Temptation and Surrender by Stephanie Laurens

beside her, ambling, easily keeping pace while Henry ranged on her other side.
    “If you’re on your way to see Filing, then keeping to the road is the long way around.” He indicated a worn path leading up across the common to a gate in the rectory fence. “That way’s faster.”
    She inclined her head by way of thanks and diverted toward the path. As she stepped onto it, he put out a hand to steady her, lightly gripping her elbow.
    He felt the subtle jolt that went through her; his fingertips felt hot. Once she was steady, reminding himself of his resolution not to intentionally rattle her—at least not yet—he reluctantly released her.
    Halting, she faced him, the rising path making their gazes more level. Lips tight, she nodded. “Thank you. We can find our way from here—we won’t need to trouble you further.”
    He smiled, all teeth. “No trouble at all—I’m going to see Filing myself.”
    “You are?” Suspicion was writ large in her bright eyes.
    Lips twitching, he informed her, “We have business together.” He waved her on.
    Frowning, she turned and resumed the upward climb.
    He followed, aware that Henry was watching him, glancing frequently his way, prepared to be aggressively protective, but not yet convinced that was warranted; there was as much curiosity as suspicion in the lad’s gaze.
    Em was also conscious of Henry’s evaluation of Jonas Tallent, and on that score found herself unexpectedly of two minds. While she had no intention of encouraging Tallent to concern himself with her or her family, she was achingly aware that for the last eight years, Henry had lacked any male mentor. Their uncle certainly hadn’t stepped into their father’s shoes in that regard. Henry needed male guidance—more, a male he could look up to—and while Filing might do for Henry’s lessons, she doubted a curate-tutor could fill that other, less tangible, but no less important, role.
    But Jonas Tallent could.
    Aside from the unnerving effect he had on her and her witless senses, she’d yet to see anything in him to which she’d take exception. Indeed, his standing, social and financial, was in large measure the equivalent of her brother’s, or rather what her brother’s eventually would be.
    As a role model for Henry, Tallent would do.
    Assuming she discovered no black marks to hold against him.
    The path up the common was steep, with steps cut into the side and braced with rock in places. The going was slow, and she had no reason to hurry. “Is it customary,” she eventually asked, “for curates to be involved in business?”
    There was amusement in Tallent’s tone when he replied, “Not customary, but in Colyton it’s become an accepted part of village life.”
    The comment made no sense, at least not to her. Frowning, she glanced back at him. “How so?”
    “Filing keeps the accounts for the Colyton Import Company.” Jonas decided she didn’t need to know that the origins of the company lay in the smuggling trade. “It was created by my twin, Phyllida, some years ago. After she married, I took on the role of overseer, but Filing has always helped by keeping the records of the company’s importations, and its dealings with the revenue office in Exmouth.”
    “What goods does the company import?”
    “These days it’s mostly French brandy and wines.” Just as it had been in years past. “The brandy and wines the inn serves are supplied by the company.”
    She walked on for a minute, then said, “It seems a strange business for such a small village.”
    In his twin’s defense, Jonas felt forced to explain, “It was Phyllida’s solution to the end of the wars, which simultaneously brought an end to the smuggling trade, at least hereabouts. Rather than have those families losing the income they’d derived from the illicit trade, Phyllida turned largely the same enterprise into a legitimate venture. Gradually, over the years, it’s become more conventional—the men now use a wharf