‘Until Stephen Hawkhurst?’
As she nodded, the next query came. ‘Does he love you?’
‘It is not love we have spoken of, Leonora, but need. He is thirty-one and I am twenty-six. We are not in the first flush of youth and neither of us is unrealistic.’
‘Love is not so proscribed, Lia. I know this now. If he will not make a commitment after all that is between you—’
Aurelia stopped her. ‘Then I still would have known how it can be between a man and a woman. When I am old I will have that magic inside.’
‘And if there is a child?’
‘There will not be.’
‘My God, Lia, I have always believed that you are the strongest woman in the world and now I know it. But even you could be wrong. Please, please be careful.’
When she nodded Leonora hugged her and left, the lamp by her bed flickering in the draught of the door as it closed.
Hawkhurst frightened people. At first he had frightened her, but she had seen beneath the mask he donned in public. A man who thought of flowers and candles to woo her was not as distant as he might profess and the endearments he had whispered as he held her sobbing in the dark after making love were not the actions of an unfeeling and uncaring man.
Neither was the way he worshipped her body.
And if there is a child? Leonora’s words came back.
If there was a child she should love it in the same way she loved its father. With all of her body and with all of her heart.
A new beginning.
One hand fell to her stomach, cupping the hope.
Aurelia took inordinate care with the long lists of numbers before her, balancing this column against that one and rechecking across the rows several times before placing her pen down.
Her bottom lines were being realised, the risks she had taken with fabric lengths and designs, weaves and wefts and colour finally paying off. She could barely believe the profit the company would garner in the next weeks, substantial and open-ended sums of money right down to Christmas. With a flourish she underlined her projected earnings and leaned back.
All the years of work had been worth it. All the doubts and uncertainties and constant gnawing worries had come down to a business that was prosperous and well managed. She allowed herself a quiet glow of pride before laying her pen on the paper and looking out of the window.
The river’s presence had encroached on all the buildings around Park Street. Shipbuilders, barge-builders, sailmakers, mast-makers and rope-makers as well as sundry other general shipping-related enterprises had made this area their home.
Sometimes if the wind was right she could smell the Thames, but nearly always she could hear the sounds of it: the horns of passing traders, the shouts of the sailors calling, the flap of canvas and the creak of rope. Her world now, comfortable, known and in its own way exhilarating.
Henry Kerslake returned an hour later and he looked preoccupied and flustered, but the most surprising thing of all was that Frederick Delsarte came in after him.
‘You are not welcome here.’ She was surprised her voice was so strong.
‘As I am your business partner, in the very loose sense of the word, I thought you might be more welcoming.’
When she did not reply he laughed. ‘Always the lady. Always the wise voice of reason that Charles was so sick of by the end. Princess Aurelia, with your high-born morals and constant disdain.’
Moving forwards he slapped her, full across the cheek. The force of it made her head snap backwards, her hair falling to her waist in a slow dance of red. Henry Kerslake had gone to stand by the window, looking out. No possible help there. Delsarte’s right hand curled into her bosom, outlining the bounty, squeezing hard. ‘Stay away from trouble. Stay away from society. But most of all stay away from Lord Stephen Hawkhurst. Do you understand? It may also be prudent for you to think of a reasonable price for the sale of your business.’
Fear made her stiffen. ‘It will never be on the market, sir, not to you or any other that might covet it.’
Delsarte kept speaking as though she had said nothing. ‘A reasonable sum should see it in my hands, madam. A fair price given the history between us and your straitened circumstances. Kerslake here has a good idea as to how much it is worth and has allowed me to name a starting point.’
Aurelia glanced at Henry, but he did not meet her stare. Rather he looked away as though he wanted no part of this conversation.
‘The business is solely in my name, sir. Kerslake has no mandate over any selling price.’
‘Take care, then, Mrs St Harlow. Intransigence may only lead to difficulties and with three sisters all needing husbands…’ He did not finish.
‘Is that a threat?’ Caesar pulled against his lead at her tone, straining to get to the newcomer.
‘Take it as you will, Aurelia, but a woman of dubious loyalty is likely to do badly when turned over to authorities for questioning. Besides, Hawkhurst has been watching and waiting for you to make a mistake.’
Mentioning the same poor sum he had stated before, Delsarte withdrew, Henry Kerslake disappearing with him and the door shutting behind them to an awful silence.
Sitting down, she took in a breath. Her cheek ached as did her breast. But all she could think of were Delsarte’s words.
Hawkhurst has been watching and waiting for you to make a mistake.
The numbers in front of her swam through the tears—small harbingers of a pride that was gone now, drowned in the fear of aloneness.
His skin against hers. The rise of his buttocks as her hands moved across them. The indents on his ribs where bullet holes had punctured and the curling scar upon his thigh. Hawk in the midnight. Magnificent and menacing.
She glanced at the time. Two-thirty in the afternoon. Still hours before she might go to him and be safe. She hated the way she began to shake as her fingers felt the bruised and throbbing skin on her cheek. Dangerous. Isolated. For the first time in a long while Aurelia began to cry.
Someone had hit her. He knew it from the first moment she walked into the hall of his town house, the stain of darkness on her cheek beneath a thick layer of make-up she never wore.
Pulling her into the light, Hawk tipped her chin with his finger so that he might see the damage better. Fury beat at his temples like a drum.
‘Who did this to you, Aurelia?’
Her eyes fell away from his. ‘Freddy Delsarte.’
‘Why?’
‘He came to the warehouse today and warned me to stay away from you. He said you were watching me and waiting for a…mistake.’ Large tears made a pathway across heavily applied powder.
‘I will kill him for this. I swear that I will.’
She caught his hand and held it to her breast. ‘Is what he said true, Stephen? Are you watching me?’ Now she looked directly at him.
‘Yes.’
‘Because of Charles?’
‘You are being monitored because there have been intelligence codes sent through your silk cargo to France and because known dissenters have been seen in your vicinity.’
‘I know nothing of messages in the cargo.’ She tried to keep the thoughts of the letters she delivered to Dr Touillon as