Oliver was enjoying an early dinner when a figure stumbled into his dining room.

Christina. Good God, was she . . . crying? What on earth had happened?

He pushed back from the table, shot to his feet, and hurried toward her. Tears streamed down her face, her mouth working as her chest heaved with the sobs. Gill trailed her, his butler every bit as unnerved as his master. “I apologize, sir,” he signed.

“It is fine,” Oliver signed. “Clear the room.”

Everyone quickly departed except for Christina, who wrapped her arms around her stomach and hunched over. Oliver took her elbow and led her to his vacated chair.

When he tried to release her, she turned into his chest, clutched his shirt with both fists, and buried her face in his necktie. Her shoulders shook as she cried, seeming so small and fragile, a bundle of misery against him, and his heart fractured into tiny pieces. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he enveloped her in his arms and held on. Never had he been more grateful for his lack of hearing. Seeing her upset tore him up; if he had to listen to her anguish, he’d likely murder the cause of it.

Then he stiffened. She’d gone to pay a call on Van Peet this afternoon, alone.

Goddamn it. If that old buzzard had harmed one hair upon Christina’s head, Oliver would see him buried. Van Peet possessed a fortune, yes, but so did Oliver. He hadn’t yet found a good use for all his family’s money beyond his inventions, but he would happily use every cent to avenge this woman’s wrongs, if necessary.

Occasionally, he stroked her back or hair but mostly he merely embraced her. She trembled, her small body tucked into his as she sought comfort. He held perfectly still, even though the anticipation as to the cause of her misery was killing him. A primal need welled up in his chest, a need utterly foreign to him. Protection. He wanted to shelter this woman from everything dark and unsavory, anything that might cause her pain.

That is idiocy. You hardly know her.

Yet he sensed something inside her, a quality that called out to a long-forgotten part of him. Sadness? Loneliness? Desolation?

It does not matter. You cannot keep her.

True, but he could still help her. They were friends—even if he had been thinking about her all day. And his thoughts hadn’t been of the tea and conversation variety . . .

After a long while, she calmed. More than ready to discover the cause of her distress, he slowly moved them toward the chairs and urged her to sit.

She dropped into the ornate walnut chair and he presented her with a linen napkin to clean up. As she collected herself, he pulled another chair closer and sat.

Even with her puffy and red eyes, her skin blotchy from crying, Christina remained breathtakingly beautiful. He curled his fingers into fists to keep from reaching for her again. He withdrew the ledger and pencil from his pocket, then slid them across the table and tapped the ledger with his finger. “Tell me,” he signed. “Now.”

Biting her bottom lip, she took the pencil and began writing. He leaned in to read as her hand moved, not content to sit back and wait to learn what had happened.

I went to Van Peet’s home, to pay a call alone as he requested.

He ground his teeth together. Whatever was coming, he knew he would not like it.

He informed me my parents had accepted money from a man in London to marry me. Then they left town. That was how they afforded the passage to New York.

Christ, her parents were no better than charlatans. To swindle someone in such a reprehensible way—using their daughter—was unforgivable.

She kept writing. Van Peet said he’d never allow my parents to cheat him, that whatever he bought he expected to keep. And he refuses to hand over any money until he is assured we shall suit.

Oliver’s fingernails dug into his palms. That bastard. Van Peet was acting as if Christina was no more than a trinket, one to use and display, not a person to love and care for.

He—

The pencil began shaking, her hand unable to continue. Oliver reached out and tucked a long strand of chocolate-colored hair behind her ear, the backs of his knuckles brushing her cheek. Take your time, he willed her silently. There was no rush. He was not letting her leave anytime soon, not until he learned what had upset her.

She resumed her writing. A doctor arrived during the visit. To examine me.

Examine her? To ensure she was healthy? He leaned back in his chair, thinking, while studying her face. She would not meet his eyes, her gaze fixed on the table, cheeks flooded with color. She was embarrassed, which made no sense. He had watched Henry perform cursory examinations to injured members of the staff or—

Oh. This had not been a cursory examination, then. It had been personal.

Heaviness pressed on his chest, yet he had to know. Not bothering to take the pencil from her, he forced out, “To what end?”

She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, a fresh tear leaking from one of the corners.

Damn Van Peet to hell. Oliver shot to his feet, the chair rocking behind him, as rage exploded within every cell in his body. The man had subjected her to . . . to an intimate examination? For what, to determine if she had any diseases his withered prick might contract? Good God, the very idea of it, the humiliation and cruelty, made Oliver want to howl with fury.

He stalked away, dragging both hands through his hair. The railroad owner would pay for this. Oliver would go to the old man’s house and beat him to within an inch of his miserable, wretched life. He was no stranger to fights, having used his fists more often than not those first two years at school in Connecticut. Van Peet did not stand a chance—

A hand on his shoulder caught his attention. Emotions rioting, he spun to find her directly behind him. “I ran,” she said. “I ran away before the examination.”

“He did not touch you?” Oliver signed, using his voice as well.

“No. I ran fast.”

Oliver shut his eyes, his knees almost buckling at the relief. Thank Christ. She had not been violated.

That fact did not absolve Van Peet, however. He had tried to subject Christina to the worst kind of invasion—and he would pay for it. Somehow, some way, Oliver would make him pay.

He motioned for her to sit at the table once more then joined her. “So you left?” he signed and said.

The pencil scratched as she continued writing. I did not stay. I ran out as quickly as I could. I even left my maid behind.

He finished reading then picked up the pencil to write, What had your parents to say about this?

“I have not informed them,” she said. “I came straight here.”

He was touched at that. He wrote, At least now you shall not be forced to marry Van Peet. Your parents may decide on a husband but at least it will not be HIM.

Christina started shaking her head before he’d even finished. This will not change their minds about Van Peet. My mother told me before I went in to do as I was told, not to complain about anything Van Peet wanted or asked of me.

Jesus, her parents had thrown her to the wolves—or wolf, to be precise. How could they be so cruel to their own flesh and blood? Her mother had basically said to put up with whatever happened, even if Van Peet raped her.

What kind of dashed world did this to a young woman?

He thought of his adorable eleven-year-old sister and his teeth ground together. Sarah would never enter society, not if Oliver could help it.

Christina tapped his arm and pointed at a new sentence on the paper. They think they are doing me a favor by selecting him. My mother said he shall die soon and then we will be in charge of his fortune.

“We?” he signed.

“Yes. They keep saying this marriage is for me, but clearly it is for them.”

Her parents obviously meant to keep control of her. God, what a mess.

Moisture glistened in her eyes again. “I cannot go back there.”

He agreed but what did that mean for her? There were practical matters to consider. Where would she go? How would she survive? Is there any chance they would understand, based on what happened today?

She flipped to a new page in the ledger and snatched the pencil away from him. No, they will be furious with me. My mother shall lock me in my room and agree to the wedding.

The truth of the statement was there in Christina’s steady brown gaze. The idea was not outlandish, based on what he knew of her parents. If they had instructed her to endure Van Peet’s cruel whims today, then nothing would likely keep them from orchestrating the match. Especially if they expected Van Peet to soon die and leave Christina all the money. What do you plan to do?

Tears welled in her eyes and his chest twisted at the sight. “I have no idea.”

He dragged a hand over the nape of his neck and stared at the back lawn through the dining room windows. Could he help her disappear? Give her a large sum of money and send her West? To Chicago or St. Louis, perhaps? Somewhere her parents would never find her. She could start a new life and change her name. Find a nice man to settle down with—

The notebook tapped his arm. Looking down, he read, May I stay here with you? Just until I figure something out?

His head snapped up and he spoke, too surprised to be self-conscious. “With me?”

“Yes, Oliver. Please. Let me hide here in your house.”

Christina bit her lip and watched as the request sank in Oliver’s brain. Hard to say what she would do if he refused. There was no returning home tonight. Her parents, in their desperation and fury, would eventually return her to Van Peet. If Oliver did not allow her to hide here, she would need to strike out on her own. Hop a train and attempt to disappear, with no money or clothing other than what she wore. She was ill-prepared for such an undertaking . . . but what choice had she?

You might marry Oliver instead.

No, definitely not. While she liked him quite a bit, she did not wish to marry anyone out of duty or obligation. She preferred to find someone who cared about her, who respected her. A man who did not mind that she hated parties and crowds, and understood that the idea of hosting a dinner party gave her cold sweats. A man who lived in the country where she could walk and not feel so closed in.

It went without saying that this man would also live far, far away from her parents.

“Christina . . .” Oliver used his voice, not bothering to finger spell her name. She liked the sound of his deep voice, uncertain why it embarrassed him. It seemed he used his voice more and more with her, a sign, perhaps, that he had grown comfortable in her presence. To her, each sound he uttered felt like a small victory. “How?” he signed.

Embarrassment flooded her and she could feel her cheeks heating. She had not planned for this eventuality, so she would need to rely on his charity. “I will hide here—but only until I find a way to leave New York and disappear.”

He frowned, his vivid green eyes never leaving her face. Every second that ticked by in silence felt like an eternity. He gave no outward response and she could not read his thoughts. The urge to take the words back, to laugh this off, burned in her chest. It would be so easy to convince him she hadn’t been serious.

But what then?

She was terrified of returning home. Terrified of her mother’s anger and her father’s indifference. They were not interested in her happiness; they merely desired the coin to dig themselves out of the creditors’ clutches. Returning home meant putting herself in their hands—and Van Peet’s. She could not do it. She would rather go live on the street and starve. Disappear and never see another soul.

She hurried to explain. Reaching for the ledger and pencil, she turned a new page and wrote. I promise to stay out of your way. Nothing will change. I will not bother you and I promise it shall not be for long.

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger upon reading that, his lids falling shut. She had no clue how to improve this offer to better appeal to a recluse who clearly had no want of a wife. However, she was desperate and, other than her cousin, this man was her only friend in this entire city—entire country, actually. Unfortunately, Patricia was unable to assist Christina with this mess, not unless her cousin planned on deceiving and angering their entire extended family. If they were caught, Patricia could suffer disastrous consequences for lying.

No, only Oliver could help her.

While she did not deserve his assistance, she had no problem begging for it. Oliver, please. I will go away. To the West, like perhaps to Dakota or California. I will not stay.

She underlined not three times.

He held out his hand for the pencil, which she relinquished. I will give you money, then. You may go somewhere they will never find you.

“I shall pay you back, every bit of it.”

Shaking his head, he bent to write. Not necessary. I have more than enough money. I am happy to help you.

Relief nearly had her weeping once more. “Thank you, Oliver.”

We should get you settled for the night. We may begin researching your escape in the morning. He rose and started toward the bellpull in the corner.

At that moment, the dining room door burst open, startling her. What on earth . . . ? She gasped as her mother charged into the room, with the earl fast on the countess’s heels. They both still wore their overcoats and hats. Head spinning, Christina shot to her feet. “Mother, Father. What are you doing here?”

“We have come to save your reputation,” her mother announced, every syllable clear and precise as if she were on stage.

“My reputation? I am afraid I do not understand.” Gill and Oliver were currently signing with one another and Christina noticed another figure slink into the room. Patricia. Their eyes met and her cousin mouthed, I am sorry.

Sorry? Sorry for what?

Before Christina could dwell on that curious statement, her mother pointed at Oliver. “You have ruined my daughter, sir. I understand she has been here, alone, with you for several hours.”

Oliver’s brow furrowed as he rapidly signed to Gill. “Mr. Hawkes would like for me to tell you,” Gill said, “that her ladyship has not been harmed or accosted in any way.”

“Of course he would say as much,” her mother said, skepticism fairly dripping in her tone. “He is . . . deformed. An imbecile, I understand.”

Christina gasped. “He is no such thing! Mother, do not dare speak of Mr. Hawkes in those terms again.”

The earl folded his arms across his chest, his expression stern. “And what of the mornings you have been spending with him?”

Christina’s mouth fell open and she shot a glance at Patricia. How could her cousin have betrayed her by telling her family about those visits? No wonder her parents had known to look here when Christina hadn’t returned home. Mortification singed her insides, sending her skin up in flames. Good Lord, would the embarrassment of the day never end?

Patricia winced and mouthed another apology. Christina could not respond—the events now transpiring were all too terrible. Her parents had found her. How on earth was she to escape now?

“There has been nothing untoward about my friendship with Lady Christina,” Gill translated as Oliver signed. “You have my word on that.”

“The word of a deaf and dumb man,” Christina’s father scoffed. “Forgive us if we are not reassured.”

A muscle jumped in Oliver’s jaw at the words deaf and dumb. “Stop it, both of you,” Christina said to her parents. “Mr. Hawkes has been a complete gentleman at all times. I am not in the least bit compromised.”

“That is not our understanding,” her mother said. “And it hardly matters now. No decent man will have you with a tarnished reputation.” She glanced haughtily at Oliver. “You have ruined her chances for a good match.”

What was happening? Why were her parents so determined to paint Oliver as a cad and her reputation in tatters? “This makes no sense. You sent me to Van Peet’s home by myself today without a care for my reputation.”

“Do not argue with us, you ungrateful girl.” Her mother’s face turned red with fury as she stepped toward Christina. “Not after everything I have done for you.”

Oliver suddenly appeared in front of Christina as he put himself between her and the countess. His arms moved as he signed to Gill. “You must calm yourself, madam, or you shall be escorted off the property.”

Christina’s chest expanded with gratitude and something warmer that settled in the neighborhood of her heart. Had anyone ever defended her like this?

Her mother clutched her chest. “How dare he speak to me in such a disrespectful manner.”

“Now, let us all calm down,” the earl said. “There is no need for anyone to become angry. We are here to arrive at a solution.”

“A solution?” Christina peeked around Oliver’s shoulder. “Whatever for?”

“Allow the adults to handle this, Christina,” her mother said. “You have been ruined and your future must be sorted out.”

Oliver’s hands moved once again and Gill began to translate. “Christina is an adult and therefore should have a say in her own future. Furthermore, she has not been ruined—not by me.”

“Her future was ruined when she decided to visit Mr. Hawkes every morning,” her mother said to the butler. “Inform your master that he will be marrying my daughter as soon as we come to terms.”

“With all due respect, your ladyship,” Gill said. “You may speak directly to Mr. Hawkes. He is able to read your lips.”

Her mother leaned forward and began shouting at Oliver, overenunciating each word. “You . . . will . . . marry . . . my . . . daughter.”

Gill watched Oliver’s hands and said, “I will not marry her or anyone else. Now I insist that you all take your leave.”

“You have ruined our daughter’s reputation, Hawkes,” the earl said. “It will be all over Manhattan by morning.”

Oliver signed to Gill, “If you think I am swayed at the prospect of being shunned by the uptown set, you are mistaken. Now, if you do not mind.” Oliver gestured to the door.

“While you might not care about the consequences, I assure that we do.” The countess dabbed at her eyes with a linen handkerchief. “Our daughter will no longer be able to marry well. We shall be lucky to find her a husband at all!”

This was humiliating. They were discussing her as if she were not even in the room. And trying to force Oliver to marry her? Truly mortifying. “Everyone, stop.” She stepped out from around Oliver. “Mother, Father, please. This is not Oliver’s fault.”

The earl ignored Christina and pointed at Oliver. “Are you saying you will not do the honorable thing, Hawkes?”

Oliver crossed his arms over his chest, his face devoid of any emotion. When the silence stretched, the countess sniffed and held out her hand. “Let us return home, Christina. Come along.”

She hung her head. There was no way to escape, not now. Just as she took a step forward, Oliver put a hand on her elbow to stop her. His green eyes were full of concern—and for good reason. Leaving meant certain marriage to Van Peet, if the older man would still have her. Please God, let him refuse. She tried to smile, to offer some sort of reassurance that she understood, but it was difficult.

Patricia spoke up for the first time. “Wait.” Her cousin moved to the middle of the room. “I may have a solution.”

“Who exactly are you?” Oliver asked through Gill.

“I apologize. I am Miss Patricia Kane, your neighbor and Christina’s cousin. How do you do?” Oliver gave a brisk nod of acknowledgment. Undaunted, Patricia continued, “Mr. Hawkes, you must marry my cousin.”

Oliver thought his lip-reading abilities had deceived him. But when he checked with Gill, it seemed he had been right the first time. Christina’s cousin was also attempting to force him into a marriage.

Had these people all gone mad?

“I beg your pardon,” he signed at Gill. “But I believe I have made my position on the matter quite clear.”

Patricia and Christina exchanged a meaningful glance—one Oliver could not read. Christina’s skin had turned bright pink and he could only imagine how upsetting she found this entire scene. The earl and countess discussed her as if she was not even present, bargaining with her future and making demands. It was deplorable.

“May we speak alone?” Patricia asked him, her eyes never leaving his face.

Christina was shaking her head, her lips moving, but Oliver kept watch on Patricia. He sensed from the set of her jaw that she would not leave without saying her piece. “Tell her to follow me into the sitting room,” he signed to Gill. “You had best come, too.” Then he spun on his heel and moved toward the doors connecting the two rooms.

As he threw open the door, he noticed Patricia stopped to have a brief word with Christina. The earl and countess were locked in a serious conversation as well, huddled on the far side of the dining room. With everyone in profile, he could not read lips and annoyance tightened between his shoulder blades. It was his damn house and he hated feeling out of place here. These intruders were the ones who should feel out of place, not him.

He stalked into the sitting room, poured a half tumbler of whiskey, and tossed the liquor back in two swallows. Whatever Patricia had to say would not sway him. He’d let her speak, refuse to comply, and send them all on their way. Then his life could go back to the way it was a month ago, with no disruptions and rudeness from society types. Sarah would visit on school breaks and he would be left alone with his work.

Leaning against the sideboard, he waited. Patricia and Gill entered, the butler closing the door for privacy. “Well?” Oliver signed.

A tall blonde, Patricia bore little resemblance to her cousin. Nevertheless, Patricia stood straight and proud, unaffected at Oliver’s brusqueness. Ready to do battle. “Have you gone mad?”

Oliver jerked, his muscles locked in outrage at the implication. “I assure you, I am of completely sound mind,” he signed, his movements sharp and clipped.

“Have you no conscience, then?”

Was this woman angering him on purpose? “I have done nothing wrong,” he signed. “Our visits were completely innocent.” Well, not completely . . . but there was no reason to mention that now.

“This is not about you. Need I explain what shall happen to Christina if those two awful people drag her out of here?”

Guilt sliced through him, a prick under his ribs. Of course Christina’s parents would try to force her to marry someone else—but he did not intend to give them the chance. “I plan to help her escape them. We were doing as much when the three of you barged in.”

She glanced heavenward. “There is no escaping them. They are her parents and her legal guardians. Even if she were to leave the city, they could bring her back. Moreover, I heard them talking. They plan to keep her under lock and key until a marriage can be arranged. They do not much care with whom as long as he is wealthy. They said if you do not agree tonight, they shall sell her off to Van Peet.”

“I thought Van Peet withdrew his consideration of marriage.”

“Unfortunately, he has not. He was furious she ran away but it is about more than just acquiring a young wife. Van Peet has a railroad deal pending in Cheltenham and he needs the earl’s help in getting it passed through parliament. The earl is to collect a fortune in exchange.”

Damn, that was terrible news. At the very least, Oliver had assumed Van Peet would bow out, thereby buying them some time to arrive at a solution. However, if she was kept under lock and key he might not see her again, not until after she had married. God, the idea of her wedded to Van Peet turned his stomach. “Van Peet brought a doctor to examine her,” he signed. “Intimately.”

Patricia’s hand flew to her throat, her brows rising. “Oh, my God,” she said. “You must marry her, Mr. Hawkes. There is no other solution to be had, not unless you are willing to turn her over to Van Peet.”

Oliver grimaced. It was an impossible situation. He did not want to marry anyone, but could he condemn his friend to a life of misery and heartache, especially when he had the power to stop it?

Every reason he loathed society and the idea of marriage returned to haunt him. The pity and the sneers in the clubs. Laughter and strange, blank expressions at the parties. He no longer cared to participate in that world, one of such limited scope and judgment. For three years he had tried to fit in, to go where he pleased and fight for his rightful place in society. It had not worked. He had been treated like a joke, an oddity. Money and conformity were all those people cared about, and even his fortune hadn’t been enough to shield him from cruelty.

This is not about you. Had Patricia not said that just moments ago?

She was right. This was about Christina, a kind, intelligent woman who had not shunned him or laughed in his face. No, she had treated him with respect and dignity. God knew she deserved better than those manipulative charlatans for parents and Van Peet for a husband. But must Oliver be offered as a replacement? “Surely there is another man, some potential suitor who has shown interest?” he signed.

“No, there is not. She . . .” Patricia paused and looked down, preventing Oliver from reading what she had been saying. Gill must have reminded her about Oliver reading lips because she quickly lifted her head and apologized. “She does not enjoy the society events. I found her hiding more often than not, off in a corner, miserable.”

Something they had in common, then. “We hardly know one another,” he signed. “How are you so certain I am not worse than Van Peet?”

Patricia’s face registered her incredulity. “No one is worse than Van Peet. His last wife died under very suspicious circumstances, you know.” Before Oliver could react to that, Patricia continued. “Also, I trust Christina. If you were an awful person she would not have returned here each day.” She cocked her head and studied him. “Are you attempting to claim there are no tender feelings between the two of you? Because I shall not believe it.”

He resisted the urge to drop his gaze, like a child who’d been caught in a lie. “You could help her escape,” he signed as a last-ditch suggestion.

“No, I cannot, not easily. My mother and the countess are second cousins. I cannot disobey my family without risking my own future with Mr. Felton. Besides, I saw you and Christina in the other room, the way you looked at one another. You care for her, I would bet my life on it.”

“It hardly matters,” he signed. “I do not want to marry anyone.”

“That may be so. But if you do not do the right thing, then who will?”

He was afraid he knew the answer to that question. “I shall make a terrible husband,” he signed.

“I do not doubt it.”

His jaw clenched. “Because I am deaf?” he signed and braced himself for the impact of her ignorance.

“No.” Surprise must have shown on Oliver’s face because Patricia pointed at the closed doors that led to the dining room. “No one deserves that sweet and trusting young woman standing in there. However, I am starting to suspect you just may have a chance.”