connection jumped between them like a cricket hops between two slender blades of grass, bending but not breaking them. One by one his fingertips pressed against the back of her hand and words deserted her as his breath whispered across her forehead. She didn’t know if the strange catch in her chest was from the excitement of the move, watching her uncle receive a well-deserved beating or the whirlwind of going from pauper to the expected wife of a well-to-do gentleman in the space of two days.
Swallowing hard, she recovered her wits enough to finally speak. ‘I’d prefer the common licence.’
* * *
With his son’s tears soaking through the wool to wet the linen underneath, Philip could deny Miss Townsend nothing, not even his hand. ‘Whatever you wish.’
Something whispered between them, subtle as the faint scent of lavender soap surrounding Laura. This was the first time they’d touched, but it was as comforting as if it were the hundredth. It soothed the panic the unexpected intimacy had sent shooting through him.
‘Thank you for all you did for us today.’ Her fingers tightened with her gratitude, digging into the bruises colouring his knuckles.
He winced and her grip eased. It was his chance to pull away, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.
‘You hurt your hand.’ The sleeve of her banyan slid back as she traced the dark marks on his knuckles, revealing the soft skin and the hint of her chemise beneath.
‘It wasn’t the first time.’ He forced the words through his lips. She stood so close he could see the wet curls at the nape of her neck clinging to her skin. Heat rushed in hard beneath his stomach, making it difficult to stand still, or concentrate on anything beside the green and gold in her eyes. ‘Mr Connor and I train with a pugilist. It’s imperative my people and I know how to protect ourselves.’
‘Will I learn to box?’ A playful smile danced along the corners of her full lips.
The sharp twitch of old emotions he’d buried with his wife struck him, as hard as Laura’s pulse against his skin.
‘No, but you’ll learn to properly load and fire a pistol.’ He slid his hand out of hers, careful not to jerk away as he struggled to distance himself from her and the memories scratching at his heart. ‘Goodnight, Miss Townsend.’
She dropped her hands to cross them in front of her, letting him go. ‘Goodnight, Mr Rathbone.’
In the confines of the stairwell, out of her sight, Philip paused. Opening and closing his fist, he tried to shake off the heat of her fingers. There was only one other time in his life when he’d experienced a connection so powerful with a stranger. The first time he’d touched Arabella.
He jerked up straight and descended the stairs. This was nothing like what he’d experienced with Arabella. This was a business deal, a venture plain and simple. He’d researched the lady, spent hours pondering both the good and bad aspects of the union. Yet in the end, it hadn’t been the tally sheet which had tilted Philip towards her. It was intuition.
Fear nearly choked the breath from him.
Intuition had failed him before where marriage was concerned. What if it was failing him again?
‘If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you needed a drink,’ Justin chided as Philip stepped down into the hall.
‘I need exercise.’ Anything to clear the uncertainty pummelling him.
* * *
An hour later, Justin swung at Philip, who ducked and came up behind him. The skin over Philip’s bruised knuckles smarted as he curled his fingers into a tighter fist.
‘Not like you to be so sloppy.’ Justin danced around the ring out of Philip’s reach. ‘What’s gnawing at you?’
A bolt of pain raced along Philip’s arm as he jabbed at Justin and missed. They’d been sparring for over half an hour and neither the exertion nor the sweat trickling down the sides of his face had snuffed out the faint spark smouldering in the back of Philip’s mind, the spark ignited by Laura’s hand. The spark he feared was distracting him from noticing a potential mistake. ‘Nothing.’
‘You mean nothing as in your soon-to-be wife?’ They circled one another, fists raised. The sounds of other men fighting nearby and the pugilists calling out orders to them rang through the high-ceilinged hall. Though not as elegant or well fitted as Gentleman Joe Jackson’s establishment, the lessons here were for men like Philip and Justin who needed their skills to defend themselves, not simply dance around their opponents for show. ‘You know, if you have needs, I could arrange something less taxing than a wife.’
Justin stepped in to make a hit, but Philip side-stepped out of the way. ‘My needs have no bearing on the situation.’
His needs had nearly risen up in the hallway outside Thomas’s room to embarrass him and quite possibly her.
‘Liar.’ Justin circled Philip, whose raw knuckles itched to knock the smug grin off his friend’s face. ‘She’s the most attractive woman yet to appear on your doorstep, demanding her assets.’
Philip swung, his fist brushing Justin’s arm as he turned out of the way. ‘She wasn’t on my step, she was in my bedroom.’
‘And she will be again, many times with the way you’ve arranged it,’ Justin taunted, as unguarded with his words as Philip was guarded with his thoughts. ‘I still can’t believe you’re doing this.’
‘Why?’ Philip jabbed at Justin. ‘My son needs a mother, my sister a chaperon and my house a proper steward.’
The tally sheet he’d compiled on Miss Townsend rushed back to him. What was he failing to see? Why was he doubting himself?
‘You think it’ll be so simple, but mark my words, it won’t.’ Justin swung at him, but Philip didn’t turn fast enough and his shoulder burned from the hit. ‘It never is where women are concerned.’
Philip shook out his arm, the pain dull compared to his concern. Justin was right, it wasn’t so simple, nothing in life ever was. He’d loved Arabella and she’d loved him. They’d courted and married and she’d fallen pregnant with his child. Simple. The complications had begun with her pains. Then everything had turned into a nightmare.
‘We’ve sparred enough today.’ Philip snatched a towel from the hook on the wall and scraped the coarse linen over his face. It wasn’t too late to end the venture. He could send Miss Townsend to the safety of Halcyon House or provide her with a few pounds to start another draper business.
He ran the towel over the back of his neck, studying the mix of footprints in the sand on the floor. He couldn’t send her away any more than he could leave Thomas to cry in his bed. He’d seen her lodgings, heard Mr Townsend’s nasty words. He knew what waited for her beyond the protection of his home and name. He’d made her an offer and she’d accepted the terms of the deal. This would not become the first time he reneged on a contract.
His determination failed to erase his unease. ‘What if I’m wrong about Miss Townsend, the way I was with the silversmith I loaned money to all those years ago?’
‘Oh, you’re wrong. But not in the way you think.’ Justin rocked back on his heels and Philip nearly struck
