Free To Catch a Rake by Sally Orr

James may have been emulating their friends of a similar age. It’s a time in life when all of their friends are choosing spouses, I mean. There is a distinct possibility that love had nothing to do with their doomed relationship.”
    What a pitiful individual, deprived of understanding.
    She needed to forgo the love argument and devise another tactic to persuade him. “I once said that I might plead to the Learned Ladies Society for funds on the tunnel’s behalf. If you join me to call upon James, I promise you at least one new investor for the tunnel.”
    He inhaled deeply and stood. Wearing a broad smile, he held out his hand.
    She took it eagerly, since perhaps his smile meant he would grant her request. Only once again, her stare fixed on his hand. This time, her thoughts weaved a desire to feel a caress from these very fingers. Then her mind wandered even further, into a dangerous, forbidden territory of intimate masculine touches she had forgotten. She licked her lower lip, lost in imaginings of how his caresses might feel on her neck or her shoulder. She shook her head in hopes of dislodging these reckless desires.
    His fingers tightened around hers. “You are obviously not examining the dirt, since I brushed it off. Perhaps you are dreaming about the power of touch?”
    She dropped his hand like a hot coal. Why had her mind wandered? What was wrong with her today?
    He picked up hers and turned it over. “If not a touch, perhaps a pleasing stroke in just the right place?” His warm forefinger touched her in the center of her palm and then leisurely trailed up the inside of her wrist.
    Her cheeks flamed as she searched for an excuse for fantasizing about his hand. “If you must know, I was admiring the strength of the hands that will one day build England’s future.”
    Wearing an expression of half pleasure and half guilt, he dropped her hand. “Pardon me.”
    She let out her breath; her ruse appeared to work. Her—what must have been blatant—physical attraction she managed to disguise for the moment.
    “Thank you for the compliment,” he said, beaming and executing a deep bow. “Come. Let me escort you back to your carriage. I will do as you wish and speak to the man, if you promise to deliver one new investor in the tunnel. If it comes to pass, I would be grateful, as would my superiors. But I prophesy your James’s heart has spoken the last word, and he will still refuse.”

Four
    The gray pavement stones glistened from the recent rain as Meta approached the London home of her friend and current president of the Learned Ladies Society, Lady Sarah Stainthorpe. She pulled her hands out of her spencer’s warm fur-lined pocket and knocked on her friend’s door. She then crossed two fingers for good luck.
    Meta had always eagerly anticipated the society’s meetings: a group of intelligent women discussing books, discussing their families, planning their latest benevolent works, telling the latest jest or on dits , or all of these at the same time.
    Today, however, Meta needed to ask her friends for a rather significant favor: new investors for Mr. Marc Brunel’s Thames Tunnel. Without Mr. Drexel’s knowledge, she made discreet inquiries into the cost of shares, hoping her friends could persuade their husbands to make a significant investment or even a helpful donation. If her efforts proved successful, she’d pay her debt of gratitude for Fitzy’s employment and further obligate Mr. Drexel to enthusiastically persuade James to change his mind.
    Stepping inside Lady Sarah’s personal drawing room, Meta glanced around at the pretty yellow Chinese papers on the wall. Willowy tree branches with sweet little sparrows flying or sitting on branches decorated the papers. On the blue ceiling, white plaster swags complemented the yellow papers. In the center of the cheery room, numerous gilt wooden chairs formed a large circle around a peach-colored marble table. She exchanged greetings with her friends,