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were waiting on the Queen. Using a pair of silver tongs, she reached into a small basket adorned with white ribbon, and transferred tiny sandwiches and cakes to the plate.
    â€œEnough fawning, Fernsby,” Rhys said. “You have work to attend to.”
    â€œOf course, Mr. Winterborne.” The secretary sent him a discreet but incinerating glance as she set aside the silver tongs.
    Rhys accompanied Mrs. Fernsby to the door, and paused with her just beyond the threshold. They kept their voices low, mindful of being overheard.
    â€œFair smitten, you are,” Rhys mocked.
    The secretary’s expression was utterly devoid of amusement. “Spending a few hours alone with you will destroy her honor. I will have your word, sir, that you intend to redeem it afterward.”
    Although Rhys didn’t react outwardly, he was amazed that she would dare make such a demand. Mrs. Fernsby, the most loyal of all his employees, had always turned a blind eye and deaf ear to his past debaucheries. “You’ve never said a bloody word about the women I’ve brought to my house,” he remarked coolly. “Why this sudden fit of scruples?”
    â€œShe’s a lady. An innocent. I won’t be party to ruining her.”
    Rhys gave her a warning glance. “I’ve asked for a tray of betrothal rings,” he said curtly. “But I can’t redeem her honor unless I ruin it first. Go see to your work.”
    Mrs. Fernsby straightened her neck and spine like a belligerent hen, continuing to view him with patent suspicion. “Yes, sir.”
    After closing the door, Rhys returned to Helen, who was pouring tea. She was poised on the edge of the chair, her back as straight as a lightning rod.
    â€œWill you take some?” she asked.
    He shook his head, watching her intently. Mrs. Fernsby had been right: Helen appeared delicate, more so than he had remembered. Her cameo-pale wrist was so slender, it scarcely seemed able to bear the weight of the teapot. Perhaps she didn’t want to be treated like a hothouse flower, but she hardly seemed to have more substance than one.
    Christ, how would she handle the demands he would make of her?
    But then her steady gaze met his, and the impression of fragility faded. Whatever Helen might feel for him, it wasn’t fear. She had come to him, sought him out, in an act of will and unexpected boldness.
    He knew the ultimatum he’d given her was indecent, a contradiction of everything he aspired to, but he didn’t give a damn. It was the only way he could be sure of her. Otherwise, she might back out of the engagement. He didn’t want to think about what losing her again would turn him into.
    Helen stirred a lump of sugar into her tea. “How long has Mrs. Fernsby been in your employ?”
    â€œFive years, since she was widowed. Her husband succumbed to a wasting disease.”
    Sorrow and concern shadowed her sensitive face. “Poor woman. How did she come to work for you?”
    Although Rhys was usually disinclined to talk about his employees’ personal lives, Helen’s interest encouraged him to continue. “She had helped to manage and run her husband’s hosiery and glove shop, which gave her a solid understanding of the retail business. Afterher husband passed away, she applied for a position at Winterborne’s. She applied as a secretary to the manager of the advertising department, but the manager refused to interview her, as he felt only a man could handle such responsibility.”
    Helen’s expression showed not a hint of surprise or disagreement. Like most women, she had been raised to accept the notion of male superiority in the world of business.
    â€œHowever,” Rhys said, “Fernsby outraged the hiring supervisor by asking to speak to me directly. She was turned away immediately. When I was told of it the next day, I sent for Fernsby, and interviewed her personally. I liked her pluck and