t ten the following morning Henry was dressed, ready, and waiting on the front steps. She wasn’t particularly pleased that she had agreed to go to London with Dunford, but she was damned if she wasn’t going to behave with a bit of dignity. If Dunford thought he would have to drag her kicking and screaming from the house, he was mistaken. She had donned her new green dress and matching bonnet, and had even managed to locate an old pair of Viola’s gloves. They were a bit worn, but they did the trick, and Henry found that she actually liked the feel of the soft, fine wool on her hands.

The bonnet, however, was another story altogether. It itched her ears, blocked her peripheral vision, and was a general nuisance. It took all of her patience—which, admittedly, wasn’t much—not to rip the blasted thing from her head.

Dunford arrived a few minutes later and gave her an approving nod. “You look lovely, Henry.”

She smiled her thanks but decided not to put too much stock in his compliment. It sounded like the sort of thing he said automatically to any woman in his vicinity.

“Is that all you have?” he asked.

Henry looked down at her meager valise and nodded. She hadn’t even enough to fill a proper trunk. Just her new dresses and some of her well-worn men’s clothing. Not that she was likely to need breeches and a jacket in London, but one never could be sure.

“No matter. We’ll rectify that soon.”

They climbed up into the carriage and were on their way. Henry caught her bonnet on the door frame as she was getting in, a circumstance which caused her to mutter most ungraciously under her breath. Dunford thought he heard her say, “Bloody bleeding blooming bonnet,” but he couldn’t be certain. Either way, he was going to have to warn her to curb her tongue once they reached London.

Still, he couldn’t resist teasing her about it, and with an astonishingly straight face he said, “Bee in your bonnet?”

Henry turned on him with a murderous glare. “It’s a dreadful contraption,” she said vehemently, yanking the offending piece off of her head. “Serves no purpose whatsoever that I can deduce.”

“I believe it is meant to keep the sun off your face.”

She shot him a look that said quite clearly, “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

Dunford had no idea how he managed not to laugh. “You may come to like them eventually,” he said mildly. “Most ladies don’t seem to like the sun on their faces.”

“I’m not most ladies,” she retorted. “And I’ve done very well without a bonnet for years, thank you.”

“And you have freckles.”

“I do not!”

“You do. Right here.” He touched her nose and then moved to a spot along her cheekbone. “And here.”

“You must be mistaken.”

“Ah, Hen, I cannot tell you how much it pleases me to find that you have a bit of feminine vanity within you after all. Of course you never did cut your hair, so that must count for something.”

“I am not vain,” she protested.

“No, you’re not,” he said solemnly. “It’s one of the loveliest things about you.”

Was it any wonder, Henry thought with a sigh, that she was becoming so infatuated with him?

“Still,” he continued, “it’s rather gratifying to see you have a few of the failings the rest of us humans share, if only in short measure.”

“Men,” Henry declared firmly, “are every bit as vain as women. I’m sure of it.”

“You are most probably right,” he said agreeably. “Now, do you want to give me that bonnet? I’ll put it over here where it won’t be crumpled.”

She handed him the headpiece. He turned it over in his hand before setting it down. “Deuced flimsy little thing.”

“It was obviously invented by men,” Henry announced, “for the sole purpose of making women more dependent upon them. It completely blocks my peripheral vision. How is a lady meant to get anything done if she cannot see anything that isn’t directly in front of her?”

Dunford only laughed and shook his head. They sat in companionable silence for about ten minutes, until he sighed and said, “It’s good to be on our way. I was afraid I was going to have to do physical battle with you over Rufus.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I was half expecting you to insist we bring him along.”

“Don’t be silly,” she scoffed.

He smiled at her briskly sensible attitude. “That rabbit would probably chew up my entire house.”

“I couldn’t care less if he chewed up the Prince Regent’s unmentionables. I didn’t bring Rufus because I thought it would be dangerous for him. Some bacon-brained French chef would probably have him in the stew pot within days.”

Dunford rocked with silent laughter. “Henry,” he said, wiping his eyes, “please don’t lose your distinctive brand of humor when you get to London. Although,” he added, “you might find it prudent to refrain from speculating about Prinny’s intimate apparel.”

Henry couldn’t help but smile in return. It was just like him to make certain she had a good time, the wretched man. She was trying to go along with his plans with some modicum of dignity, but that didn’t mean she had to enjoy herself. He was making it quite difficult for her to succeed in her attempts to picture herself as a beleaguered martyr.

And, indeed, he made it quite difficult all day long, keeping up an endless stream of friendly chatter. He pointed out sights along the way, and Henry listened and watched avidly. She hadn’t been out of the southwest of England in years, not since she’d been orphaned and moved to Stannage Park, actually. Viola had taken her on a short holiday in Devon once, but beyond that Henry hadn’t set foot out of Cornwall.

They stopped briefly for lunch, but that was their only break, for Dunford explained he wanted to make good time. They could get more than halfway to London that day if they didn’t dally. The hurried pace took its toll, however, and by the time they pulled into a roadside inn for the night, Henry was extremely weary. Dunford’s carriage was exceptionally well sprung, but nothing could disguise some of the deeper ruts in the road. She was jolted out of her tired state, however, by her companion’s surprising announcement.

“I’m going to tell the innkeeper you are my sister.”

“Why?”

“It seems prudent. It really isn’t quite proper for us to be traveling in this fashion without a chaperone, even if you are my ward. I’d rather not raise any ill-bred speculation about you.”

Henry nodded, conceding his point. She had no wish for some drunken lout to paw at her simply because he thought her a loose woman.

“We can get away with it, I think,” Dunford mused, “as we’ve both got brown hair.”

“Along with half the population of Britain,” she said pertly.

“Hush up, minx.” He resisted the urge to tousle her hair. “It’ll be dark. No one will notice. And put your bonnet back on.”

“But then no one will see my hair,” she teased. “All that work will be for nothing.”

He smiled boyishly. “All that work, eh? You must be dreadfully tired, expending all that energy to grow your hair brown.”

She batted the offending bonnet at him.

Dunford alighted, whistling to himself as he did so. So far the journey had been a complete success. Henry had, if not forgotten, at least suppressed her pique at being bullied into coming to London. Furthermore, she mercifully had not mentioned the kiss they had shared in the abandoned cottage. In fact, all signs pointed to the conclusion that she had completely forgotten about it.

Which bothered him.

Damn, but it bothered him.

But it didn’t bother him half as much, however, as the fact that he had been bothered by it in the first place.

This was getting far too confusing. He gave up thinking about it and helped her down from the carriage.

They walked into the inn, one of the grooms trailing behind with their valises. Henry was relieved to see that it appeared to be satisfactorily clean. She hadn’t slept on any sheets save for the ones at Stannage Park for years, and she always knew exactly when those had last been washed. It finally occurred to her just how much she had controlled her own existence up to now. London would be quite an adventure. If only she could get over this paralyzing fear of polite society...

The innkeeper, recognizing Quality when he saw it, quickly rushed over to their sides.

“We require two rooms,” Dunford said briskly. “One for myself and one for my sister.”

The innkeeper’s face fell. “Oh, dear. I was hoping you were married because I’ve only one room left and—”

“Are you quite certain?” Dunford’s voice was like ice.

“Oh, milord, if I could boot someone out for you, I would, I swear, but the entire place is full of Quality tonight. The Dowager Duchess of Beresford is passing through, and she’s got quite a collection with her. Needed six rooms altogether, what with all her grandchildren.”

Dunford groaned. The Beresford clan was notorious for its fertility. At last count the dowager duchess—a nasty, old woman who certainly would not look kindly upon being asked to give up one of her rooms—had twenty grandchildren. Lord only knew how many of them were here tonight.

Henry, however, had no such knowledge of the Beresfords and their amazing fecundity, and presently was having trouble breathing due to the panic rushing through her body. “Oh, but you must have another room,” she blurted out. “You must.”

The innkeeper shook his head. “Only one. I’ll be sleeping in the stables as it is. But surely the two of you won’t mind sharing so much, since you’re brother and sister and all. It’s not very private, I know, but—”

“I’m a very private person,” Henry said desperately, grabbing hold of his arm. “Extraordinarily so.”

“Henrietta, dear,” Dunford said, gently uncurling her fingers from their death grip on the innkeeper’s elbow, “if he hasn’t another room, he hasn’t another room. We’ll have to make do.”

She eyed him warily, then immediately calmed down. Of course, Dunford must have a plan. That was why he sounded so collected and self-assured. “Of course, Du... er, Daniel,” she improvised, realizing belatedly that she didn’t know his given name. “Of course. How silly of me.”

The innkeeper relaxed visibly and handed Dunford the key. “There is room in the stables for your grooms, milord. It’ll be a tight squeeze, but I think there’ll be a spot for everyone.”

Dunford thanked him and then saw to the task of showing Henry to their room. The poor girl had gone white as a sheet. True, the blasted bonnet hid most of her face, but it was not difficult to deduce that she was not happy with the sleeping arrangements.

Well, curse it, neither was he. He was not in the least pleased by the thought of sleeping in the same room with her all night. His damned body was getting aroused just thinking about it. More than a dozen times that day he had wanted to grab her and kiss her senseless right there in the carriage. The deuced chit would never know the level of self-control he had exerted.

It wasn’t when they were talking. Then, at least, he could keep his mind off her body and on the conversation. It happened when they lapsed into silence, and he’d look up and see Henry staring out the window, her eyes aglow. Then he’d look at her mouth, which was always a mistake, and she’d go and do something like lick her lips, and the next thing he knew he was clutching the seat cushions just to keep from reaching for her.

And those delectable, very pink lips were pursed just then as Henry planted her hands on her hips and looked around the room. Dunford followed her gaze to the large bed that dominated the chamber and gave up any hope that he wasn’t going to spend the night uncomfortably hard. “Who’s Daniel?” he tried to joke.

“You, I’m afraid, since you never told me your given name. Don’t say anything that will give yourself away.”

“My lips are sealed,” he said, bowing grandly, all the while wishing they were sealed on hers.

“What is your real name?”

He smiled devilishly. “Secret.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed.

“I’m serious.” He actually managed to school his features into an expression of such earnest honesty, that for a moment she believed him. He moved stealthily to her side and clapped his hand over her mouth. “A state secret,” he whispered, looking furtively toward the window. “The very livelihood of the monarchy depends upon it. If revealed, it could topple our interests in India, not to mention—”

Henry yanked off her bonnet and batted him with it. “You’re incorrigible,” she sputtered.

“I have been told,” he said with an unabashed grin, “that I frequently act with a decided lack of gravity.”

“I’ll say.” She planted her hands on her hips again and resumed her perusal of the room. “Well, Dunford, this is a bind. What is your plan?”

“My plan?”

“You have one, don’t you?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

“For our sleeping arrangements,” she ground out.

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” he admitted.

“What?” she screeched. Then, realizing she sounded decidedly shrewish, she modified her tone and added, “We can’t both sleep... there.” She motioned to the bed.

“No,” he sighed, thinking that he was bone tired, and if he couldn’t make love to her that night—which he knew he couldn’t do no matter how many times he had unwillingly fantasized about it during the past few days—then at least he’d like to get a good night’s sleep on a soft mattress. His eyes traveled to a wing chair in the corner of the room. It looked dreadfully upright, just the sort of chair that was meant to encourage good posture. Not very comfortable for sitting, much less sleeping. He sighed again, this time loudly. “I suppose I can sleep in the chair.”

“The chair?” she echoed.

He pointed at the piece of furniture in question. “Four legs, a seat. All in all, a rather useful item for one’s home.”

“But it’s—it’s here.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be here.”

“That is also true.”

She stared at him as if he did not speak English. “We cannot both sleep here.”

“The alternative is that I sleep in the stables, which, I assure you, I have no wish to do. Although...” He cast an eye at the chair. “... at least I would be able to lie down. However, the innkeeper said the stables were even more crowded than the inn, and quite frankly, after my experience with your pigpen, the delicate smell of animals has been engraved permanently on my mind. Or in my nose, as the case may be. The thought of spending the night wedged in between horse droppings is decidedly unpalatable.”

“Maybe they just mucked the stalls?” she said hopefully.

“There is nothing to stop them from doing their business in the middle of the night.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. Never in a million years would he have dreamed he’d one day be discussing horse manure with a lady.

“All—all right,” she said, looking dubiously at the chair. “I—um, I need to change, though.”

“I’ll just wait in the hall.” He straightened his spine and walked from the room, deciding he was the noblest, most chivalrous, and possibly the most stupid man in all Britain. As he leaned against the wall just outside the door, he could hear her moving around. He tried desperately not to think about what those sounds meant, but it was impossible. Now she was unbuttoning her frock... Now she was letting it slip from her shoulders... Now she was...

He bit his lip hard, hoping the pain would steer his thoughts in a more appropriate direction. It didn’t work.

The devil of it all was that he knew she wanted him too. Oh, not in quite the same way and certainly not with the same intensity. But it was there. Despite her sarcastic mouth, Henry was a complete innocent and did not know how to hide the dreamy feeling in her eyes whenever they accidentally brushed up against each other. And the kiss...

Dunford groaned. She had been perfect, so completely responsive until he’d lost control and scared her. In retrospect, he thanked God she had become frightened, because he wasn’t certain he would have been able to stop.

But despite the hungry cravings of his body, it was definitely not his intention to seduce Henry. He wanted her to have a season, as was her due. He wanted her to meet some women her age and make some friends for the first time in her life. He wanted her to meet some men and... He frowned. No, he decided with the resigned expression of a young child who has been told he absolutely, positively must eat his brussels sprouts, he did want her to meet some men. She deserved to have her choice of England’s best.

And then perhaps his life could find its way back to normal. He’d visit his mistress, which he badly needed to do, he’d game with his friends, make the endless round of parties, and continue his much envied bachelor life.

He’d been one of the few people he knew who’d been truly content with his existence. Why the devil would he want to change anything?

The door opened, and Henry’s face poked around the corner. “Dunford?” she said quietly. “I’m done. You can come in now.”

He groaned, not certain whether the sound was born of stifled desire or plain tiredness, and pushed himself away from the wall. He walked back into the room. Henry was standing near the window, clutching her faded wrapper tightly around her.

“I’ve seen you in your dressing gown before,” he said, quirking what he hoped was a friendly and decidedly platonic smile.

“I-I know, but...” She shrugged helplessly. “Do you want me to wait in the hall while you change?”

“In your dressing gown? I think not. I may have seen you so attired, but I certainly don’t want to share the privilege with the rest of the inn’s occupants.”

“Oh. Of course.”

“Especially with that old Beresford dragon and her brood about. They’re probably on their way to London for the season and won’t hesitate to tell the entire ton they saw you wandering half naked around a public inn.” He raked his hand wearily through his hair. “We should take pains to avoid them in the morning.”

She nodded nervously. “I suppose I could close my eyes. Or turn my back.”

He thought that this was probably not the best time to inform her that he preferred to sleep in the nude. Still, it would be damned uncomfortable to sleep in his clothing. Perhaps his dressing gown...

“Or I could hide under the covers,” Henry was saying. “Then you would be assured of your modesty.”

Dunford blinked in disbelief and amusement as she dove into the bed and crawled under the blankets until she resembled a very large molehill.

“How is that?” she queried, her voice considerably muffled.

He tried to disrobe but found that his shoulders were shaking with mirth. “Perfect, Henry. It’s perfect.”

“Just tell me when you’re done!” she called.

Dunford quickly shed his clothing and pulled out his dressing gown. For one brief moment he was entirely and quite splendidly naked, and a shiver of thrill ran through him at the sight of the big lump in the bed. He took a ragged breath and pulled on his dressing gown. Not now, he told himself sternly. Not now and not with this girl. She deserves better. She deserves to make her own choices.

He tied the sash of his robe tightly around his waist. He probably should have left on his undergarments, but damn it, the chair was going to be uncomfortable enough. He’d just have to make certain his robe did not open during the night. The poor girl would probably faint at the sight of a naked man as it was. Lord knows what would happen if she saw one who was quite aroused, as he undoubtedly would be, all through the night.

“I’m all done, minx,” he said. “You can come out now.”

Henry poked her head out from under the covers. Dunford had dimmed the candles, but the moonlight was filtering in through the gauzy curtains, and she could see his very large, very male form standing by the chair. She sucked in her breath. She’d be all right as long as he didn’t smile at her. If he did that, she would be lost. Dimly it occurred to her she probably couldn’t see him smile in the dark, but those grins of his were so devastatingly effective, she was convinced she could probably feel the force of one through a brick wall.

She settled against the pillows and closed her eyes, trying very hard not to think about him.

“Goodnight, Hen.”

“Goodnight, Dun.”

She heard him chuckle at her shortening of his name. Just don’t smile, she prayed. She didn’t think he did; she was certain she would have heard it in his laugh if his lips had stretched out to their full, rakish grin. Just to be sure, however, she opened one eye and peered over at him.

Of course she couldn’t see his expression, but it was a marvelous excuse to look at him. He was settling into that wing chair—well, trying to settle into it at least. She hadn’t noticed how... how very vertical it was. He moved, and then moved again, and then again. He must have shifted positions two dozen times before he finally stilled. Henry bit her lip. “Are you comfortable?” she called out.

“Oh, quite.”

It was that very particular tone of voice which held no trace of sarcasm but rather suggested that the speaker was trying quite hard to convince someone of something that was obviously not true.

“Oh,” Henry said. What was she supposed to do? Accuse him of lying? She stared at the ceiling for thirty seconds and then decided—why not?

“You’re lying,” she said.

He sighed. “Yes.”

She sat up. “Maybe we could... Well, that is to say... There must be something we can do.”

“Do you have any suggestions?” His tone was quite dry.

“Well,” she stalled, “I don’t need all of these blankets.”

“Warmth is not my problem.”

“But perhaps you could lay one on the floor and make a makeshift mattress out of it.”

“Don’t worry about it, Henry. I’ll be fine.”

Another patently false statement.

“I can’t just lie here and watch you be uncomfortable,” she said worriedly.

“Close your eyes and go to sleep, then. You won’t see a thing.”

Henry lay back down and managed to stay in that position for a full minute. “I can’t do it,” she burst out, bolting upright again. “I just can’t do it.”

“Can’t do what, Henry?” He sighed—a very long-suffering sort of sigh.

“I can’t lie here when you’re so uncomfortable.”

“The only place I’m going to be more comfortable is in the bed.”

There was a very long pause. Finally—“I can do it if you can do it.”

Dunford decided that they had vastly different interpretations of the word “it.”

“I’ll scoot very, very far over to the side.” She started to scoot. “Very far.”

Against all better judgment, he actually considered the idea. He lifted his head to watch her. She was so far to the edge of the bed that one of her legs was falling over the side.

“You can sleep on the other side,” she was saying. “Just stay at the edge.”

“Henry...”

“If-you’re-going-to-do-it-do-it-now,” she said, the entire sentence coming out as one long word. “For in a moment I will surely regain my senses and rescind the offer.”

Dunford looked at the empty spot on the bed and then down at his body, which was sporting an enormous erection. Then he looked at Henry. No, don’t do that! His gaze quickly shifted back to the empty spot on the bed. It looked very, very comfortable—so comfortable, in fact, that it might just be possible for him to relax enough for his body to calm down.

He looked back at Henry. He hadn’t meant to do it, hadn’t wanted to do it, but his eyes were inclined to follow the dictates of a body part other than his mind. She was sitting up and staring at him. Her thick, straight, brown hair had been pulled back into a plait which was surprisingly erotic. Her eyes—well, by all rights it should have been too dark to see them, but he could swear he could see them glow silver in the moonlight.

“No,” he said hoarsely, “the chair will do just fine, thank you.”

“If I know you are uncomfortable, I shan’t be able to sleep.” She sounded remarkably like a damsel in distress.

Dunford shuddered. He had never been able to resist playing hero. Slowly he got to his feet and walked to the empty side of the bed.

How bad could it be?