The King of Threadneedle Street by Moriah Densley

of her being cold and drew her against his side with an arm cradling her shoulders.
    “We are hardly decent, Andrew. And it is impossible to sit here with you and not think of what we did here in the old times. ”
    “I was going to suggest an innocent chat, but we could do that , certainly. Although you must decide what you want, Lisa. I am likely to do more than just kiss you.”
    “No!” she said, too loudly in his ear. “Andrew. We shouldn’t be here.”
    “If I promise not to lay a hand on you—”
    “You already have.”
    She felt him shrug, and his heavy arm slid off her back. She missed the protective warmth then cursed herself for thinking it.
    “Lisa.” He rested his chin on her shoulder. “Will you please tell me the business about your not being engaged? I know something bad is going on, or you wouldn’t evade me so.” He brushed his lips across her jaw and kissed her cheek, already forgetting his terms of negotiation. “Please? Whatever it is, I would much rather hear it from you.”
    His fingers slid down a rope of hair and tugged gently at the end. Then again with another section of her hair from the nape of her neck to the small of her back. He was driving her mad.
    “Fair enough. Let me think.” Concentration was impossible with him tracing icy blazes down her back. He found interest with the ridges of her spine and traced circles around them, then up her back to her neck. After pushing her hair over one shoulder, he perched his chin on her other shoulder so they could converse. She knew he was being affectionate in his own restless way and likely had no idea what he was doing to her.
    “I have imposed on your family long enough. After Elizabeth’s wedding I will go to another situation. It is best for everyone if I do.”
    Andrew waited, twirling his fingers in the fine hair behind her ear. It finally dawned on her the only way to make him quit: She reached behind him and gently rubbed the columns of taut muscle on his lower back, deeply with her fingertips in slow circles. She knew how he liked it, how to lull him into submission.
    He relaxed, and after a few minutes he dropped his hand and made a low purr in his throat. “I know what you are doing, Lisa,” he complained in a groggy voice. “What situation?”
    “A lady’s companion.”
    “Whose?”
    She braced herself. “Viscountess Harringer.”
    “What? Lady Harringer is an invalid. She keeps a nurse, not a companion.”
    “Not anymore.”
    Andrew froze, stiff under her hand.
    The charged silence lengthened. It was worse than the shouting about to begin.
    “And what of Viscount Harringer?”
    She sighed, “It is as you suspect, Andrew.”
    “ What? ” He blew a few exasperated breaths. “And who made these arrangements, may I ask?”
    “Whom do you think, Andrew?”
    “And you have agreed?”
    “It is not for me to disagree! But I cannot stay here, and it seems everyone but you is mindful of who I am.”
    He stewed in angry silence. Now she knew a lecture was coming.
    “So,” he said sourly. “You mean to turn your back on your respectable upbringing? Follow your mother as a courtesan? Then why the filthy Viscount Herringer? The Duke of Belmont is a better choice.”
    Andrew gripped her jaw and forced her cheek alongside his as he lowered his voice, “He will buy you a house on Park Lane so he may stop there on his way home from the club. And there will be excursions to Paris and Milan, on matters of business, he will tell his wife.”
    Alysia tried to pull away, but Andrew hadn’t finished. “What name will you make for yourself? Something catchy and English, like Lavender Lovet ? Or exotic like your mother, such as Violet Jade ?”
    The loathing in his voice made the tears welling in her eyes spill over.
    “You will glitter like a queen. Important men will make fools of themselves to win one night in your bed. Their wives will wish they could despise you but will find you charming and sympathetic. I know the