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  He moved restlessly in the water, searching for a comfortable position. His protective nature had asserted itself once more—this time to protect her against him. He could no more take her virtue than he could kill her. This lovely woman had become too dear, too sweet for him to dally with and leave a ruined woman, even if his conscience would allow it.

  To save her, he’d had to hurt her. Her infatuation with him seemed to run deep. In love with the idea of him being a “knight in shining armor,” she did not see the very real danger he presented. Knights had needs as well. His rebuff just now might have stung her pride, but it had been for the best. If only he could continue to keep her at arm’s length until the end of the journey. At least seven more days on the road. Not an easy task now that he regarded her as more than a friend.

  Much more than a friend, to be brutally honest. He admired her courage, her decisiveness, her determination to get what she wanted. He loved a spirited woman, the quality that had drawn him to Katarina. Juliet’s outspokenness did not rival Kat’s, but neither could she be called mealy-mouthed. Yet she seemed a perpetual “damsel in distress,” which had an appeal all its own. Not to mention her beauty into the bargain.

  He sat up and reached for the soap and a cloth, determined to erase the vestiges of his adventure in the mud from his body and the pleasures of Juliet from his mind. He would not take advantage of her vulnerability to get her into his bed, with or without benefit of marriage. She might believe herself in love with him, but that would certainly change when he left her at her brother’s estate. Out of sight, out of mind. A few days after he left she would count her escape fortunate. If they were to marry, there could be no escape for her when she realized she had tied herself not to a chivalrous knight from the Round Table, but to a flesh and blood man with real faults.

  No need to deny his desire for Juliet, but he had lusted after others before. Such a shallow passion hardly provided a good reason for marrying. His parent’s loving union had made him long for a similar married life. Unfortunately, the only woman he had ever proposed to had turned him down. He could assuage that fresh hurt with the devotion Juliet offered, although he doubted his heart had been touched again so soon after being rebuffed. Juliet would be only a substitute for the love he had lost.

  He continued to remove the soap and dirt from his body, washed and rinsed his hair, and at last stood up, cool water sluicing down him. He stepped from the tub, reached for a piece of toweling to dry himself, and set out to dress for dinner. Perhaps over dinner they could come to some sort of agreement about their behavior during the remainder of the trip.

  Just over a quarter hour later dinner arrived. Juliet did not. He waited ten minutes, his mouth watering while the chicken and vegetables became increasingly lukewarm. Finally, he tossed his napkin down on the table and went in search of his “wife.”

  He knocked on Glynis’s door and the maid answered, her face a puckered frown.

  “Is Lady Juliet ready? Our dinner is getting cold.” He tried to keep a pleasant tone, although the insolent look on the girl’s face made it difficult.

  “My lady says to tell you she is not hungry and will not be dining this evening.” Her frosty glare dared him to object.

  “I will be the judge of that.” Amiable shoved his way past her, much as he had done with the servant at Dunham House yesterday morning. He strode over to the still figure in a chair placed before the cold fireplace. She did not acknowledge his presence by word or movement, though she must know he stood right beside her, towering over her. She would have to be dead to miss him.

  “I have been waiting for you, Juliet. Our dinner has grown cold.” He tried very hard to keep his tone light. This wasn’t her fault.

  “As Glynis has just informed you, I am not hungry, Captain Dawson. You have my leave to begin without me.”

  Her flat, emotionless tone made him wince. Another battle to be fought.

  “As you reminded me a short time ago, I am not your wife, Captain. You need not pretend solicitude toward a casual acquaintance.” She stared determinedly into the dead fireplace.

  “I believe we passed casual acquaintance status approximately half an hour ago, my dear.” He smiled at the memory of her shocked expression. “Please come and dine with me, Juliet. We must keep up the fiction of husband and wife, you know.”

  “I suppose in the wide world there has been a wife who has not been hungry at dinner time and has refused to dine with her husband,” she said, still staring at the cold ashes. “Although, if such an occurrence has not actually happened before in the history of mankind, then I suppose I shall be the first.”

  “Juliet.” He hunkered down beside her chair and looked into her face. The flickering light of the room’s one lamp cast her more in shadow, but he read the hurt pride and anger on her face well enough. “I am sorry if my words earlier offended you, my lady.” Perhaps it would help the situation if they reverted to the distance of formal address. “But they were true. We are not wed and I cannot in honor act as though we are. I am here as your protector, not your debaucher.”

  “It seemed so right, so natural.” Her voice died away and her head dropped to stare at her lap.

  “Nevertheless, it was wrong.” Damnation. He cursed himself roundly for ever starting that little scene in their room. “I suppose we acted our parts as in a play, and the roles became real to both of us. But as much as we may become absorbed in a play on the stage, it is only a play after all. Once you have had time to reflect on it, I believe you would not want that particular role in truth.”

  She sat still, hands clasped in her lap.

  Amiable stood, his heart sinking. “I will summon a kitchen maid to come warm our dinner for us. I will then go back to the parlor where dinner is laid. I would like very much to have the honor of your company, my lady. I look forward to seeing you soon.”

  He left the room, passing the disapproving Glynis on his way out. After giving his orders to the kitchen, he returned to the chamber and, though he had not yet eaten, poured a shot of brandy, tossing it down his throat in a single gulp. Some days one could do absolutely nothing right.

  At a loss for what to do, he wandered the room, gazed at the two mediocre watercolors on the parlor wall then thumbed through a volume on horticulture until dinner returned to the table, piping hot. Again, he sat down and waited, then consulted his pocket watch. Five slow minutes later, he shook out his napkin and picked up his fork. He would not let good food go to waste even though he now had little appetite. Doggedly, he plowed through his plate, the hot food tasting like sand.

  The door opened.

  He stopped chewing and held his breath as Juliet seated herself across the table from him.

  Chapter 10

  Juliet had no intentions whatsoever of dining with Amiable tonight or any night. She would starve first. How dare he supposed he knew her mind or what she felt for him or for anyone else for that matter? They had been acquainted for scarcely a day.

  The thought pulled her up short. They had not known each other very long, had they? Did she not know her own mind? Her own heart? Despite her anger at him, she still held the warmest of regards for Amiable. If he entered a room, she sensed his strong masculine presence. When near him she reveled in the closeness of their bodies. A mere look at him gave her a glimpse of heaven on earth. As he’d carried her across the inn yard earlier, she’d wanted the journey never to end, to be always safe in his arms. Then she had all but removed his breeches.

  Heat scorched her cheeks and she pressed her cool hand against the right one. Why had their encounter in his room seemed so natural if he held no interest in her? Did he tease her for some cruel sport? Did he enjoy leading a woman on only to scorn her in the end?

  According to her brother, who should certainly know, most men flirted and seduced their way through life, finding satisfaction in the chase or the challenge, until it ended with the woman ruined or married. It appeared Amiable wanted neither
outcome, at least not with her.

  She buried her head in her hands, appalled at his humiliating rebuff. He must truly find her repugnant if he wasn’t even interested in seducing a willing victim. The ache in her chest grew nigh unbearable, but she wouldn’t cry. She would not shed one tear for the wretch. Why should she care anyway? There were other men who were attracted to her, who thought her beautiful, desirable. Like Philippe.

  She shuddered. Philippe might be an exciting man, but he had proved dangerous and cruel. No. Never would she seek him out, no matter the circumstances. That left her two choices.

  Either continue on to the Keep with Captain Dawson as her escort—the least pleasing option as close contact with him would likely drive her mad—or dismiss him and continue on her own. A much more prudent plan perhaps, although the thought of the long journey with only Glynis for company didn’t appeal to her at all.

  Perhaps a third option also existed.

  As yet, they were but two days out of London. She could dismiss Amiable before she left tomorrow morning, then turn around and head back to London unbeknownst to him. Avoiding Philippe once she got to London might take some doing. Perhaps he scoured the city looking for her this moment. Still, Honoria’s father could likely wield sufficient power to protect her until Aunt Phoebe arrived in London, couldn’t he? Dare she risk it?

  She stood abruptly, her mind made up.

  Glynis rose from mending a tear in her petticoat from this evening’s fiasco in the yard. “Shall I go have your dinner brought here, my lady? You must be hungry by now. ’Tis almost nine o’clock.”

  Juliet shook her head and stood before the looking glass, straightening her hair, smoothing her dress. “I am going to dine with Captain Dawson.”

  “Oh, my lady.” Glynis laid her work aside and grasped Juliet’s shoulder. “Do you think that wise?”

  Dear Glynis. Juliet patted her arm. “I plan to dismiss the captain’s escort. I will make sure he leaves for London tomorrow morning and then we will continue on to Cumbria.”

  “Alone, my lady?”

  “We will have Roberts and George with us. So I doubt we will come to harm.”

  “What of that nasty Frenchman, my lady? He could still be looking for you.” Glynis’s voice hushed in fear.

  Juliet tucked an escaping tendril into her cap. The flickering light in the mirror caught the gleam in her eyes. “I doubt he has left London, but we shall simply have to take that chance. I must send Captain Dawson on his way.”

  “Why, my lady?”

  “Because I have come to realize that the captain’s escort places me in a compromising position and I do not wish for the man to be forced to marry me against his will.” That would be a heart-wrenching turn of events.

  “But I thought—.” The maid glanced at her and frowned. “Very well, my lady.”

  “I will go inform Captain Dawson his services are no longer needed.” Juliet smoothed her skirts. “Have my night rail set out. We will have to share that bed, though I don’t quite know how. It is extremely narrow.”

  “I can make up a pallet on the floor.”

  Lord, what a predicament. “We will see what can be done when I return.” Decision made, Juliet squared her shoulders and left the room. She’d show Captain Amiable Dawson she could take charge of her own life.

  That determination lasted only as long as it took the door to close. She slipped down the corridor, her steps slowing as she approached his chamber. The closer she got to Amiable, the less confident she became that she could dismiss him. Although it would hurt unbearably to face him, with the humiliation of his rejection fresh in her heart, the image of his mud-spattered body remained imprinted in her mind.

  Lord, she had seen more than she had bargained for, but what a magnificent body he had. Lean muscles ran from his shoulders down, at least as far as his wet linen had indicated. Strong legs, too. She had noticed that when she pulled his boots off. Undoubtedly from almost constant riding. He did sit a horse well.

  She shook her head, trying to dispel the image of the almost naked Amiable standing before her. Why had she let herself care so much for this man? Despite her deep regard for him, she must send him away. She couldn’t hold him if he didn’t desire to be held, nor convince him of her deep affection for him.

  Juliet stood before the closed door and leaned her forehead against the cool wood. She would give anything not to enter, to retreat back to Glynis’s room, sleep through the night and carry on tomorrow with Amiable as though tonight had never happened.

  But it had. She must summon the strength to go in now and end this connection while she still could. Before it became impossible to contemplate letting him vanish from her life. She gave a little shake to her shoulders, quietly entered the room, and sat down at the table.

  “Good evening, my lady.” His tone cautious, he peered at her face.

  “Good evening, Captain Dawson.” She turned her attention to her plate, where it stayed riveted.

  Amiable rose and served her dinner, then sat back down and continued his meal.

  She picked up her fork and pushed food around the plate, sensing his gaze on her. Dread settled in her heart and her appetite fled. Food would choke her.

  She had to broach the subject of his dismissal but could not fathom how to begin. The silence spread a somber pall over them. She contemplated him, but he remained as silent as she. There were likely few subjects he would care to address with her now. Although, if all else failed, they could talk about the weather.

  No, even that innocuous subject was not safe. Rain still fell and any comment would surely lead to memories of their hilarious interlude in the inn yard. A dire situation indeed if one could not talk about the weather.

  Enough. She would do this and have it behind her. As she raised her head to look at him, his mouth turned firm, then he put his fork down, apparently done with his meal, and rose.

  * * * *

  Amiable had never been at such a loss. Their earlier amity had bound them together in a most intimate way; now they seemed more like strangers than at any point since their first meeting. A situation as painful to him as it obviously was to her.

  Had he misjudged her? Did she in truth cherish feelings for him on such short acquaintance? In the carriage, she appeared to accept the idea of love at first sight as a natural occurrence. If her sentiments were true, then he had committed a grievous act of betrayal earlier in voicing his doubts about her affections.

  He watched her as she picked at her food, sliding it onto and off her fork. When she raised her wineglass, he caught her eye; she blushed but said nothing and returned her gaze to her plate. The fork ceased to move, however, and her hands slid into her lap. She looked like a guilty child, awaiting punishment.

  This would never do. He rose and stood beside her chair. Still she made no move or sound. Damn. He couldn’t stand much more of this. He had hurt her. Therefore, he must be the one to stop the pain, no matter the cost.

  “Juliet?”

  She drew a quick breath.

  He leaned over, his hand on the back of her chair brushing her shoulder lightly.

  She shrugged away from the slight contact.

  “Juliet, look at me.”

  Eyes still firmly fixed in her lap, she shook her head. Her back and shoulders shuddered.

  Oh, hell. Not tears. He could never stand a woman’s tears. Her acute misery sent a stab of pain to his heart. The anguish in her silent struggle filled him with sorrow and self-loathing. He had caused this suffering, so he needed to find a remedy for it.

  Gently, he brushed his fingers against her silky cheek. A tremor raced up his arm and lodged in his throat, choking off any attempt at speech. He knew one way to take away her pain.

  * * * *

  At the touch of his fingers on her cheek, Juliet lost her battle with the tears. She had sworn not to shed a single one over him, but now they flooded her face as the ache in her chest reached a te
rrible crescendo.

  “Juliet, my dear.”

  As the first sob tore from her throat, he scooped her up, bore her over to the parlor’s sofa, and settled her in his lap. “Juliet, do not cry, my love. You break my heart.”

  He pressed her head to his chest, heedless of the torrent that soaked into his jacket.

  She could not stop, however. The misery at what she intended to do overwhelmed her. She must send him away, she must.

  Her cries intensified, banishment from Amiable a sentence too terrible to contemplate. The pain cut so deep for a brief moment she wished to die just to escape it. Finally, she managed to stem the tide to a trickle. Soul-wrenching grief gave way to bleak despair. She lay exhausted on his broad chest, too tired now to even move her head.

  “My dear,” he spoke quietly into her ear. “What has happened to make you so unhappy?”

  She struggled up, trying to catch her breath. She risked a glance at him and wished she hadn’t. Tears threatened again. “I…I c-came to tell you I no longer r-require your services as escort, Captain Dawson.” There. She had said it. “You may return to London on the morrow, sir.”

  “I see.” He held her steady with one hand while the other pushed back a stray wisp of hair straggling from her coiffure. “That would be a most prudent move.” He captured another escaping strand and stroked it into place behind her ear, then wiped her tears away with his thumb.

  Could he not see her misery? Would he add to it with his kindness? Such attentions made it almost impossible to continue with her resolve.

  “However, I do not think I will go, my lady, if it is all the same to you.”

  She fought to keep her composure. “I, however, no longer require your escort, sir. I will journey on alone.”

  Amiable smiled patiently but shook his head. “I fear not, my dear.”