She came out of nowhere, skidding down the stairs as though a thing possessed her, hair flying wildly in all directions. It was a wonder she hadn’t half killed herself coming at him that way. It had been a thing to watch that he would not soon forget.

“Are you all right?” James asked, unable to help himself. They had not been introduced, and the rules of etiquette were somewhat lacking in situations where a lady lay sprawled at your feet.

Her father though had not allowed them more than a moment to talk. He had hauled the girl to her feet himself and scolded her soundly. James watched as her cheeks went from crimson to pale, and the tears welled in her eyes. She was genuinely distressed that she’d caused her father embarrassment. She did not seem the sort to make cruel demands upon an elderly servant who had acted impulsively.

Nor did she seem necessarily going out of her way to restore the impression she’d made upon him. There was nothing coquettish or flirtatious about her. As her father ran out of steam, she actually turned toward James to ask if he were all right and whether or not her tumble had hurt him.

“I am fine, thank you. It is you who I am worried about,” James said, losing himself in the depths of her eyes.

A sharp word from her father sent the girl to her room, rather peremptorily, James thought, for he had only just started to get to know her. Or at least to get an idea of her. Though truth be told, the banishment was not without merit. They were strangers to each other after all, and the father would be expected to protect his daughter from strange men.

But even as he was led to his host’s library, James could not erase the image of the young lady from his mind. What had left him all the more intrigued though was the way her eyes had lit with pleasure as she came down the stairs. The laughter that followed her, the flush to her cheeks had attracted him to her. She was the very embodiment of life itself, and he wanted to get to know her better.

Whatever his host said as he invited him into his office was lost on him. It took James a moment to realize that The Duke of York, Harcourt Barrington, was asking to see the letter that had summoned him to this place.

Now though, seated in her father’s study, James had little interest in the letter the man was perusing, his attention entirely taken by the girl. Oh, she was a wild thing, a woman untamed, full of fire and life. So completely opposite every young lady he’d been afflicted within the past year of his life since taking the title of Duke that he was, in fact, quite intrigued.

He also had a precious bauble to return to her. Only now wasn’t the time.

“Well, this is the strangest thing, Campbell.” Harcourt Barrington flung the paper down upon his desk after reading and rubbed at the line forming over his brow. “I truly do not remember inviting you, though I am most intrigued by your proposition regarding opening up American concerns for trade.”

Of course, he would not remember inviting him. The letter had been obviously penned by the girl on the stairs, giving James entry into the house that he might carry out his supposed duty. From everything he could see, Barrington was a man much given to study and trade. Shipping schedules littered his desk. His attention seemed to be on half a dozen things at once.

Of course, the girl would know her father well enough to pen a letter that could easily be construed as having been forgotten. It had been cleverly worded too, inviting them both to focus on the one thing that would help him most right now.

A partnership in shipping but this time to the Americas.

“With the war declared over, it seems it might be a good time to test the boundaries of the new peace,” James said, pressing to bring home the point made in the letter. “In fact, you did seem rather interested in the port of New Orleans, as well as trade in the West Indies.”

“And you have had ships travel those routes with success?” Barrington asked, raising his head from his papers long enough to look at him.

James considered how to answer. “To some extent, I have,” he said carefully.

“But not of late.”

James winced. “I see my reputation has preceded me,” he said and rose to wonder where his hat and coat had been placed so that he might leave.

“Sit down, sit down! My heavens, man, there are few enough I can talk to as an equal. Do not make me chase you down. Truth be told, before my daughter penned this letter pretending to be me, I had been considering inviting you to a conversation at my club. But you have the most annoying habit of hiding from the public eye.”

“I would hardly call living a quiet life hiding, Sir!” James responded with a particular offense, lifting his chin somewhat.

Barrington waved that off. “Well, you are hardly taking part in the social circles currently, or I would be sure to hear of it. My wife’s sister sings your praises rather regularly, though I suppose you would not know her. Phoebe Barlowe? No, I suppose not. All the same, I would appreciate it if you would sit, that we can discuss this matter further.”

James sat cautiously, studying the thickset man behind the desk as he shuffled through the documents scattered hither and yon. He still had a full head of hair, like that of his daughter’s only a slightly darker red-brown, rivaling only his mustache in thickness. When he looked up, his dark eyes sparkled with humor and no small amount of intelligence.

James had thoroughly underestimated the man. “So, what makes you think that your daughter wrote the letter?”

“Small things. She writes my hand better than I do myself, more ‘me’ as it were. But her language missed on some of this. Close though, very close. I suspect she had her heart set on meeting you for some reason, though perhaps not quite in the manner that she introduced herself today. Good God, did you ever see such a thing?” He roared with laughter. “But that’s my Helena. Very like her mother that one.”

“Then if you knew, why not send me on my way?”

Barrington’s mustache lifted as he grinned, showing a glimpse of his teeth. “Two things, lad. First, never question Providence. The loss of your ships is a dastardly thing, though the captains paid for it, did they not? That partner of yours had tempted them where they should have trusted their instincts. Giving coin as a bonus for ignoring a storm warning is foolishness only matched by those who take it.”

James actually flinched at this. “I had hoped that such news was not public knowledge.”

“My boy, there is very little I claim ignorance in. What I do not know, I find out. There are no more than five souls in the world who likely know what happened, and I have paid enough coin to three of them that such things will be taken to the grave before they are revealed. The other two are in this room.”

James stared at him. “Why would you do that?”

Barrington leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying drawing this out. “For the second reason that I wished to meet you. My daughter, Helena.”

“Your daughter! What has she to do with this?”

“Duke, you truly need to learn how to hold your emotions in check. You are a terrible liar, which is a shame because this is a skill you need to cultivate if you expect to survive. I realize you have only held the title of duke for little more than a year or two, but ’tis time you learned how to play the game.” Barrington shook his head seriously. “If you can. I am not sure such a thing is possible after meeting you.”

James drew himself up. “You, Sir, are out of line! I am not a liar, nor do I wish to become one.”

“Good!” Barrington leaped to his feet. “Then you should not mind explaining to me why my daughter has not only sent for you but has in fact arranged for you to visit this household five times. Are you here, dear Duke, to court my daughter, or not?”