Harry wished he understood women.

After Phoebe ran to her cabin, he spent the rest of the afternoon on deck until they dropped anchor at Deptford, where the Thunder was to take on supplies and a full crew. The captain had asked Harry if he was looking for an assignment, and he’d had to tell the man he was about to start his medical college courses in Edinburgh. He was honest with the captain, saying he was not sure what he was going to do once he completed his coursework.

He didn’t think there was a way to study the mosquito-borne infectious diseases without moving to those areas where they were most common. But that would mean moving to the British held territories of the Caribbean. He didn’t think it was the proper place to bring a wife or child, because while the islands were beautiful, a large number of people died every year from these deadly illnesses.

Until recently, after seeing for himself that his sister, Amelia, was happily settled and with another child on the way, Harry had never given much thought to marriage. He’d had his share of women to keep him company when he needed it, but he’d always felt marriage was at some point in the future.

Wally’s death, his sister’s happy situation, and Reggie getting shot by Miss Francine the other day, all caused him to conclude that a future was never guaranteed. Sometimes you had to carve that happy niche out from the routine of your current life.

The weekend before leaving for Cleadon, while Reggie was visiting his family, Amelia had wrangled him into attending a dinner she was hosting for family. She’d introduced Harry to some of his paternal relatives he’d never met. When he was a child, his father didn’t mention his family. He knew they existed, but also knew never to question his father about them because it made him unhappy. Not angry. Just… unhappy. And after learning about the reason for the familial break, Harry was glad he was not of that persuasion. Yes, as the brother of a duchess, and great-grandson of a duke, he was of their social class. But he would never marry for merging dynasties, fortunes, or political gain. Like his father, he wanted to marry for love, and if that meant his father’s family didn’t wish to be connected to him, then so be it. He’d had very fine life before meeting them, he’d have it without them after.

Amelia, he was certain, felt the same way Harry did. But she was fortunate enough to find her love. Caversham appeared to be everything his sister had professed in her letters, and Harry was incredibly happy for her. One day he would find his happiness. And, he felt there was a great possibility that he had in Miss Phoebe, as last night proved.

Last night had been going so well, too. They’d kissed. It wasn’t as though he was trying to seduce her, but… God help him, once he started, he’d had a damned difficult time trying to keep things from going too far. She’d never been kissed before, this he could tell. At eleven-thirty he’d heard the seven bells, and he knew his friend would be coming to claim his bed in half an hour’s time. He had to put things to an end sooner than he’d liked. Even now, he felt his cock getting hard. Harry had to stop thinking about how she felt in his arms. How soft and sweet her lips were. And how she leaned up into his embrace wanting more.

Phoebe was Wally’s sister, and he told himself he couldn’t just use her for sex then go on his merry way completing his education. Harry would have ruined a good woman who deserved a happy future with a man who should rightly have her virginity on their wedding night.

Suddenly, the mere thought of her loving another was incredibly unbearable. He wanted it to be him. He wanted her, Miss Phoebe Grenard—not Wally’s sister. It wasn’t love. But there was an attraction, likely even reciprocal attraction, so in his mind the likelihood for love to grow existed. He had to adjust himself. Damn, this was uncomfortable.

Change the subject, he ordered himself, or you will be thought of as a lovesick fool aboard this ship.

Forcing that thought out of his mind he thought about Phoebe’s sister Lydia. He thought about her inability to speak. Harry wondered if the timing wasn’t just coincidental and she’d suffered from illness or trauma that rendered her mute. He’d heard of both happening. And one was impossible to recover from, while the other often resolved itself when the mute person received proper treatment.

Harry thought it a good sign that Lydia wanted to go to the tavern her father had operated. It meant that she was willing to work on recovering her memories, and quite possibly her voice. For some reason, he got the feeling that this was important to her.

Harry did think there was a chance that Amelia had received his letter yet. And, he knew Amelia would be happy to have them. He could tell earlier in the day that they were arriving later than usual because of the lack of a decent breeze. So to have the note ready to go as soon as they dropped anchor, he went to ask the captain for a piece of stationery and writing implement. When he was done, he put it into the hands of one of the boys on the ship and told him to hand deliver it posthaste the moment they arrived at Deptford.

An hour and forty minutes after dropping anchor that evening, Harry went below to fetch the ladies. They were waiting in their cabin, lit by the single taper in the holder.

“I’m sorry you had to be confined to your cabin during our mooring,” he said. “But, as with the departure, it was for your safety. There are many people doing their jobs, and getting in the way of one person can throw off the concerted effort it takes to bring the ship in safely.” Miss Phoebe had extinguished the candle, and he led them up to the main deck where the evening's light was waning and the cold was heavy in the air.

Harry took the valise from her and led the two young ladies to the railing, where the gate was opened and gangplank fixed to the toe rail on each end of the gate. He helped each lady up the step, and led them while watching them from the corner of his eye as they made their way down the short, steep ramp.

Once safely on the dock, Harry grinned inside at the excited looks on their faces. “There are so many out there, it's almost like a forest of masts,” Miss Phoebe said. “I’m amazed at the nearness of the other vessels to each other. Much like the traffic on Whitechapel Road, except with different sized boats and ships instead of wagons, carriages, and pushcarts. How did we manage to get here through that chessboard of… parked ships.”

Harry laughed. “This is so much more organized than any road in London, but I’m tickled to know you’re enjoying the sight.”

“Really,” she said, “I’m curious how do they manage to get a ship this big into these rather organized spaces? And bring us through that to this point?”

They stepped back from the wharf to the relative safety of the area beside the steps up to street level. “The captain received direction from the harbormaster prior to departure from the shipyard,” Harry said, “he stopped in Sunderland to collect prisoners destined for hard labor in Bermuda where we are constructing new facilities. So those prisoners will soon be working under Reginald’s command.

“Anyway, the captain’s orders will tell him where to bring his ship for mooring—whether it’s moored in an anchorage,” he pointed out to the ships riding anchor in the river, “or to be towed dockside and moored as we are now. Coming in dockside is what takes the longest of course as we’re towed by men in tow vessels, and why you had to be kept below.”

“I see,” Phoebe replied. “What does Lieutenant Burnham do with the prisoners?”

“Lieutenant Reginald Burnham is the officer in command of the foundations for the facilities being built. It’s the most important and the hardest work that needs to be done. For the prisoners it is truly hard labor, requiring a great deal of manpower. Foundations also happen to be Lieutenant Burnham’s specialty. It is what he studied at university.” Harry went silent as his mind went back to that night. “We were weeks away from our exams when…”

“I remember,” Phoebe said. “We don’t have to speak of it.”

“But bringing the ship in through all those other boats is fascinating,” she said, intrigued by the process. “Isn’t it, Lydia?”

The younger girl nodded and Harry watched as the two young misses looked upon at the city they grew up in, but from a different point of view—from the water. He would love to take Phoebe on the water in a small sailboat. For some reason, he thought that she would enjoy that. Especially if she enjoyed being on the water as much as he thought she did.

He motioned to the steps, and Harry watched Phoebe climb the stairs, admiring the soft sway of her hips. He remembered how she felt in his arms, and how she had kissed him back when he deepened the passion. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. He knew it as much as he knew the sun rose in the east.

Last night, when he was with her up in the bow, he thought she felt very much the same as he. To him, she was beautiful in an earthy sense, resourceful, interesting… and damn his hide, he wanted her! The day she fainted at the sight of Reggie’s blood, and he picked her up to carry her, she'd seemed so small, helpless, and fragile. It had awakened something inside him. Something beyond just protectiveness, though that was his first emotion. Until now, he’d thought himself immune to, or just unprepared for, settling down. Mainly because he hadn't finished his education and he'd always thought marrying would come after that.

But when he held her close, he'd found her every bit a delectable young woman with sufficient curves where they were most desired. Her hips were just wide enough, and breasts… not ample breasts, but nonetheless very appealing to him, which she hid behind those bindings in the high-cut, serviceable dresses she always wore. He had discovered that she was hiding a shapely body under all that fabric, and he’d wanted it, her, so badly last night that he’d had an uncomfortable few minutes after she ran away from his cabin.

Of course, he never should have invited her into a private cabin he’d borrowed for a temporary seduction. It was no wonder she had run from him—that was anything but gentlemanly. Miss Phoebe was not a loose woman, and could never be a Whitechapel doxy, she should be some man's wife, and the mother of his children. She should be cherished and worshipped.

Harry remembered what she felt like when she’d pressed herself against him, wanting to share his warmth. She felt like a passionate young woman who was hiding under all that material. She feared the future, and fearing the future as it particularly relates to making restitution on her father's debt.

Harry just needed to make certain she didn’t build a wall between them before they could even get to know each other better.

Once they reached the dock, Harry waved a hackney driver over. After giving him direction and a coin, he helped the ladies into the cab and climbed in.

“Are you certain that we won’t be an imposition to your sister?” Phoebe asked. “If she needs us to, we can help her around the home—”

“—My sister and her husband will welcome you both, and you will not have to help her at all. They have servants.”

Phoebe’s face remained neutral, except for the slight lift on her right eyebrow. It was the only outward sign she gave that she comprehended now, if she hadn’t before, that his sister had done well in the selection of husband.

“Oh,” she said softly. “Well… They are fortunate for that. And, if that’s the case, then we cannot overstay their generosity.”

Harry got the impression from the tone of her voice that she was chattering—as though she was nervous about meeting his sister and her family. “We should go see Mr. Donovan as soon as possible to find out what I have to do to make res… restitution to him for my father’s debts.”

That was still bothering her, even after all his reassurances. Harry heard the hitch in her voice and a sharp stabbing pain twisted in his heart. He’d said, on several occasions, that he was not going to let that moneylender do anything to hurt them both. But, for some reason, she didn’t think Harry had the power to stop the man… It was as though she had no faith in him.

Well, he’d just have to show her that he could take care of that and thus, her and Lydia, if need be.

“Do you agree, Mr., er, Harry?”

The girls both looked at him with expectant glances and Harry was caught wool-gathering.

“Agree with what?”

“That we should go to see Mr. Donovan as soon as possible,” Phoebe said, “tomorrow morning even, to settle this. That way we can…” again he noticed the pained hitch in her voice, “return home as immediately after and be there to help Francie with any other dress orders she receives.”

Phoebe was trying to remain optimistic before her sister, so as not to upset young Lydia.

“I would like a day or two to speak with my brother-in-law,” Harry replied, “and do some investigation of this Donovan fellow. As tomorrow is Saturday, I would think Monday morning would be soon enough.”

Her smile fell, and the disappointed look on her face tore at him. Frankly, he needed the next two days to learn what he could about Donovan and his operations. And, Harry was never going to take Phoebe to see that man unless he knew with absolute certainty that she could negotiate with him, and resolve this without compromising herself.

Lydia nudged Phoebe and showed her the slate she carried. Phoebe nodded, then looked to Harry. “My sister would like to ask if it is possible that she can see the alley behind the tavern at night,” Phoebe said. “She says it’s important.”

Lydia underlined a word on the slate and showed Harry. Important.

“Yes,” he replied to Lydia. “Perhaps tomorrow? Would that be alright?”

The younger girl nodded her head. Her long, twin braids hanging down over her ears bobbed with her reply.

“Are you certain we will be welcome?” Phoebe asked again. “I don’t know your sister, and I’m afraid we might be imposing upon them… Perhaps we should go to an inn?”

“We will be fine,” he said, keeping his voice optimistic for her sake. “You will not be an imposition, I promise.” He knew his sister well, and knew that she enjoyed company. Of course, now that Amelia was increasing, he wasn’t exactly certain, but he remained optimistic nevertheless.

Five minutes later as they left the business district near the docks and the properties became nicer and more exclusive, Phoebe’s eyes widened and the frown upon her face gave way to fear. In the dim light of the carriage he could tell she was growing more and more worried. Lydia, thankfully had her head out of the window nearest her and didn’t notice them.

“Where does your sister live?” she asked tentatively, her voice saying she was both curious, yet afraid of the answer at the same time.

“In a house,” he replied with a grin and a wink hoping to relax her upset. And if she wasn’t upset now, she might be before the driver made them disembark the carriage in front of his brother-in-law’s Upper Brook Street home. “She lives in a house with her husband, and their daughter, my niece, Sarah who is two years old.”

“Where—um, where is this house?”

“On a street, across from a park. It’s a big house. A nice house. Across from a large park.”

“Who—” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat, just as the hackney drew closer to Hyde Park and made its last turn. “Who is your sister?”

“Her name is Amelia,” he said, not wanting to make her anymore anxious than she already was. “Our father was a bookbinder, and our maternal grandfather was a pastor in a small church in Surrey.”

Harry’s conscience berated him when a look of relief crossed her face, as she came to a conclusion that was likely incorrect. Because he was intentionally misleading her. He rationalized it inside his own head by saying he was keeping her from leaping out of the cab and running away—because he knew she would. Right now, Harry got the feeling Phoebe was like a skittish filly.

“Oh,” Phoebe heaved a relieved sigh. “I thought… Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I will do my best not to interfere with her duties, we’ll be quiet as church mice. Won’t we, Lydie?”

That inner voice was niggling at his conscience again. He couldn’t let her think what she was thinking. “My sister was working as a companion to our aunt after our father died. She met a man, and they married.” And he was still prevaricating.

“It’s wonderful that your aunt let her stay on as a companion. Many women of status will release a newly married woman, because they don’t wish to be bothered with any excuses that might keep their servant from their duties.”

“My sister married the Duke of Caversham,” he told her. “She’s the Duchess of Caversham.”

Lydia grinned at him, as though congratulating him on his sister’s good fortune.

“We cannot—I cannot—I mean—” She grew angrier with each breath she took. “Stop this cab right this instant. Let us out here. We can walk back to Cheapside and set ourselves up at an inn. Our mother had friends, even if our father did not. I’ll send a note around to you, informing you—”

“No, Phoebe.” Harry guarded the hackney’s one door to prevent her from escaping. “I assure you they will be happy to see us.”

“It was unfair of you to allow me to believe all this time that we’d be staying in modest surroundings. We do not even own proper clothing to be introduced to your sister and her husband.”

“I would have thought Wally would have written you to let you know who she married,” Harry told her. Thinking somewhere in the many long letters her brother would have mentioned it!

“Why would he?”

The driver pulled up his horse’s reins and the cab came to a smooth stop in front of his sister’s Upper Brook street residence. The limestone edifice with wide shallow steps led to a dark green painted door, adorned with a brass knocker with the Caversham crest cast into the brass.

“I’m not prepared for this Mr. Manners-Sutton. And… Oh, God, if her husband is Caversham, then Manners-Sutton must mean you’re related to… Merciful Heavens… You’re related to—”

Harry nodded. “Yes, the archbishop is my uncle, though I have just recently met him. Our family has been rather distant.” Distant was a rather nice way to put it, Harry thought. His grandfather cut off Harry’s father when he married his mother. There had been no contact with them ever that he knew of—until Amelia married Caversham.

“You should have said something! But then I would never have accepted your help. I would never have agreed to come here. Dear Lord, your family will think me the biggest status climber in the realm.”

“They will not. Please let them show you who they are. You will be surprised. I know I was. Cav was nothing that I had imagined him to be. I expected someone old and besotted of a young beautiful wife. That’s not Caversham.”

The coachman opened the door and Harry prevented Phoebe’s flight. He exited first and held a hand out for Lydia, then Phoebe. And he held her hand firmly, but not grasping, even when she tried to snatch it out of his grip.

“Come, ladies,” He gave them a wink and a grin hoping to at least get a smile on Phoebe’s face before the butler opened the door. “Let’s see what cook is serving for dinner tonight. Her cherry tarts are incredibly addicting.”

He knocked on the door, and waited. Within moments Niles, the Caversham House butler, welcomed them into the foyer.

“What a pleasure it is to see you again, Master Harry,” the dour-faced butler said. “Her grace received your note one hour ago, and Mrs. Steen has rooms prepared for you and your guests. Dinner is over, but we can have trays sent up as soon as you’re ready.”

“Thank you Niles. Is my sis—”

“Harry? Back so soon?” His sister entered the foyer from her sitting room, a book in her hands.

He grinned at her as she came toward them. “I am, Your Grace.”

“Oh, quit,” Amelia said, rapping his shoulder with the closed book.

Harry kissed her cheek, and thought to get the introductions done quickly, so motioned to Phoebe and Lydie to come forward. “Your grace, ah—Amelia, these are my friend Wally’s sisters, Miss Phoebe and Miss Lydia Grenard.” To the ladies he said, “This is my sister, Amelia, the duchess of Caversham.” To Amelia he added, “We have some urgent business to tend to here in London on Monday. Might we take shelter for a few days?”

“Of course, you don’t have to ask.”

“And I would like to speak with Caversham when he has an opportunity. I know he’s busy—”

The look on his sister’s face grew serious. “He’s at his club at the moment,” she said, “though he should be home soon. If it’s urgent, I can send for him now if you’d like?”

“That’s not necessary, if he will return soon.”

The housekeeper walked up silently, and curtsied when Amelia acknowledged her. “The rooms are ready, Your Grace.”

His sister thanked the housekeeper and turned back to Harry. “Uncle Thomas and Marcus are working on something, and it should be coming to a vote soon, hence why he’s been spending so much time at his club these days.”

Harry could practically feel Phoebe vibrating with fear. There was nothing he could do to ease her discomfort right at that moment, but he would do his best to keep Phoebe and Lydia in the conversation and hope that it worked to bring them at ease with his sister, and Cav when they met him.

“Your Grace,” Phoebe said, her voice quavering, “I cannot thank you enough for your generosity,” Phoebe’s voice trailed off.

“I understand, and think nothing of it, Miss Grenard. Please accept my condolences on your brother’s passing. For many years, through their school days and time at Cambridge, to their time serving our country, I have read of the antics of your brother and mine, and Reggie, too. I was much saddened by Wally’s death.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Phoebe said, her sister clinging to her side and holding her arm. “That means a great deal to us.”

“Would that he were still with us,” Harry added. “We’d likely not be in this predicament.”

“You’ll have to explain it all in the morning,” Amelia said. “It is getting late, and I’m sure you’ve had quite a trip and wish to rest.” The girls both agreed with Amelia, and the short, plump housekeeper with gray hair curling from beneath her lace-fringed mobcap, then led Phoebe and Lydia up the steps and to their rooms. Amelia motioned for him to follow her.

They should sleep very well tonight, Harry thought. The bed was clean, soft, and warm. And big enough for the girls to be comfortable. While he’d not gone to their residence above their sewing shop, he’d overheard enough snippets of dialogue between Phoebe and Francine to tell him that their quarters were small, open, and sparse. It was never intended to be a home for a family, just one person. He returned his attention to his sister.

“What has happened?” she asked him, once they were safely ensconced in her front parlor with the doors shut.

“Her father was up to his…” He remembered his sister was married now and stopped himself from using a sailor’s vernacular. “The man owed a great deal to a moneylender, and sold his daughters to the man.”

“He what?”

Harry hadn’t seen this look of incredulity on his sister’s face in many years. He nodded. “Wally often said his stepfather was a mean drunk and a bad gambler. The reason his uncle removed Wally from his mother’s care was because the stepfather was gambling away Wally’s quarterly allowance. He didn’t learn this until we were at university. For as long as I’d known him, Wally regretted that he was unable to protect his sisters and mother from Grenard, but he was not more than just a lad at the time. ”

“So this moneylender has found the daughters to make them pay the debt,” she stated. “Does she have—”

“No, they have nothing.”

“How does she support them?”

“They, along with a cousin, have a dress-making shop in Cleadon. The aunt died not long ago, and the three of them are trying—it seems without success—to keep the clientele.”

“So what are you planning to do?” She fell silent as a maid brought in a tea cart, and excused her quickly so they could speak in private.

“I have to find out as much as I can about the man.” Harry said when the maid departed. “The bully he sent to find the girls was threatening to send them to a brothel.”

“That child, too?”

“Both of them. Phoebe is nineteen, and Lydia is twelve.”

“A workhouse is a horrible place for a lady,”Amelia said, her brow furrowed with concern, “but a brothel? And the child, too? Why, Harry… their lives would be over before the debt is paid. You should pay the man to clear the debt for her. I can help you, you know. I never use the pin money Marcus gives me.

“I wouldn’t take your money,” he told his sister.

“Well, they both seem to be very sweet girls. You cannot let them be forced to do… that!”

“They are,” he said. “And I will make sure they don’t pay their father’s debt doing… that.”

Amelia poured tea. “Just remember, if you need the money—”

“I have it, don’t worry,” he replied. He accepted the cup from his sister. “It is a significant amount, and while it would keep them free from working in the brothel, I was at their shop and saw with my own eyes the lack of business. Miss Francine said there is one dress commissioned right now, and there were some outfits needing repair hanging in the dressing room, but the customers who would have placed orders last month for the May Day festival in a few weeks have not done so.”

“Those poor girls,” his sister sighed. “And where is Reggie?”

He sipped his tea. “Reggie is in Cleadon, protecting Miss Francine. She has no one to protect her. We asked if there was a friend or relative that she might stay with, but there was no one. And since Francie shot him, he really shouldn’t be doing anything strenuous because—”

“She shot him?” The look on Amelia’s face was one of incredulity and disbelief. “And you left him there with her?”

“It’s not what you think.” He defended his actions. “They are getting along famously now. And the reason she shot him is that she thought we were with the collector who’d just left the building. He’d harassed the ladies and they wanted him out of their shop. The ball went through his shoulder, and he is doing fine. Miss Francie stitched him up and when I left it was looking very good and there was no infection or fever.”

“And you just left him?” She asked again, stunned incredulity obvious in her voice.

He could understand why she thought that was not a good idea, after all, she did shoot Reggie. But he saw a spark kindling between Reggie and Miss Francine. “They are so attracted to each other, that I will be surprised when I get back if he’s not betrothed—”

“—Or dead.”

“Not at all.” He grinned at the thought. “I predict Francie will be with child, and Reggie will never look at another woman for the rest of his days. I’m telling you, Amelia, I saw them. They were like a magnet and steel.”

“I take it that she was not… unappealing to him?”

Harry chuckled. “No, he volunteered to stay behind to protect her.”

“Aside from this business with the moneylender that you are helping her with, is there anything… going on between you and the elder girl, Miss Phoebe? While you’ve always been incredibly kind and courteous, even as a child, this is a problem with no good outcome for her. Surely you know this. The law is such that the family can be held liable for the debts of the deceased, I know this personally. So, I have to ask, what do you plan to do if he takes his case before a judge?”

“I won’t let it get that far,” he said to his sister. “I would pay her debt to keep my promise to Wally. All he wanted was for me and Reggie to see the girls settled safely and comfortably.”

“Are you paying this debt because you feel guilty for being unable to save her brother?”

“Partly, yes.” But even as he said the words he knew they were untrue. He shook his head. “No. Not that at all. It’s—” How could he explain this feeling to his sister? It was so much more. It was the way she felt in his arms that made him feel he was home; the way they kissed—as though there was no tomorrow. There was serenity in her smile, and promise in her eyes. “I cannot explain it because… I have never felt this way before. But, I am very much attracted to the lady.”

Amelia gave him a soft, perceptive grin—one that told him she understood exactly what he meant.

* * *

Later, he waited for Cav in the room he called his when he was at Caversham House, Harry thought about just settling the debt without telling Phoebe and then telling her the man had the wrong person. But even Phoebe knew it was very likely a valid debt. It was also highly improbable that the man would be so agreeable as to lie for him.

Harry still needed to find the man, Donovan, and pay the debt for her. That was the right thing to do. Of course, Phoebe would be angry when she learned of his interference. It didn’t matter, though. This was what he had to do to protect her—and not because of Wally, either.

He’d been honest with Amelia earlier. He was very much attracted to Phoebe’s creamy pink-cheeked complexion with plump lips that begged to be kissed. He could envision her brown loose curls cascading down her naked back, and her golden-brown eyes alight with passion.

At first he’d hated himself for feeling this way about Wally’s sister, after he’d promised he would protect them both. Harry was attracted to Phoebe almost from the first moment he’d seen her in the shop just a few short days earlier. When he realized that the best way to protect her was to keep her at his side, that was when he realized solving her problem with her father’s money monger was a small part of protecting her. He wanted to protect her forever.

Reggie would have thrown himself on the sword for love of Wally. Harry would marry Phoebe because he thought there was a good chance they could have a happy life together. Perhaps even fall in love if they had more time to get to know one another better.

At midnight, he left a note for Cav in the hallway with the footman who was likely awaiting his grace’s return from his business meeting, asking for a meeting in the morning at breakfast. Harry knew his brother-in-law was a busy man and worked hard on the various committees in which he participated in parliament, so a few minutes early in his day hopefully would not be too big of an imposition. He fully realized he was out of his element when it came to this, and needed some of his advice.

After seeing to the note, he climbed into bed. Harry didn’t just want to protect Phoebe from harm, he wanted to take her to his bed because of the constant state of arousal he was in when she was near. She was incredibly beautiful and had not a clue about it. His body tingled when she was in the same room. When they touched, his heart raced. He wanted her more each time he was in her presence. And he didn’t believe for a moment that Phoebe didn’t feel anything at all when they kissed, because she returned his kisses. Harry wasn’t imagining that.

Kissing Phoebe was unlike any kissing he’d ever done before. Her mouth was sweet, and she melted like a piece of ice in the midday sun. She smelled like a field of English wildflowers, earthy and fresh. It made him want to peel away all those layers covering her, especially that wrap binding her breasts. He could see himself worshiping her body—the soft curves and peaks, and the less soft valleys and limbs—all that made her the woman she was.

Changing positions so he could hopefully get some rest, Harry rolled onto his side. He punched the pillow to fluff it up. He simply had to change his thoughts or he’d never fall asleep.

The next morning as footmen poured their coffee, he and Caversham got the pleasantries out of the way quickly.

“Amelia said something about Wally’s sisters and you needing my help,” Cav said.

“I do,” he replied.

“So tell me about the situation with this moneylender.”

A few minutes later, with the story as he knew it out in the open, he and his brother-in-law began to discuss all options—both legal, and not. They settled on what would be the easiest, and likely most successful way, to get the man to stop threatening Phoebe. So like he thought all along, Harry was going to offer to pay the man, and even to pay him more than the requested amount, with Caversham saying he could get the money for him immediately. Harry had the funds, just not immediate access to them.

Cav motioned for a footman to come forward. “Please get McKinley for me, but first tell him he will need street clothing for this.”

The man arrived and Harry thought the man an unlikely spy. His hair was peppered with gray and pulled back and tied at the nape, like some Asian servant he’d seen in a port somewhere. The man walked with a limp, but through the open coat, Harry was able to see the man’s pistol in the inner pocket. And the bulge in the back was probably a second tucked inside his waistband.

“I have an assignment for you, Mac.”

“Aye, Your Grace?”

“Find the whereabouts of a man named Edgar Donovan,” Cav said. “He’s a moneylender that preys on fools and children. His establishments that we know of are a gaming saloon and brothel in or near the Whitechapel district. Discover where he will be this afternoon. I’d also like to ask you to accompany Mr. Manners-Sutton to that location later.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the man replied. “Will that be all?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Harry also thanked the man, then his brother-in-law.

“Let me know what happens after you see this Donovan,” Cav said. “If he doesn’t take your payment, then we can see about a legal course of action to protect the young ladies.”

* * *

Later that day and with Mac at his side, Harry went to the edge of Whitechapel. Mac had returned and told him that Donovan could be found occupying the building that once housed the tavern that had been run by Phoebe’s father. He had the driver of the duke’s unmarked carriage drop him and Mac off a block away and wait for their return. Even the unmarked carriage radiated some prosperity, and that wasn’t what he was trying to convey in negotiating with the moneylender.

Walking down the street, he brought his forearm to his nose hoping the smell of the fine wool fabric would block the sour stench of vomit and who knew what else as he walked up to what used to be the King’s Head Tavern. According to the duke’s servant, Mac, the building was now a drinking and gambling establishment for the working class man. No longer a place where a man could get a good, hot meal, it was business where a man like Phoebe’s father could place bets on fights and races, join in a game of cards or dice in the back rooms, and have a pint of beer or something harder.

There was also something softer available, as Donovan moved his brothel into the building next door, which Harry remembered had been a reputable working-class boarding house. He was saddened by the way the neighborhood had changed in the past few years.

A burly man opened the door for him, and his eyes struggled to adjust to the dim lighting, especially coming in from the outdoors.

Harry had been in places like this before. Women of dubious reputations usually cling to the men, promising to bring them luck, or make them offers for sexual favors depending on what the man wanted to spend. For the right amount of coin any man could purchase an hour or two, or even the night.

He had to hand it to Donovan. He’d taken what was once a decent tavern and boarding house in a working class part of town, and converted it to a place of degradation, with gin, gaming, and whoring all going on in the same building.

A lad entered from the far side of the room, and as he drew closer Harry realized the boy was actually a wiry little man carrying a club. His short, thin frame indicated a life of poor nutrition and hard work, but his clothing suggested his lot had recently improved.

“Ain’t got no girls ‘vailable right now,” he said, his cheeks sunken in where there were once teeth. “Come back this evenin’ and they’ll be fresh as a flower.”

“I’m not here for a girl,” Harry told the man. “I’m here to see Mr. Donovan.”

“Wot for?”

“To clear a debt.”

“Ye must’a won big at a table or sumptin’ then, eh?”

“Or something.”

“Wot’s yer name?”

“I’m clearing the debt for Jack Grenard.”

That caused one bushy eyebrow to raise a fraction, but only that. And if Harry hadn’t been observant he would have missed it.

“But wot’s yer name? Yer not gettin’ by me without me knowin’ who ye are.”

“I am Harry Sutton,” he said, opting for a shortened surname so as not to clue anyone to the fact that he had relatives in the highest echelons of the Anglican church and parliament. They were just that, relatives. He was not them. He was not a rich man, but a sawbones in his majesty’s navy. One who wanted to finish his medical training to become a physician.

“Well, jus’ let me see if Mr. Don’van is receivin’ this mornin’.”

Harry knew he was being mocked as he watched the little man walk away with a limp he hadn’t noticed before. He had the look of a jockey about him, and that gimp leg was likely an injury from riding race horses. Several long minutes later, he came back to the internal doorway and motioned for Harry to follow him.

“Yer man stays ‘ere,” he told Harry, who nodded his head to let Mac know he’d be fine. The duke’s man didn’t look like he wanted to stay behind, but did.

Donovan’s lackey showed Harry through another doorway, up the steps, and into the space where he remembered Wally and his family lived. Harry crossed the threshold into the expansive, gaudily decorated office.

The walls were covered in an odd manner. There were vertical swaths of pale-gold floral-pattern wall paper, and in between two swaths of wall paper was a vertical red painted bit of plaster. Harry knew nothing about decorating, but it appeared to him that someone hadn’t purchased enough paper to cover the room so divided what he had and tried to space it out evenly and failed miserably.

The use of gold and red together brought to mind a brothel he, Wally, and Reggie had gone to in New Orleans. It felt like a lifetime ago and he’d never have remembered the place if it wasn’t for this room. The rough wooden floor held large brown spots that were irregular in size and spacing from some unknown liquid. Under the desk was a carpet that had seen better days, it was worn in areas that didn’t match the furniture resting on it. It was as though it had been moved from elsewhere and brought here.

The room looked nothing like the sitting room that Wally’s mother kept when she lived here. The shabby furniture and the carpet were likely from other buildings owned by the man seated behind the desk. Harry looked at the plump face, with a bulbous, vein-riddled nose who sat behind a once elegant black desk, that had a finish dulled from years of abuse. Like everything else in the room, it had the look of coming from a rubbish bin.

The man wore powder and rouge on his face, what hair he had was clipped short, and Harry got the impression he normally wore a wig. His clothes looked like they used to fit him better, and appeared to have been fashioned during the last century.

Harry wanted to tell him that the purple and pink striped silk waistcoat did his complexion no favors, but chose to remain silent. He just wanted this business over and to get out of here. Mac waited for him below, though he probably should have insisted the man come with him.

“‘Ere ‘e is,” Donovan’s little man said. And if Harry wasn’t mistaken, the words held a hint of a sneer.

“Where’re the girls?” The paunch-bellied peacock met Harry’s gaze and stared daggers into him. His red-rimmed, gray-blue eyes were cold and dead of emotion. “I asked a question, Mr. Manners-Sutton.”

Harry lifted a brow, tipping an invisible hat to his opponent. “Not here, obviously.”

“I know they both boarded the Thunder with you in Sunderland,” Donovan said. “My guess is they are at the home of your sister and brother-in-law.”

Harry did his best not to let the other man see his concern. That he knew of his sister and where she lived bothered him. “I’m here to pay the debt owed to you by my friends’ father,” Harry stated. “That is all. I would like an accounting of the loans, and your signature on that accounting that it has been paid in full.”

The fat, old popinjay chuckled. “That won’t happen.”

“Those girls belong to me. Their own father sold them to me, then ran away with them in a spasm of paternal sentiment in a fleeting moment of sobriety.” He leaned forward and rose from his chair in a menacing way as if hoping to frighten him. Except Harry had faced worse in battle. This gouty old man was naught but bluster. He had others do his dirty work because he obviously could not.

“Now then,” the wheezing, paunch-bellied moneylender said, “either you bring the girls to me, or I will take them to court for failure to pay a debt, and for interfering in my business.”

“I am here to pay their father’s debt,” Harry repeated.

“And I said I don’t want your money. I want the girls. Both girls.”

“They’ll not be coming here. Ever. And if you know who I am, then you know I have the resources to fight you over this.”

“Mr. Monk, what did you just hear?” Donovan said to his little protector.

The short man was obviously one of Donovan’s trusted lackeys. Standing behind Harry spoke, “Aye. I ’eard ’im make a threat.”

“That wasn’t a threat,” Harry said calmly, stepping forward and placing his hands on the desk, and coming down to face level with the old man. “But this is… If you ever come near those girls, or my family, I’ll cut your beating heart from your chest while you watch.”

Donovan paled under his painted cheeks, and when his lackey came forward with the club in hand, he threatened Harry to back away. Harry stepped back reluctantly, and the old man grew bolder. “I want those girls now,” he shouted. “You have until dark tomorrow.”

“Or what?” Harry asked. “Are you going to come for them?” He gave a derisive chuckle. “You can hardly stand.”

“You have no idea who you’re angering, you whelp.” Donovan stood. “Their father owed me a great deal of money, and I plan to put them to work to repay it.”

“I’m making the deal here, not you,” Harry returned. “I am giving you one opportunity to take this money and relieve those two young ladies of their father’s debt, or nothing. Your choice.”

“I’m told the older one is rather pretty,” the money monger said mockingly. “She should fetch a high price if she’s still a virgin. And if she is, you’re a fool. Y’should’a bedded her when she was in the cabin with ye.”

Harry must have shown his surprise because Donovan chuckled. He suddenly understood the desire to kill for pleasure’s sake.

Evidently Donovan caught the gap in Harry’s composure and continued egging him on.

“And there are men who pay fortunes for the really young ones—willing or no. In fact, they like girls who fight more than the ones who just lie there crying.” Donovan laughed at something only he thought was funny in his twisted mind. “Now, get out of here,” he said. Then he motioned for his little lackey to show Harry out.

With his club in hand, the lackey pointed in the direction of the door. Then Donovan added, “Now, bring both girls here by dark tomorrow, or else.”

Harry marched past the man at the top of the steps holding a pistol pointed at Mac who waited at the bottom, another man behind Mac, in the doorway to what used to be the kitchens, also pointed a gun at him.

“Let’s get out of here,” Harry hissed under his breath. Caversham’s man fell in behind him. As he walked to their waiting carriage, he fumed.

Not only had someone seen them, this person followed them from Sunderland and was on the same ship. It bothered him that one of the men working for Donovan had followed them, and told the old bastard about Phoebe coming to his cabin. But it made him furious to think how he could have hurt the girls when they were alone in their cabin.

There was no way he was bringing Phoebe and Lydia to Donovan. Because of this, he was certain that Donovan would try to get the courts involved. And Harry needed guidance in this. He’d never had dealings in that sordid world and had no idea how to manage a threat such as Donovan posed. He wanted to see what his brother-in-law the duke had to say. Cav might know of a way they can force the man to accept payment and leave the girls alone.

He strode into the house almost two hours after he’d left. Crossing the black-and-white marble-tiled floor of the entry, he asked the butler where he might find His Grace at this time of the afternoon. He was led to a parlor where his sister and brother-in-law entertained two women, likely wives of peers they knew.

Amelia motioned him over, and introduced him to two women, identical twins, of some relation to the duke.

“Tea?” Amelia asked him. He shook his head.

The guests began talking of the renovations Amelia was finally getting around to, after being married for almost four years. Harry threw his brother-in-law an urgent expression. One he hoped Cav would understand. And he did, almost immediately.

“Ladies, sweetheart,” His Grace said, “There is something I would like to discuss with Harry.” He stood, finished his tea and placed the cup on the silver tray the maid extended toward him. “We have unfinished business.”

“Certainly—” Lady Royce began.

“—Your Grace,” and Lady Stone finished.

When he walked out with Cav, he heard one of the older ladies call him handsome, and the other said he was very polite and amenable. And that his gentlemanly behavior was obviously due to his good breeding as his father was one of the Manners-Sutton children.

What they didn’t know was that his mother’s lesser birth was the reason he’d not been raised within the ton.

In the private confines of the duke’s office, Harry was finally able to heave a sigh—not really of relief, because there wasn’t going to be relief until Phoebe and Lydia were free of Donovan—but of barely restrained frustration.

“It can be exhausting trying to keep your emotions in check,” His Grace said, “but it’s what we do as men. We do our best not to let the women in our lives suspect that we have worries or problems.”

Harry knew that Caversham had lived a far different life than he had. But, there were times, such as this, when he felt the man was not nearly as lofty as other nobles Harry had met. The duke was honest and forthright, and that was likely what had attracted his sister to the man.

“Tell me what you discovered,” Cav said. “Were you able to speak to this Mr. Donovan?”

“I did, and he doesn’t want the money. He wants the girls by dark tomorrow. He was rather frank about his plans to force them into prostitution.”

“He said this?” His Grace was just as shocked at the brazenness of the man as Harry had been. He nodded. The duke poured them each a drink, handing one to Harry. “So what do you do now?”

“Well, I’m not sure,” Harry said. “Donovan knew who I was, and where we are. And, it sounded as though we were followed back to London by one of the men he’d sent to Cleadon to bully the ladies. I never knew who the man was or what he looked like,” he added. “The purser, a man I know well, told me we were the only guests aboard the ship.”

“With a ship of that size, it’s likely he didn’t know there was another,” the duke said.

Harry agreed. “Well, I didn’t kill Donovan though I did threaten to,” he said. “The way our conversation ended led me to believe his next move is legal. So I guess I should be prepared for that. I don’t know what he plans, but he may come with an order from the courts to collect the girls to make them work off the debt of their father. I have to be prepared for that.”

Cav stopped him from going down that line of thought.

“A father cannot legally sell the children to pay the debt, though many people assume so,” Cav said. “I believe gypsies still do this. If they’re found out, a fine is levied. They aren’t sent to prison. Also, it is very rare that any female in that community would file a complaint against the male head of the family.

“Now then,” Cav continued, “if Donovan has a signed and stamped contract that says the girls’ father was to repay the debt and the father dies, then through the courts Donovan can take action. He can’t just take the daughters of a debtor and force them into prostitution. The money lender would have to go through the appropriate legal channels.” The duke gave him a tight lipped grin. “And usually the court rules in favor of the debt holder.”

A long silence passed between them as Harry absorbed what his brother-in-law had just told him. It was good news, yet not what he’d wanted to hear.

“I offered to reimburse him the amount owed,” Harry said. “The man refused the cash, and insisted he wanted the girls, not the money.”

“I’ll send for my solicitor, and have him see to the man. We’ll offer him full restitution in writing, and have my solicitor’s firm handle the contract and monies. Any court would accept that as proof that we tried to make right any wrong done to him by their father.”

“I hope you’re right,” Harry said. “And, Your Grace, I appreciate your help. Wally was the best. He was the best friend a man could have. I owe this to our friendship.”

“I understand,” the duke said with saddened expression. “Very much so, I understand.”