The Duke of St. Martin asks Lady Rebecca Jamison, “Who protects you from the current set of fire-breathing dragons?” #HistoricalRomance #Mystery https://books2read.com/suziloveES

“And who protects you from the current set of fire-breathing dragons?” 

She raised her chin. “I’ve outgrown such childishness.” 

She lowered herself to the closest settee, a demonstration of ladylike maturity and a reprieve for her trembling knees. 

“Pity.” His forehead furrowed into a pained frown. “Ah. 

That’s why you wore a disguise. And why you came so late at night.” 

She nodded. “The consortium watches our house and tracks our movements. In order to speak with you alone, I was forced to dress like this and sneak out the servant’s entrance in the dark. Although luckily, the syndicate’s inner circle doesn’t want me dead. Not yet. 

“Wonderful!” He glared at her. “Your blithe not yet offers such comfort to my nerves.” 

She glared back. “Oooh! I cannot explain if you interrupt with your sarcastic jabs.” 

He dipped his head, and then waved a hand. “I apologize for my uncertain temperament this evening. Please, tell me about Peggy, and what she did at your Women’s Society.” 

“She writes — No, she wrote the letters for women who wish to invest in stock ventures. We were trying to keep their identities, and their objectives, a secret.” 

“Why? Because they’re women? Because jobbers stood for them in the Exchange?” 

She raised a brow. “For someone only recently returned to London, you appear exceedingly well acquainted with the inside activities at the Exchange.” 

He shrugged. “I’ve spent every spare moment since my return settling the family’s finances. Naturally, I’ve looked in at the Foreign Funds Room a time or two. Nobody in my position can afford to let bank balances sit idle, despite some labeling it as trade.” 

“I’m impressed, Cayle. You detested accounts when your father wanted you to learn.” 

Once more he shrugged, yet his show of nonchalance appeared overdone. “Perhaps it was more of not liking the methods of the educator, rather than the subject being taught.” 

She shuddered at her recollection of the late duke’s disciplinary methods. “But you’re correct,” she said, pushing away images of birch rods twanging on bare flesh. “Some in our prudish society frown upon a gentleman of your caliber frequenting auction rooms. But, for a woman, it’d be an outrage.” 

His eyes fixed upon her, all signs of his earlier fatigue vanished. “I can well imagine.” 

“Though legally nothing prevents a woman from owning shares,” she said, assessing his concentration by the tense way he held his long, muscled body. “Visiting members are vetted at the door. Bank managers and jobbers pay eight guineas a year to enter the main Exchange room, yet self-righteous men evict females.” 

“So, is it your gender that sees you under threat?” 

“Not merely our gender. When the consortium heard we invested in secret, and often did very well, at first they became alarmed. Then, they became angry. Very angry indeed.” 

“I can well imagine men abhorring being bested by a female.” 

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