Lucinda's brows rose; she opened her mouth. "But--' Mr Honeywell smoothly interposed his stout frame between Lucinda and the door '--I really wouldn't advise you to interrupt them, ma'am."

Taken aback, Lucinda allowed her brows to rise higher; for a silent moment, she looked down on Mr Honeywell. When she spoke, her tone was chilly.

"My dear Mr Honeywell--' " Who's in there, Honeywell? "

Lucinda blinked. It was the first time in an hour that Harry had spoken.

Mr Honeywell cast an imploring glance at him.

"Just a group of young bloods, sir. You'll know the sort."

"Indeed." Harry turned to Lucinda.

"You can't go in." As frigidly imperious as any dowager, Lucinda slowly turned and met his gaze.

"I beg your pardon?" Harry's lips twisted slightly but his gaze did not waver.

"Let me put it this way." His tone was peculiarly soft, silky, with an undercurrent that threatened all manner of danger.

"You're not going in there."

If Lucinda had had any doubt as to the reality behind the unsubtle threat, it was laid to rest by the look in his eyes, the set of his jaw and the tension that slowly infused his large frame. Despite her rising temper, she was a.s.sailed by an instinctive urge to step back--and a totally maniacal impulse to call his bluff just to see what he would do. Ignoring the shiver that squirmed down her spine, she sent him a seething glance, then transferred her gaze, now icy, to Mr Honeywell.

"Perhaps you could show me this other parlour?"

The innkeeper's sigh was almost audible.

Shown the second parlour, repeatedly a.s.sured that it was virtually identical to the other, Lucinda gave her haughty approval. Stripping off her gloves, she nodded at Honeywell.

"I'll examine the books now. You may bring them in here."

Honeywell departed to fetch his ledgers. Leaving her gloves and reticule on the table, Lucinda slowly walked down the room. Halting by the window, she drew in a steadying breath and swung to face Harry.

He had followed in her wake; she watched as he drew near, stopping directly before her, one brow lifting, a challenging look in his eye.

Lucinda returned it in full measure.

"It may interest you to know, Mr Lester, that I had no intention of--' she gestured dismissively '--barging into a private meeting. A fact I was about to make dear to Mr Honeywell when you chose to intervene."

The arrested, suddenly defensive expression that flickered in Harry's eyes was balm to Lucinda's temper.

She immediately pressed her advantage.

"I merely wished to enquire as to the bona fides of the customers using my inn--a right I'm sure even you will agree is mine." She waggled a finger under his nose.

"Neither you nor Mr Honeywell had any justification for jumping to such a conclusion--as if I was a child unaware of the proprieties! And you, sir, had no right to threaten me as you did."

Turning aside and folding her arms, Lucinda elevated her chin.

"I wish to hear an apology, sir, for your ungentlemanly behaviour."

Silence greeted her demand. Harry studied her face, STEPHANIE LAURENS 105 his gaze clear and steady. Then his lips twisted.

"I.

suggest, my dear, that you refrain from holding your breath. My behaviour throughout this morning has been gentlemanly in the extreme. "

Lucinda's eyes flew wide.

"Gentlemanly?" Her arms dropped as she rounded on him.

Harry held up a hand.

"I'll admit that both Honeywell and I might have jumped to unwarranted conclusions."

His eyes met hers, his expression fleetingly rueful.

"For myself, for that, I apologise unequivocally. For the rest, however..."

His face hardened.

"I fear you must excuse it on the grounds of extreme provocation."

"Provocation?" Lucinda stared at him.

"What provocation was that, pray tell?"

The provocation of keeping her safe, shielded, the undeniable, instinctive impulse that had him in its grip.

The truth echoed in Harry's head; he struggled to shut his mind against it.

He looked into her eyes; softly blue, they searched his, then widened. He dropped his gaze to her lips, full, blush red--a potent temptation. As he watched, they parted fractionally. About them, silence reigned; between them, the tension grew. Compelled, as aware of her increased breathing as he was of the deepening thud in his veins, Harry lifted a finger and, with the lightest of touches, traced her lower lip. The shudder his touch evoked in her reverberated deep in his marrow.

His breath caught; if he met her gaze, he would be lost.

Desire welled, unexpectedly strong; he fought to shackle it. He tried to draw breath, tried to step away, and could not.

Distant footsteps drew near; in the corridor a board creaked.

Swiftly, Harry bent his head and touched his lips to hers in a caress so brief he barely registered the gentle movement of her lips beneath his.

When the door opened and Honeywell came in, he was standing by the fireplace, some yards from Lucinda. The innkeeper noticed nothing amiss; he placed the heavy ledgers on the table and looked hopefully at Lucinda.

Harry glanced her way but her back was to the window, hiding her expression.

Lucinda hest.i.tated, just long enough to marshall her thoroughly disordered wits. Then she swept forward, plastering an expression of such haughtiness on her face that Mr Honeywell blinked.

"Just the figures for this year, I think, Mr Honeywell."

The innkeeper hurried to do her bidding. Immersed in figures, Lucinda struggled to soothe her tingling nerves, inflamed by that too-fleeting kiss and further abraded by Harry's lounging presence. For one instant, she had felt as if the world had spun wildly; determinedly, she put the memory aside and concentrated on Mr Honeywell's accounts. By the time she was satisfied, half an hour had pa.s.sed, leaving her once more in control. Quite capable of maintaining a steady flow of artless prattle all the way back to Audley Street.