He looked back at the sea turning black in the nightfall.

He had just lied to her when he said what had happened did not change their friendship.

In fact, it changed absolutely everything.

Chapter Nine.

Pen tossed in her bed. She tried to name what had just happened with Julian.

She knew women who had affairs that were mostly about physical pleasure. Their brief intimacies were fun little games, no more. Her "incomplete" affairs had been like that, except with Witherby. She was well enough experienced in silly diversions based on flirtation and stolen caresses.

There had been nothing silly about tonight, however. This had been different than a dalliance for superficial thrills. Her friendship with Julian made it more than that. Nicer. More intimate. She could trust him, and that had changed everything.

That friendship was confusing her reactions in other ways, she decided. If she had not known him so long, if their history did not stretch back for years, the notion of being kissed by him would not be so startling.

After all, he was a man and she was a woman. As he had said, why wouldn't he think of her that way? Why wouldn't she react to his kiss? If she had not been so stupid, she would have realized that their continued proximity these days might give rise to such a development. Everyone knew that men were inclined to experience sexual impulses given the least provocation.

She turned on her back and listened to the silence. Julian was sleeping below this chamber, directly underneath her. She tried to hear if he snored or moved. Memories of their embraces crept into her head. They were so vivid that she felt his touch again. The fantasy aroused her. Her body started yearning for those caresses.

No doubt abstinence had played a role tonight, too. Maybe when a woman spends years being titillated by flattery and incomplete affairs she is well disposed to utter abandon if she once drops her guard. The beauty and peace she had found in that passion had been more seductive than the pleasure, however. She had felt so innocent. Glasbury might have never existed. She had never before so completely forgotten those years.

Julian had been right when he scolded her for not adding his name to that list. She would not have to explain anything if she had an affair with him. He would know why. He would understand the cost. She could have an affectionate affair with a good friend and not a superficial liaison. It would not be humiliating and cheap. When it was over, they would still be friends.

She pictured the affair, explicitly. She imagined him walking through the door, his chest naked, as it had been in the boat. She felt him lying in this bed and touching her breasts. She saw him braced above her, and her body imagined him entering her.

The fantasy made an intense arousal shudder through her.

She reached for her wrap.

She would go down and he would be awake, waiting for her.

She just knew he was thinking about her as she did about him. The cottage almost moaned from their

wanting to complete what had started on the. sand.

They would have this affair and the earl would divorce her.

She would be free.

She opened her door.

New images entered her head. They killed her purring anticipation. She froze with her hand on the door

latch.

She pictured Julian being discussed in the House of Lords when the bill of divorce was proposed. The accusations in Glasbury's petition would be ruthless and cruel, treating her lover like a scoundrel. Julian's motives would be impugned. His lack of honor made explicit. The newspapers would print every word, too, and everyone would read it. Everyone. The scandal would be public and the scorn unrelenting. Many of his clients would abandon him. Other solicitors would refuse to deal with him. Even her brothers' use of his services would be compromised. If he were named by an earl for criminal correspondence with a countess, it could ruin him. That was a lot to ask of him, no matter what pleasure he received in the bargain. He was just being noble and kind. That was really what those kisses had been about. He was offering the damsel in distress an easy rescue, even though the dragon would burn him horribly while he saved her.

He was just being a good friend.

She released the door. It softly closed.

This was her problem, not his. Her youthful mistake, and her wasted life. It would be inexcusable to drag him down with her.

She returned to her bed with a sadness in her heart that she did not understand or expect. She tried to contemplate her other, less selfish choices.

"I did not know that you could cook."

Julian turned at the sound of Pen's voice. He had not heard her come down. His eyes had been watching the fish sizzle in the pan, while his head had been imagining how Glasbury would word his divorce petition.

Should it actually come to a divorce. He did not think it would. If Pen had an affair with Julian Hampton,

of all men, Glasbury would want to do more than merely ruin his wife's lover.

She looked over his shoulder. Her close presence had his blood burning again. "Did you catch that this morning? You must have risen early."

Very early. He had not slept much at all.

Nor had she.

He had heard her steps on the boards above him in the middle of the night. He had heard her pace

toward her bedroom door.

Toward him.

He had silently urged her on, his teeth on edge from the intensity of his -desire, his brain exhausted from

the battle he waged against the urge to walk up those stairs. Each of her footfalls above him had sent edgy shards through his skull and blood. Her long pause had maddened him. He had cursed violently when she retreated. He slid the fish onto two plates and carried them to the dining room. Pen brought along the tray with tea and bread.

She looked very lovely in the soft light coming through the northern window. Her dress this morning was more fashionable than yesterday's.Green, with ivory lace at the neck and black braiding on the bodice and skirt, it encased her snugly to her narrow waist, then flared into a wide skirt over the feminine hips he had watched rise to his caresses yesterday. Full sleeves tapered to long cuffs tightly closed by long rows of buttons.

She had managed to get into stays and multiple petticoats today. She had felt the need to wear some armor.

When those steps above had stopped at the door, he had guessed that she would.

"I have decided what to do, Julian."

"Have you decided what to do, or what not to do?"

"I do not even know what that question means."

Yes, you do, damn it. "Please, tell me your plan."

She put all her attention on pouring them both tea. "It is not really a plan. I have only decided what my next step should be."

Not making love with Julian Hampton; that much he already knew.

He ate his breakfast, letting her decide when to favor him with an explanation. He greeted this turn of events with silence, because the reaction seething in him had no gentle words.

"I do not like that Glasbury is controlling this," she said. "He gets a whim and I am left to choose misery or scandal. That is not fair. Not to me and not to whomever I would use to create that scandal."

"The world is not fair. The law on marriage certainly isn't. Resenting that does not solve your dilemma."

"No, but last night it made me angry enough to see another option. He thinks time has made him safe. I do not think it has. He assumes it would be my word against his should the truth come out. It need not be." She looked at him. "Cleo could support my accusations."

He sat back in his chair, surprised. "You would not use me, but you would use that child?"

"She is not a child any longer."

"She was half mad by the time we got her out."

"It has been years. Time heals much. Perhaps it has healed her."

"I am astonished you even consider"

"She may want to do it. She may yearn to denounce him. Have you considered that? I think she remembers those years with a different view now. If I were she, I would hate him, not fear him. I would want some justice."

"Are you going to offer her justice, Pen? Will you sue to divorce him, and bring it all out? Or just use the threat of her testimony to make Glasbury continue the arrangement with you as it has been all these years?"

Her expression said it all. She had been thinking that strengthening the threat would make Glasbury retreat.

She had concluded that maintaining the arrangement would be the easiest solution.

Anger flashed in her eyes. "Do you think I like this limbo in which I live? That I welcome it?"

"I am sure you do not. However, I also think if Glasbury had not made this move, you would have accepted it forever."

"Because I am such a coward?"

"No, because it means that no one gets hurt except you. But I think he will do whatever he can to make sure that he either has you back, or is free to have another wife. So think hard before you take your next step, and be sure you are prepared to stay the course."

She rose to her feet. "My next step does not require me to stay the course, because I will not be choosing it yet. I only want to know if that path is open. I want to know how she fares, and if she could do this, and if she wants to."

She left the room to make sure he could not argue with her anymore.

He let her go because a storm had blown into his head.

Julian paced out into the garden, his blood hot with rage.

She was going to do it again. Retreat to half-measures. It had worked before, after all. She assumed it would again.

He went to the stable and threw himself into work to release the explosive resentment in him. He rarely got this angry. He could count the times he had on one hand. Most of those times directly related to Penelope.

There had been the day he learned she was to marry.

And the day he confronted Witherby.

The worst time, however, had been when she visited him in chambers and confided the truth of her marriage.

He had been very young at the time, just twenty-one and in the process of taking over for a senior solicitor who had managed the Duclairc family's affairs for decades. Although just three years into his clerkship, with two more to go, he already directed most of the legal work in that office and everyone knew it. His future seemed paved with happy prosperity.

Then, on a late winter day, sweet, good Penelope had entered his chambers, sat down, addressed him as Mr. Hampton, and told her story.

She was embarrassed and frightened and had not looked at him. He was too stunned to do more than listen. He had fought hard to keep his face impassive, but with each sentence he wanted more and more to find Glasbury and thrash him bloody.

Eventually her composure broke. So did his heart. He remembered touching her arm in impotent reassurance, battling the impulse to take her in his arms and swear an oath to provide salvation.

While she cried out her heart, images finally entered his mind, showing what she described and all the details she avoided telling. A terrible fury raged in him. He almost strode from the chamber to find a gun to go kill the bastard.

Instead he had hidden his outrage and enumerated her choices like the damned, logical, dispassionate servant he was supposed to be. He made sure that she understood that doing nothing meant living in hell, however. A hell that would only get worse.

"Now that you know this is not normal, any cooperation will count against you later, should you try to divorce," he explained.

Her eyes widened. "I am sure no court would think any woman would cooperate, Mr. Hampton."

"There are women who enjoy such things, madame."