Page 33 of Sir Durham’s Disarming Asset

Davis brought up the rear. At the landing, he spun. “Ladies, the carriages should come around any minute.”

*

Minutes later, Zeph, Amber, Viv, and Liesel were on their way to Nathan Rothschild’s offices. Viv and Liesel spoke to each other of the last time they had each met with this little man who had emigrated from Frankfurt, Baden, Germany more than fourteen years ago.

“I gave the address of his current offices to the groom,” Liesel said as she straightened her skirts. “I hope he is in.”

“Where else would he be?” Zeph asked.

“He still travels back and forth from Manchester to London. He wants to move here, my husband tells me, but he has many shipping clients there and needs to coordinate management of all that. St. Helen’s Place is in the City and, barring traffic, we will be there within twenty minutes.”

But Zeph’s thoughts were on babies. She felt tossed, at sea. Days ago, she had started her flux again. She knew little about having a child, only that a woman had to be young enough and have a monthly. She had that. But no one at Madame Campan’s school had breathed a word about having a child, only occasionally about the nuisance of a woman’s monthly flux. Any discussion of romance was about flirting. Most girls conveyed a simplistic view of how men and women mated. Few had lived on an estate with animals and few knew what mating was.

Zeph knew. All too well. And after how those two guards had used her in prison, she knew the girls’ knowledge was not even accurate.

She grabbed a breath. For now, she would have her friends to teach her what she wished to learn. Each woman had a happy marriage, a man they adored, children by them.

And this feeling of yearning, this sensational longing that heated her blood and stirred her in the depths of her body, was normal.

Normal, Rafe. A joy to be treasured.

Chapter Nine

St. Helen’s Place

The City, London

The redbrick two-story building in the part of the town called Bishopsgate was smaller than Zeph had imagined a banker’s establishment would be. It had not the grandeur of Mayfair. So she was mystified at Rothschild’s attitude toward his business and his customers. “Is Mr. Rothschild modest?”

Amber’s groom opened the door to the carriage and let down the steps. Gus’s coachman had remained at Inès’s house. As the women assembled together, Amber let go of the knocker.

Liesel told Zeph about Rothschild. “He presents a front that he is modest, which is very wise.”

“We know he pays his staff quite well,” Amber added. “In fact, so well that we suspect they are his devoted agents.”

“Agents?” Zeph startled at that. “Spies?”

“We do wonder occasionally,” said Amber with a rueful smile. “But what secrets he knows, he keeps to himself.”

Zeph was incredulous. “How? Why?”

Liesel widened her eyes. “He is a businessman and banker, first and foremost. His loyal staff are a means to send information and retrieve it. His ships also serve as their transport.”

“How does he afford that?” Zeph asked.

“If I am not mistaken,” said Liesel, “we are about to demonstrate that to you.”

“With a discussion of the fate of your father’s money, I am sure,” Amber said, gay as a summer’s day.

Liesel winked at her friends and lifted the door knocker once again. This time, she rapped longer and louder.

So with that kind of an introduction. Zeph calculated she could not be penniless. Could she?

But then another thought invaded her.

A tremor so similar to her old one, when she feared other men, ran through her. But she remembered Rafe’s teachings. Breathe. Quiet your mind. Learn the situation and the person. “Is it dangerous for us to go to him?” For me to announce who I am?

Liesel shook her head. “He handles the wealth of many German princes, and the promises he makes, he keeps.”