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No, the news had been as frightening as if a violent earthquake had shaken the Sutcliffe’s home, stripping the ceilings of their decorative plasterwork and the walls of their gilded frames. She’d been overwrought, and she’d sought succor from the person she still trusted most in the world. She wasn’t ignorant of the manner in which James had stiffened when she arrived for dinner, nor the starchy glances passing between the Duchess of Sutcliffe and her austere brother.

When Regine and Juliet had visited the glovers the day after their museum outing, they’d run into Theadosia and Jessica. How unusual that three misses from their small country hamlet had all become duchesses.

It hadn’t taken much persuasion on Theadosia’s part for Regine to accept the invitation to dine. Naturally, she’d known James would be there. But she couldn’t stay away, now that she’d seen him again.

He remained in her blood, in her aching, wounded soul. His presence brought her such exquisite torment. It hurt to be near him, knowing she’d ruined the rare jewel they’d shared. Yet, she couldn’t deny herself the opportunity to see him either.

On the Continent, she’d never fretted about an unexpected encounter with him. But since she’d seen his dear face in the coffeeshop window, she searched every street, every window, and every coach and carriage for his auburn hair and blue-green eyes.

Regine couldn’t eschew an opportunity to see him. Even if he never spoke to her. How very pathetic she’d become. Pining for a man who, if perhaps didn’t revile, certainly disdained and condemned her.

Nonetheless, other than their initial meeting, he’d been kind and courteous, and she believed, perchance, she detected a glint of primal protectiveness in his eyes last night. A distinct feminine appreciation for gallantry thrummed in her. And now, hopefully, he’d be able to advise her how best to proceed with George-Curtis.

Through her lashes, she observed James, a forefinger resting on his upper lip and head bent as he perused her documents. That stubborn forelock of bronze hair had fallen forward as it was wont to do. She wanted to smooth it back in place, and cup his chiseled cheeks between her hands and kiss him.

A crease drew his arched eyebrows together, and only the ticking of the mahogany bracket clock on one of the shelves interrupted the silence.

He flipped to a previously read page, marking it with his finger as he riffled forward and studied another. At last, he sat back, and fingers steepled, twisted his mouth into a half-smile. “These appear to be in order, Regine. I’ve found nothing in my initial inspection that gives me cause to believe the Duke of Heartwaite would prevail in court.”

So great was her relief, she almost sagged against the chair. Except, duchesses didn’t sag. “I cannot tell you how relieved I am.” Leaning forward, she placed a palm upon the desk. “He cannot seize my ship or home? Freeze my funds?”

“He threatened you with that?” A fierce scowl lined James’s face, and he balled the hand resting atop his desk as if he’d very much like to smash it into George-Curtis’s bulbous, red-veined nose.

“He did. And more.” Unless she made him welcome in her bed, the vile wretch. He’d also vowed to confiscate her horseflesh, furnishings, jewels, and even her clothing. Vengeful and vindictive. Resenting every penny his father had spent on her.

It wasn’t as if George-Curtis or his siblings hadn’t been provided for. Heartwaite had been generous with his children, bestowing estates on the younger sons as well as enormous dowries on his daughters. And yet, they begrudged Regine…everything.

The genuine fear she’d end up in the same position she’d been in eight years ago had niggled incessantly. No funds. No home. No means of provision.

Except things weren’t the same at present as they had been then. Regine had only the one sister to fret over now, and if worse came to worse, Christiana or Marian would take Juliet in, albeit reluctantly. They’d married for love—one a rector and the other a professor—and each had children. Neither had an abundance of room or coin.

Simply knowing she wouldn’t have to impose upon her sisters if George-Curtis chose to be obstinate about the matter and cut off her funds as he’d threatened until a court decision was rendered, felt as if a loadstone had been removed from her shoulders.

“I feared he might have had a case against me, and I would have to prevail upon one of my sisters to take Juliet in,” Regine admitted, attempting to disregard the flush creeping from her neck to her hairline.

Something indiscernible flashed across James’s features but disappeared in a heartbeat. “If you’d permit, I’d like to keep these to examine at my leisure.” He tapped the papers with his forefinger. “Only to be certain I didn’t overlook anything.”

“Certainly.” She gathered her gloves, prepared to depart, but reluctant to do so. Now was the time to tell James. Explain what had driven her to accept Heartwaite. To ask for his forgiveness.

Except the words wouldn’t come, wouldn’t form on her tongue. As a young girl of eighteen, her reasoning had seemed so sound, but had it truly been?

Hadn’t James had the right to know the calamity that had befallen her family? To be a part of the decision she’d made that had so disastrously affected both of their lives?

In truth, these past few days, she’d begun to doubt the wisdom of her girlish decision. And still, the words remained stuck in her throat, her mouth dry as sand, and fear of further rejection rendering her mute.

Since when had she become a coward?

He scraped his fingers through his hair in a disarming manner, leaving a few strands tufted and endearingly boyish. “Ah, would you care for coffee?”

Already in the process of donning one glove, she brought her gaze up to meet his.

Warmth and masculine approval shone in his eyes.

“I would, in truth.” Regine would’ve accepted an offer of cold tea or pond water. Anything to spend another few minutes with him. It was not wise and could only lead to more heartache, but she couldn’t resist.

James flashed her one of his captivating smiles of old, and her mouth went impossibly dryer. “Excellent,” he said, rising in an agile, smooth movement. He gestured toward the sofa. “Make yourself comfortable while I request refreshments.”

He strode to the door, and she took the opportunity to take in his impressive form. Fine, to ogle, undetected. For certain, he hadn’t gone soft from sitting behind a desk. She’d wager he still rode neck or nothing and mayhap boxed.