Free Priceless by Christina Dodd

decoration dug into her palm. Adam made no attempt to ease her discomfort. His coat had been discarded, his throat bare of a cravat. She’d never seen him in such disorder. Always before he’d been formal, proper, fashionable, if severe. She’d refused to consider how he’d look in the marriage bed. A glance at his chest, clad in only his shirt, made her realize why. The fullness of the soft cambric couldn’t disguise the muscles beneath, and she was too aware of his arm as it rested on the back of her chair. Tight against her bared shoulders, its warmth seeped into her skin.
    She sat up straight, so her back didn’t touch the chair. “Credit!” She attacked with vigor. “I don’t understand credit.”
    He bent his dark gaze on her face, observing, “Nor does most of the country.”
    Why was he staring at her so closely? Was there a mark? Did the beauty patch above her upper lip hang loose? She’d been uncomfortable before; now she hung on the hook of suspense. Her fingers fastened on the ruffle of her silk apron, and she plucked at the hem. “How does one buy stocks on credit?”
    “With a payment that locks one into a certain number of stocks.”
    She wanted to scrub at her skin. “How does one make money? If one tries to redeem the stocks at the office of the South Sea Company, and they’re not completely paid for—”
    “What one tries to do is sell them to another investor, leaving him with the debt and taking the profit,” he explained, patient with her ignorance.
    “Why would an investor buy a debt?”
    “Because he’s—”
    “Betting the stock will rise even higher,” she interrupted as the light dawned, “and he’ll be able to make a profit, also.”
    For the first time since she’d lived in his house, he smiled. He smiled at her . Her breath caught. She froze. The man she’d thought of as severe, austere, a maiden’s vampire fantasy, transformed himself into a wicked highwayman, waiting to rob her of her good sense. Their eyes locked.
    “Is something wrong?”
    She thought his voice had deepened, and the smile she found so appealing became a knowing stare.
    “No, you…were explaining how the sale of stock worked.” He had grooves beside his mouth, she saw, that deepened with his pleasure. The hem of her apron came loose; she pulled at a thread. “Is there an unlimited amount of South Sea stock to buy?”
    “No.”
    “That keeps the stock in demand,” she guessed.
    “There is more to you than meets the eye.” His fingers touched her cheek, and she jerked back from the contact. His lids drooped; he appeared to know a secret. “I won’t hurt you. I just wanted to see if your skin is as soft as it looks.”
    Confused by his attention, she shrugged. “It’s just skin. Like your skin.”
    “Not at all like mine.” He lifted her hand away from the ruffle and brought it to his face. “See? The wind and salt of the sea have toughened me.”
    He pressed her palm to his chin. She wanted to pull away, but that would be foolish. For some reason she didn’t want him to think she was foolish. Instead she avoided looking at him and felt the stubble of his beard with an increased awareness. Why was she noticing his features in such detail, when she had stayed in his study to speak of stocks?
    “And I’m tanned dark by my constant rides into London,” he murmured.
    “I’m tanned, too.” Retrieving her hand from his grasp, she flashed him a grin to prove she didn’t care.
    “But no freckles. Your complexion is clear as a sunny day.”
    Her chin dropped with her surprise, but she thought she recovered before he noticed. “Do you buy stocks from the South Sea Company proper, or do you buy from the other investors?”
    “Northrup goes to the South Sea Company when the directors have a consignment to sell. For instance, onApril fourteenth, he bought shares at the quoted price of three hundred pounds.”
    “Each?”
    “Each. On April thirtieth, he bought shares for four hundred