Free Temptation and Surrender by Stephanie Laurens

head, she turned and surveyed the warehouse just as an older man came out.
    “That’s Finch.”
    She tensed, expecting to feel Tallent’s fingers close about her elbow. But he glanced at her briefly, then waved her forward, falling in by her side as she walked toward the man.
    Her relief was tempered by that one swift glance. He knew he affected her, which was in no way comforting.
    He cleared his throat and introduced her to Finch.
    By ruthlessly forcing her mind to concentrate on Finch and all she’d come there to achieve—putting in a sizable order being just one part of her agenda—she managed to survive the next hour in a reasonable state.
    Eventually, however, after an extended tour of the warehouse followed by discussions about deliveries and further orders, it was time to head back to Colyton. Which meant getting back into Jonas Tallent’s curricle.
    Which she couldn’t do, certainly not before gentlemen, without assistance.
    Just the thought of putting her hand in his again, and feeling his fingers close around hers, had anticipatory heat prickling along her arm.
    Finch escorted them to the warehouse door, thoroughly pleased with her order. She’d put effort into charming the older man and knew she’d succeeded. He smiled delightedly as he shook her hand…
    She smiled sweetly back. “Mr. Finch, I wonder if I could trouble you to hand me into the curricle? We do need to get on.” Looking into the yard, she saw the boy struggling to hold the revived and impatient horses, and smoothly added, “And Mr. Tallent’s horses are so restive.”
    “Of course, of course, my dear Miss Beauregard.” Finch kept hold of her hand. “Here—do watch your step. There’s a hole there.”
    She dutifully picked her way carefully along by Finch’s side. As he helped her up, she glanced, briefly, in Tallent’s direction.
    And encountered a dark look. His lips had tightened into a line and his eyes were narrowed.
    But he said nothing as he rescued his reins from the boy, stepped up into the curricle, and sat beside her.
    She smiled once more on Mr. Finch—her unwitting savior. “Thank you, sir. I’ll look forward to receiving those goods tomorrow.”
    “First thing!” Finch declared. “I’ll send the boy off with the dray at first light.”
    Tallent saluted Finch with his whip. Finch bowed as the curricle lurched, then rattled forward. Tallent deftly turned it out of the yard; the horses quickly settled into their usual smooth gait.
    Em sat back, watching the houses of Seaton slip by. Studiously ignoring the louring weight in the air, emanating from the gentleman beside her.
    She waited for him to say something, what she had no idea.
    He waited until Seaton fell behind and they were bowling along at a clipping pace before stating, “I haven’t met your sisters yet.”
    Not a question, yet given the tension in the air, she gratefully seized the topic and ran. “I’ve three—Isobel, Issy as we call her, is the eldest. As I believe I mentioned, she’s twenty-three. The younger pair are the twins—Gertrude and Beatrice—Gert and Bea.” She paused for breath, sensed that unnerving tension still there, and went on, “All three, Issy, Gert, and Bea, have blond hair and blue eyes, not like Henry and me. The twins especially look angelic, which is so very far from the truth it can be dangerous—people take them at face value far too readily. And I’m afraid they’ve run wild for too long. Their mother—Issy’s, Henry’s, and my stepmother—didn’t cope well after my father’s death, and she failed to educate them properly, as Issy and I subsequently learned when, after her death, the twins came to live with us. Issy’s presently trying to instill some modicum of ladylike attributes into their unfortunately not always receptive minds.”
    She paused, glanced at him.
    He nodded, frowning still, but whether it was over checking his horses or what she’d said—or what she’d done—she didn’t