumped up at the sight of Justin. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Connor, I tried to talk him out of it, but he insisted on coming here to see you.’

      ‘It’s all right, Mr Green. You do your best.’ Justin waved the young man back on to the bench. It was hard for anyone to deal with his father, much less dissuade him from any course, including ruin.

      ‘’Bout time you came to me,’ his father grumbled as Justin approached. ‘Thought I was going to have to wait here all day.’

      ‘And a good afternoon to you, too, Father.’ He should have taken the drink.

      ‘I waited all morning for you to come and tell Mrs Green to stop shoving those damned tonics on me, but you never showed.’

      His father’s housekeeper was a saint for putting up with him, as was her son.

      ‘I’m sorry I failed to arrive for our appointment. I was meeting with a young lady and her father to finalise the details of our engagement.’ There was no other way to make the announcement except the direct one. His father wasn’t one for polite conversation, though once he’d been charming and suave, able to talk a stranger into buying him a drink as well as putting down the pistol when he and the elder Mr Rathbone had arrived to collect a debt.

      ‘Finally making that little widow your wife, heh?’

      ‘No. She’s accepted a proposal from another man. I’m marrying Miss Susanna Lambert, the Duke of Rockland’s illegitimate daughter.’

      Shock lengthened the deep lines of his father’s face before he drew them tight into his usual scowl. He marched up to Justin. He was a good head shorter than his son, but it didn’t stop him from waving one thick finger in Justin’s face.

      ‘So a widow of your own class ain’t enough for you—you want to raise yourself up. Think you’re too important for your station and the life I’ve given you. Well, you aren’t. Reach too high and you’ll fall fast enough.’

      ‘Your faith in me is astounding.’ Justin laced his fingers behind his back. The insulting man was his father and he’d honour him, but no commandment could make him like him. The most he could do was tolerate him, much as he’d seen Miss Lambert tolerate her father. He’d admired and revered him once, but his father’s acerbic tongue had killed those feelings ages ago.

      ‘What have you ever done to give me faith in you except drink, lay about with easy widows and squander your money on ridiculous shipping schemes? How much of my blunt did you lose in that harebrained venture of yours?’

      ‘Not one ha’penny. Now, as much as I’m enjoying this conversation, I must ask you to get to the point. Mr Rathbone and I have business to attend to this afternoon.’

      ‘Well, la-de-da.’ His father made a mock curtsy, his hands trembling as he held them out. It was lack of alcohol which made them shake, a situation he’d soon remedy. ‘Knew sending you to school was a waste. I’ve come for money, since you think me too great a fool to manage it myself.’

      Justin withdrew a few coins from his pocket and handed them to his father. He didn’t bother to point out he was acting in his father’s best interests. The older man wouldn’t understand any more than he understood Justin’s desire to emulate Philip and be more than another man’s assistant.

      ‘Taught ya’ everything ya’ know and this is how ya’ repay me, handing out a pittance as if I was a child.’ His father scowled as he plucked up the coins and shuffled into the hall. ‘Come along, you,’ he barked at Mr Green. ‘No-good son of mine thinks he’s better than his old father.’

      A trail of mumbling curses followed him out the door until Chesterton closed it and brought the noise to an end.

      Justin turned his hand over, studying the dark bruises on his knuckles. He wasn’t sure he should subject Miss Lambert to his father, but judging by the brief treatment he’d seen meted out to her by Lord Rockland, she more than anyone might sympathise with the necessity of managing a difficult relative.

      ‘Is your father gone already?’ Mrs Rathbone stepped into the sitting room, concern for Justin in her caring eyes. Her infant son slept on her shoulder, one small hand curled tight by his tiny mouth.

      ‘Not even pleasant company with me could keep him from his other errands today,’ Justin said glibly, hating to be pitied. This wasn’t the first spat Mrs Rathbone had witnessed between father and son. They were a regular occurrence.

      ‘You must recall the better times and ignore his taunts,’ she urged, rubbing the sweet baby’s back.

      ‘I do.’ He sighed out the lie, barely

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