To Tempt a Saint Read Free Page A

strictest economies. She had signed the documents put in front of her, believing them necessary to protect her father’s reputation and the inheritance he left for her and Charlie. She had believed then that they would remain in their own home, and have enough to eat and decent clothes to wear, and the company of friends. Only later did she understand how she had played into her uncle’s hands.
    Now she simply had to convince Evershot to give her a more substantial allowance. A single woman of four and twenty should have control of her own purse and not live at the whim of outmoded ideas of female capability. It was intolerable for the bank to keep her money, while she and her brother lived like parish paupers on relief.
    At thirteen Charlie was a tall, gangly young man whose wrists and ankles stuck out comically from his coats and trousers. He didn’t complain, but he was becoming dreamy and absentminded. Cleo was convinced he would become a hermit if she didn’t get him to school among boys his own age. Worse, lately, her Uncle March had sent letters hinting that he could take Charlie from her on the grounds that she was not able to support him properly. By her calculations they needed five hundred pounds to set Charlie up in school. Without the bank loosening its hold on their funds she could not even hire a proper tutor for Charlie’s entrance exams.
    A rumble of voices outside the office gave a brief warning of someone’s approach. She plucked out more straw and jabbed another pin through the worn fabric as the door opened. A flirtatious feminine voice, not at all the voice of a bank president, announced the newcomer.
    “La, sir, you are so clever to arrange this assignation! Papa will never think where we are, and we will be quite alone.”
    “Quite,” came the reply in a grim baritone.
    Oh dear. Cleo froze. Where was Meese? The door closed with a discreet click. A long silence followed, giving her time to wish she had helped herself to the tea.
    “Miss Finsbury,” the baritone finally said. “Let me be plain with you.”
    Cleo was not leaving, but politeness dictated that she should stop her ears. No doubt she was about to hear some private discourse, though taking a woman into a bank president’s office to make love to her struck Cleo as a poor romantic strategy even to avoid a disapproving papa. The man must be very sure of himself to attempt wooing without the aid of moonlight or music or the sweet air of some garden.
    She gave her gown a quiet shake and let the folds fall back into place. At least the lovers did not seem interested in her tea. She had only to wait in perfect stillness for the affecting scene to play itself out. She folded her hands in her lap.
    The gentleman cleared his throat. Another dreadful pause followed. Cleo hoped he was thinking the better of his plan. She considered whether she could see beyond the screen without being observed and decided not to risk detection. Blast Meese! Now she understood his peculiar alarm about letting her into Evershot’s office ahead of her time. He had obviously pocketed a tip from Sir Baritone for the use of the space. Perhaps he had thrown in the tea.
    “Miss Finsbury,” Sir Baritone began again in that deep, assured masculine voice, a voice that made Cleo’s skin stir as if he had touched her. “Your fortune has drawn the attentions of many suitors.”
    Miss Finsbury tittered. “I am sure, sir, I never dreamed of your particular notice.”
    The gentleman took a deep breath at that bit of falsehood, and Cleo shifted ever so slightly toward the thin crack where the panels of the folding screen met. Did he actually mean to propose in a bank office?
    “Miss Finsbury, we are both of an age and time in life when the world expects us to marry, so it will not surprise you to be addressed on the subject by me.”
    Not surprise her. Of course, it didn’t surprise her. What female with half a brain was ever surprised by a proposal of marriage? Really,