She turned her face until their eyes locked.
She gave a small, sad smile and shrugged. "I believe I fear myself most of all."
Her honesty humbled him.
He pulled her against him and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. He didn't ask her what she meant. He understood what it was to fear oneself. Growing up, he had refused to look in a mirror for fear of seeing the resemblance to his father that others had remarked upon. He didn't want to become the kind of man who would seduce and then abandon a lady.
He had often wondered why his father had ever courted his mother. He had known from the outset that Lady Noreen's marriage portion would be tied up in legal settlements. The thought that his own father was so dishonorable that he had pursued an innocent woman for the sake of conquest alone chilled Drake to his very bones.
He had feared that same failing might reside in his own heart. Until he met Thea. Every protective instinct he possessed had come roaring to the surface when he met her. Although he had craved her touch almost from the first moment, he had never once considered making her his mistress or taking her maidenhead and then moving on. He wanted her forever.
He would do anything to protect her, including pressuring her into a marriage that she thought she didn't want.
But not right now.
Making love had softened her, broken down some of her defenses. If he pushed her, she would draw those defenses around herself in an impenetrable wall. He rubbed her back until he felt her relax against him.
He rocked her from side to side for several minutes of silence before releasing her and stepping away. "Let's talk about Merewether Shipping."
Her eyes widened as if she had expected him to pursue the earlier conversation, but he was too much the tactician to lose ground in an effort to gain it.
Their investigation was a much safer topic of conversation. "Did you find anything else in the ledgers?"
Thea frowned at his question. "I have found nothing so far, except evidence that the thieving has not stopped." She slammed the ledger on the desk shut. "There must be a clue in here somewhere as to who is responsible, but I cannot find it."
"It's fairly obvious who the culprit is, Thea."
She cocked her brows at him. "Who?"
"Emerson Merewether."
She traced the letters on the bound leather cover of the ledger. "No. I don't believe it. He's so much like Uncle Ashby. There must be another explanation."
He shook his head. "It has to be someone who has access to both the ledgers and the warehouse. Thea, who else could it be?"
"What about his assistant? That Barton fellow. He looked shifty to me."
He smiled at her description. "Shifty?"
"Yes." She nodded. "Didn't you see the way he dressed? Too stylishly for a shipping clerk. And he insisted on staying to hear our discussion."
Drake moved around to sit at the desk. He opened the ledger that Thea had shut and looked at the neat entries. "He's more than a shipping clerk. He's Emerson's assistant. His preference for dandyish clothing does not make him shifty, and he did not insist on staying. He offered and left immediately after Emerson declined that offer."
"Don't you see? He's just clever. He knew better than to insist, so he casually offered—and I don't think we can dismiss the possibility that there could be other suspects. If Emerson runs his office at all like Uncle Ashby, there are many times during any given week when the records are accessible to whoever might come by his office."
"I very much doubt that Emerson is that lax. Life in London is not like it is on the island."
She frowned. "I've discovered that, but I still think we should consider the possibility."
"And I think you are allowing your affection for Ashby Merewether to bias your feelings toward his nephew."
"Emerson as the culprit doesn't make any sense, Pierson."
He paused. "You called me Pierson."
"It is your name, after all."
"But you have only ever used it on my insistence or when we have made love."