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Alistair tried not to grimace as he sat back in his desk chair. His head felt like Satan’s own, but for once it was worry that was causing the ache and not an overconsumption of whisky.

“So,” he said to McGann, “what news of funding?”

The Scotsman broke into a wide, toothy grin and Alistair was reminded it made him look like a dolt.

“Bit of luck, that,” McGann said. “I found our capital. Or it found us.”

“From whom?”

“I reckon that’s the funny thing. I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?” Alistair grimaced again and pressed his fingertips to his throbbing head. “You must know who sent it.”

“I said I don’t, you deaf bugger. ‘Twas a man of affairs that handled it all, doing the business of an interested party. He gave over a bit of planning money as a show of good faith and promised that as long as preparations continue apace there’ll be more.”

Alistair pulled a packet of Benson’s headache pills from his desk and swallowed two.

Could it be Somerville , he wondered, investing against the wishes of his father?

Or the Marquess himself, finally supporting his second son?

He doubted it. He’d not had a moment to meet with his father after his head-spinning conversation with Darius.

“Miss Goodwin will be able to treat whatever is ailing your head, Crawford,” McGann said, watching him.

“My head is fine. Are the funds sufficient?”

“‘Twill be. More than enough if he comes through with what’s been promised.”

“And you’ve the first installment in hand?”

“Aye. Enough to get us started.”

McGann cast Alistair a hard glance. “You look better, but are you ready for this?”

Alistair closed his eyes briefly and asked himself that same question.

Am I?

He recalled once more the spill of Violet’s hair against his pillows and the feel of her thighs, plush and waiting and wrapped around him.

“I am,” he said.

“Good. Word from Scotland is we can have our ship on the water in a fortnight.”

Alistair nodded. “We’ll use her to bring back the first cargo and then take a cut of those proceeds to fix up another. Do you think we can have two in play by year’s end?”

“Aye. If we’re lucky.” McGann stuck his hand out to Alistair. “Two weeks to our future.”

Alistair ignored the squeezing of air in his chest and forced a smile onto his face.

“Two weeks,” he agreed and shook.

“We’ll be fine partners, Crawford. And no one need marry the lass now.”

Alistair’s smile abruptly faded. “Let’s not discuss Miss Goodwin.”

He didn’t yet know how to tell McGann that he was willing to do whatever Violet wanted him to do…

as soon as he learned what that was. If that meant not going back out to sea, he’d be a land-bound partner.

If it meant moving to New York, he’d become a knickerbocker.

He would keep up his end of the partnership, but he’d do it from wherever she was, and in whatever capacity she wanted him. If she wanted him.

“As you wish. Though I am sorry she would not have you. Will you tell her you’re to leave?”

Alistair said nothing and McGann gave him a hard look. “Crawford, you cannot just up and depart without a word.”

“Hell’s teeth, man. Violet Goodwin is no business of yours. Leave it be.”

“Nay, she’s not. But you are, now that we’ve shaken. And I don’t want to worry that you’ve unfinished business here.”

“There’s no unfinished business. The lady refused me, and I don’t wish to discuss it further.”

“So, you did offer for her then,” McGann went on, ignoring Alistair’s request. “I thought you’d refused to ask her. On principle.”

Alistair stood to leave.

“When I said I did not wish to discuss it further, McGann, I meant it. We’ve no need for the lady’s fortune now.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

Violet stood outside Alistair’s study and listened.

She’d checked on Davy, who was in the kitchen with Williams happily devouring a plate of biscuits.

She’d sent a message to her family via the footman, saying she would be out for the day.

And then she’d gone back to find Alistair and McGann, raising her hand to knock and announce her entry to the room.

That’s when she heard them discussing her. She shouldn’t eavesdrop, she knew, but she couldn’t help herself. McGann’s brogue was loud, carrying his words to her ears.

Words about her and Alistair and the trading company. Words she could only understand to mean that Alistair had proposed for her fortune and nothing more. The realization of what those words meant–that he’d had an agreement with McGann to bed her and wed her–curdled like bad milk in her stomach.

None of it had been real?

Violet threw open the door.

“What in hell?” she demanded of the two shocked faces that looked back at her.

“I’ll just take my leave now,” McGann said, maneuvering himself out of the chair he’d been squashed in.

“Coward,” Alistair muttered as his partner walked out the door and left him to face Violet alone.

“I can explain,” he said to her.

“You better. Because I do not believe for a second what I just heard. I know you, Alistair Crawford. And you are not that. ”

Alistair stood from his chair and walked to her with a kind of measured cadence in place of his usual prowl.

“Violet,” he said carefully, politely, and she felt her breath exit her body.

She wondered for a moment if she’d been wrong, that he was that kind of man after all. The kind who would lie to her, trap her, use her for his own gain.

But then she shook her head. He wasn’t. He wasn’t like Catherine’s father, the former Earl. He was kind and he was gentle. He was, she knew now, a man who felt very deeply and then tried to numb those feelings with too much alcohol.

“Yes?” she asked.

“I would never, ever bed and wed you.”

He paused for a moment, the wolfish grin appearing from nowhere as if remembering the bedding. Her face flushed at the thought of him picturing that night, and she felt an entirely inappropriate shot of heat between her legs.

“What I mean to say,” he went on, “is that I would bed you and wed you in a moment if you’d have me. But not for your money. I don’t want a penny of your money. I never did. I wouldn’t take it if you offered. I will make my own fortune, and I will do it in my own way.”

Violet stared at him, his eyes warm and honest and so brown they were nearly black. His face open and handsome.

He must have looked like this all the time before the summer he turned fifteen. Before his father and the East India Company. Before he drank too much and gambled too much. Back when he was young and carefree and trusted himself.

In these moments, he truly did remind her of no one so much as James. James, who had been her partner in crime, her best friend, and who had died because she was off at some ball letting her heart run away with her good sense.

Alistair had drunk himself into a stupor when she refused his marriage proposal. What would happen when she told him she had to go back to America? When she shared with him her dream of a hospital that she would need to fundraise for among people who knew her and trusted her?

Her palms began to sweat. She would not make the same mistake twice. She would not put him at risk.

The thought made her heart shatter like dropped glass inside her chest, shards cutting everywhere. She closed her eyes against the pain of it, but she wouldn’t change her mind. She wanted him and she could not have him. There was nothing to do but accept it.

“Alistair,” she said, just as gently, just as carefully as he’d said her name. “I cannot marry you. I cannot marry anyone.”

Violet watched the openness in his eyes shutter closed. She could feel his withdrawal from the five paces away where she stood, leaving only coldness now where his warmth had just been.

“My lord,” Williams called, knocking discreetly on the door. “Mr. Hughes has returned with news of Jess.”

“It appears it’s time to go, Violet,” was all he said.

And when she replied, “bloody hell,” he gave her an entirely false smile.

“I’m glad to see your vocabulary of epithets has quite improved. You’ll be saying arsehead in no time at all.”

Mr. Hughes stood in the foyer, flanked by McGann and Davy.

“We’ve found her,” he said as soon as Alistair appeared, Violet right on his heels. “It wasn’t difficult.”

“I’d say.” Alistair glanced at his pocket watch. “It’s only been a few hours.”

“She went back to St. Giles. Had a boyfriend, apparently. An older neighborhood boy who’d been happy enough to get her with child but not to marry her after the deed was done.

“Where is she now?” Alistair asked.

“She’s with Esmee.”

“That’s Mrs. Callendar to you, bounder,” McGann said, but Hughes ignored him.

“There was quite the row when the boy refused to see her. She was very upset. Had some hare-brained idea that he’d take her back and they’d marry since she lost the babe.”

“Christ,” Alistair muttered. “There was no reason to go back. She had everything she needed right here!”

“Don’t be too hard on the lass,” McGann said. “She’s young and foolish. Esmee will look after her.”

“Although,” he paused and cracked his knuckles, “I wouldn’t mind the opportunity for a fight, myself.” He glared at Hughes. “Often does me good to hit things. Should we go teach that boy a lesson, Crawford?”

“I’m going to pretend I did not hear that,” Hughes said.

“So am I,” Violet replied. “I’ll go see to Jess now, if you’ll all excuse me.”