“You say you will be willing to talk to my fiancé?” Graciela asked the banker.

He tapped the pads of his fingers upon the open file.

Mr. Gibson roused like a sleeping giant. “You’ve already discussed Miss Kingsley’s business with Carvelle.” It was a growl, latent with violence. “Really, McCollum?”

“As her fiancé—”

“Wait.” She planted her palms and leaned across the desk. “You will discuss my financial affairs with the man I am to marry? Is that correct?”

“In extenuating circumstances—”

“Which these most certainly are.” She glanced to Charley and prayed his locked jaw did not bode an unwillingness for more play-acting.

The banker’s face was equally grim. He opened his mouth.

“Very well,” she said firmly. “It has not been announced.” She grasped Charley’s hand. “But my guardian, Lord Shaldon, has given his approval. Mr. Charles Everly and I are engaged to be married.”

Charley experienced the absence of air that must precede a swoon. The only firm sensation was the grip of Graciela’s slim fingers, and the only thing he could see beyond the black dots was the desperate pleading in her eyes. He focused there, willing himself to breathe.

He was a man. Men did not swoon. Not even over an unplanned engagement. He had survived worse moments.

And the warmth in her eyes, the twin pools of emotion there, made him want to cast off his coats and dive in to rescue her.

He laughed at his own ridiculous poetry. “My dear.” He clamped his other hand over hers and turned to the stiff banker. “Do you know, McCollum, I cannot even put my arm around my lady for the pain it causes her. I would have called out both Kingsley and Carvelle, if I thought they had any honor to challenge. And if my lady did not object to dueling.”

He would, however, make them pay, and enjoy that process.

She was blinking hard, her eyes shining, and it sent a warm buzzing through him. He touched a finger to her smooth cheek.

“Now, McCollum, we will know the condition of my fiancée’s finances, or the Earl of Shaldon will hear about your cooperation with the villains who subjected her to beatings and an attempted rape in order to embezzle her funds. Perhaps the next news sheet will even mention her bank. Do you want that?”

All the color drained from the jowly face. Why on earth Bink had picked this bank and this banker, he couldn’t imagine.

“McCollum’s Bank does not embezzle.” He exhaled loudly. “I do truly run an honest business. I have done my best to safeguard the lady’s funds and counsel moderation. Please, Miss Kingsley, be seated.”

They all sat. McCollum reached for that file again and pulled out an account sheet.

“You have Miss Kingsley’s records ready upon your desk.” Yet he’d said he would have to call for Bink’s.

Under his neckcloth, the banker’s throat jumped. “Kingsley and Carvelle called on me early today. Before the bank opened.”

Bink caught his eye, looking grim. “To withdraw funds.”

“Aye.” McCollum rubbed his jaw. “It was three quarters of the balance, they wanted. They brought me that news sheet also, as if I hadn’t already seen it and made the connection. They said that Miss Kingsley had been taken and they had received a ransom request. In fact, I saw the ransom note.”

“It is a fake.” Graciela’s voice shook. “Or...” She looked to him. “Who would do this, Charley?” She looked away, and shook her head.

His heart lurched. Not I. A ransom note had not been part of their devious plan to undercut Kingsley. “Three quarters of the balance. Why not ask for all?”

“Did you give it to them?” Bink asked.

“No.” He slid the paper across the desk. “I told them such an amount would take a few days. Miss Kingsley’s trust is quite large, and the money is invested, you see.”

Charley took the sheet and scanned it, his head pounding wildly. Graciela’s wealth was substantial, even with the series of escalating withdrawals. She was a significant heiress, a prize ship worthy of a pirate king or a smuggling lord. Lord Kingsley might have murdered his wife and married her. A mere quarter of the remaining amount would sustain a lord for years to come or make a man a potentate in some parts of the New World. How the devil had her father amassed that fortune?

He handed her the paper and watched her study it.

McCollum’s lips tightened like the line between his bushy brows. “Perhaps it is now time to call in a magistrate, as I suggested to Kingsley earlier.”

“No,” Charley said, and “No,” she said, at the same moment.

He touched her cheek. He could not help himself.

“How quickly do they want the funds?” he asked.

“In two days.”

“Or they will ruin your reputation?”

McCollum nodded. “Aye.”

“And cause a run upon the bank,” Bink said.

“We will not allow that.” Graciela scooted to the edge of her seat and waved the sheet of paper. “Mr. McCollum, these recent sizeable withdrawals have bought me gowns, but they have also purchased wardrobes for the Kingsleys and their servants, a new town coach, and furnishings for their house.” Her voice shook. “I sailed on some voyages with my father. I know how hard-fought was the earning of this money. And yet, I see, you have waged your own battle against my guardian and his greed. Your investments have been profitable. It is not as bad as I would have expected. It appears you have managed the money to your best, in spite of his mishandling. It is why, I suppose, my father chose you.”

McCollum studied her as if he were seeing her for the first time.

Charley’s heart swelled. She was a surprise, his Graciela. His fiancée.

He found he did not mind the designation.

His eyes strayed to her tight-laced bodice and his mind raced to a wedding night. He could drop her at Shaldon House, head for Doctors’ Commons, and marry her tomorrow. He would have to forge her guardian’s signature, unless Shaldon had arrived in their absence.

“But what of this solicitor, Mr. Watelford?” Her question brought him back from his ruminations. “He did indeed lay a trap for me.”

“He assured me that was not his doing.”

“You spoke with him?” Charley asked.

“Yesterday.”

Yesterday. And Kingsley and Carvelle had come to the bank today. They would be watching the bank. They would plan a similar trap for Graciela here. He looked at Bink, who nodded.

They had planned for it.

“My staff is trustworthy,” McCollum said, “and the bank is well-guarded.”

Indeed, it was well-guarded. Most of the bank’s customers were their men. Any attempt on Graciela—or Paulette—would be thwarted once again. As to the trustworthiness of the staff, he was not sure. The clerk who’d admitted them had been entirely too curious.

“Go on,” Charley said. “What else did Watelford say?”

“He mentioned the terms of the marriage settlement with Mr. Carvelle. Are you aware of them, Miss Kingsley?” He tapped the desk some more, this matter clearly causing him dismay. “Of course not. With Lord Farnsworth gone, and Lord Shaldon away, as someone else concerned with your welfare, Watelford talked to me. Upon your marriage to Carvelle, a portion of your money was to be settled immediately upon Lord Kingsley.”

“The same amount as the ransom?” Charley asked.

“No. It would be approximately one-quarter of your remaining funds.”

“The rest to Carvelle.” Her voice shook.

He nodded. “Once married, your wealth becomes his.”

“Unless the trust or the marriage settlement specifies that the wife keep control of her money.” Charley took her other hand in his. Her gaze had dropped to the mahogany carving that circled the base of the mammoth desk.

“He s-sold me for a c-commission of twenty-five percent.”

He moved a hand to her back, remembered her wounds, and touched her arm. “You will not release that money, McCollum.”

“No, I will not.”

She pressed a hand to her heart. “When my father returns...” Her head dropped.

“What do you hear about Captain Kingsley?” Bink asked the banker.

Of course—a banker who funded merchants and seamen would have his ear to the ground on such matters.

“Probably no more than what you’ve discovered. Captain Llewellyn reported him dead in a storm off Tortuga. He’s come up to town. I expect a visit in a day or two.”

“Captain Llewellyn made the report? He’s in London?” Excitement percolated through Graciela, sending an answering rush of emotion in him.

A sea captain who was her father’s friend? If she thought to run off and join the man, she would have to knock Charley out of the way first.

“Where is Llewellyn staying?” Charley asked.

“I’ll ask my clerk. Excuse me.”

He stood. Bink did also, and caught Charley’s eye. “I’ll go with you and hear what he has to say.”

When the door had closed, she stood and tried to pull her hand away.

He held on and snatched up her other hand, rising with her.

Her gaze swept the floor. “I do not wish to marry either,” she said. “I’m very sorry but it seemed the best tactic. I could not very well announce my engagement to your brother, Mr. Gibson.”

“So, my father has given his permission?”

“Perhaps he will withdraw it.” She looked away. “Or you may cast me off.”

“My father would not withdraw permission, nor would I cast you off,” he said sternly. “How could you presume it? It would be dishonorable of us.”

Her head jerked up, concern in her eyes. “You are angry? But you must not be. I will make sail with Captain Llewellyn and you will be free.”

“Unless I come along.”

Her eyes flashed. “You must not come. Your life is here. Your family—your brothers, and your sister, and your father who is ill.”

“And your father will be looking for you here, Graciela.” He stepped closer.

“I will release you and go and look for him. This engagement was just a ploy.”

His nerves prickled at the challenge. Just a ploy, was it?

He cupped her chin and lifted it. “You are playing with my heart?”

She had begun to tremble and her breathing quickened.

When he claimed her lips and cradled the back of her head, she didn’t pull away, didn’t resist. She allowed the kiss, allowed him to ravish her with his lips and his tongue, her arms reaching for him, her hands tangling in his hair. He grasped her hips and pulled her closer, trailing kisses.

“You have no heart,” she mumbled, her lips vibrating along his jaw.

Stark need erupted in him. Because you have stolen it.

He’d never say it—she wouldn’t believe him, but he needed her. Needed to keep her alive, needed to save her from Carvelle, needed to be inside her. His shaft strained the contours of his trousers, while her touch scorched him, at his neck, along his shoulder, under his coat. She pressed against him, head back, lips open, ready to receive whatever he could give, as if she needed him as well.

The flat surface of the desk, the one file spread over it, caught his eye, and beckoned.

The file. He should peruse the file. His mission...a Spanish woman...it might contain...

Her hand slid down, cupped his arse, and drowned his voice of reason.

“Charley.”

His hand had found her breast. He batted back his conscience.

“Charley.” Louder now.

Her sweet hands squeezed him and deafened the voice.

“Charley” Two vises gripped him, hauled him up, and landed him across the room into a bookcase. A door slammed. “What the devil,” Bink roared. “My wife?” Bink’s fist crashed, rattling the desk.

When his vision cleared, Graciela had turned away and was struggling with her veils. And Bink...Bink’s eyes glowed with amusement.

“Someone besides McCollum saw us,” Charley said. “Oh hell. They’ll think Paulette and I...Oh hell. Paulette—”

“Will laugh about it. McCollum is speaking to his clerk right now.”

Charley righted himself and smoothed his waistcoat. “I don’t trust the man.”

“The banker?” Graciela asked in a small voice.

Embarrassed she was, and it was his fault. He straightened her veil.

“Charley means the clerk.”

He looked at Bink, who was retrieving a quill that had jumped off the desk when he pounded it.

“I believe we’re holding better cards than Kingsley,” Bink said. “The stakes are too high for McCollum to side with him and Carvelle. The clerk, however, might be looking to supplement his salary.”

“Exactly,” Charley said, his head clearing.

McCollum slipped into the room and closed the door. “Your people are in place.” He frowned, distressed by all the day’s events, no doubt.

“Good.” Charley offered Graciela his arm.

“Wait.” She gripped her hands at her waist. “Mr. McCollum. I should like to know when I may take my money.”

McCollum’s eyes widened and quickly narrowed. His lips pursed. “Your guardian—”

“No. I must leave this country. For that I need my money. When may I have it?”

“Until you are of age, your guardian has control of that. Unless you marry sooner, and the decision will be your husband’s.”

Charley could not see her face under the heavy veil. He could not read her eyes or see the set of her mouth or the twitch of her jaw clenching. He did not need to. Her spine straightened into a stiff line and told him everything he needed to know.

And he decided. They would marry, and he would give her control of every penny and then set her free.

On the way back to Shaldon House, Graciela sat squashed next to Mr. Gibson in this plain carriage, with Charley across from them. Neither man spoke, to her, or to each other. Nor did they look at her. Their attention was divided equally between the windows on each side of the coach.

She longed to rip these veils from her eyes so she could also see properly. All the shadows showed her were the legs of their guards’ horses and the men’s rugged boots.

The shadows compressed her chest and she fought for a breath.

Charley’s hand touched hers briefly, and the edge of the veil lifted an inch. “Deep breaths, Graciela. You must wear this bloody disguise until we are home.”

“It is not my home,” she spluttered.

“Nor mine,” said Mr. Gibson, and she heard in his voice a deep concern that took her out of herself. He had a wife and child he was thinking of.

“Ah, well, until we have reached sanctuary, then,” Charley said. The veil stretched at an angle like a jib sail, and she found she could catch some air now. It was, however, intoxicating air, filled with his scent and his attention.

Unless I come along. Warmth expanded her chest and flew up into her cheeks. His presence might be a hindrance, because once she arrived in the new world, she intended to search for her father. Unless he would help her.

But…would he give this up—his brothers, his sister, his father—to come with her and Reina? So tempting it was, to have Reina, and her money, and these deft hands that could manage even this flimsy bit of netting.

She pushed the thought away. He would only interfere and try to direct her.

She must speak with Francisca and Juan, she must prepare them to be ready to depart quickly at a moment’s notice, when she somehow had acquired her funds. It would not be difficult. They had nothing left but the clothes on their backs and each other.

The coach jolted, and crack! Charley crashed onto her, pushing her into the squab. A horse shrieked and men’s curses filled the air.