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circumstances called to him, triggering emotions that had nothing to do with discovering why she’d approached him, why she’d given him the most singular experience of his life.
    His desire to hear her explanation came from a different impulse now, a curiosity about her life and history.
    “I have already explained, my lord. It was a mistake. I behaved rashly. Abominably. I’ve apologized and you’ve accepted. Will that not suffice?” Her uniquely appealing voice turned petulant for a moment, and Lucius had the distinct sense it was not a manner she often assumed.
    “No.” It gave him a perverse satisfaction to see her eyes widen again, and then something like fire begin to kindle there.
    “Well, I beg your pardon, my lord, but it must. I can offer no further explanation for my actions.” She turned away from him to emphasize her refusal.
    He expected her to grasp the knob on the carriage door and disappear from his life just as abruptly as she’d entered it. But then she turned back and leaned toward him, her voice quiet and pleading.
    “Can you not forget this night, my lord? Or if not the night, just that moment. That . . .” She struggled to form the word. “That kiss. Can you not forget?”
    He moved toward her, their bodies inches apart in the confines of the carriage. He felt her breath whisper across his face, just as he had in the gallery.
    “I am not certain I can, Miss Wright. Can you?”

 
    Chapter Four
    “M R. B RIGGS, I don’t understand. I presented you with payment toward the debt just yesterday afternoon.” Jessamin struggled to keep the panic from her voice. It wouldn’t do for the banker to see her as an overemotional woman. Throughout their dealings, they’d never managed to develop a truly pleasant rapport. Perhaps he just couldn’t stomach the notion of doing business with a woman. He hadn’t been terribly fond of her always-in-arrears father, but who could blame him? To a banker, there was no greater sin than failure to pay one’s debts.
    Yet despite his frustration with Lionel Wright’s deficiency as a borrower, Briggs had always dealt fairly with her father. More than fairly. He’d frequently given him an extension or accepted partial payments, even past the due date. He was a good man. Which made his angry tone and refusal to take her payment even more of a mystery.
    Mr. Briggs hadn’t set foot in the shop in years. She usually delivered her payments in person and had even met the man’s wife and daughters when one of their visits to the bank coincided with her own. But he never came in person to the bookshop, and she’d never seen him as unsettled as he appeared today. A sheen of perspiration glistened on his upper lip, just below his quivering mustache. A shiver chased down her back as she noted additional signs of anxiety in the man. He was avoiding her gaze, and he fumbled with the latch on his leather folio before wrenching it open.
    Jess swallowed against the flutter in her throat, the anxiety bubbling up in her chest, as she watched the banker reach into his case and lift out the very check she’d given him the day before. He laid it on the desk between them and slid the slip of paper toward her as he spoke.
    “Miss Wright. As you can see, I am returning your check.” The man’s whole demeanor had changed since she’d delivered the payment toward her father’s loan the previous afternoon. The banker had seemed pleased then, happy enough to take the amount and happier still for a respite from dealing with the perversity of a woman who’d chosen to take charge of her father’s business and its debt. Jessamin imagined them well rid of each other for a while. The last thing she expected was to find him on her doorstep the next morning.
    Placing her hand over the check, she fought the urge to thrust it back at him.
    “I don’t understand, sir. Is this not the proper amount to bring payments current? You accepted it just yesterday. How has it come to be