thought to hurt me ever again I would kill him first. So I left."

She told her story so calmly that one would think she described an old, vague memory. Her eyes betrayed her true emotions, however. Sadness and anger burned lowly in them, like fires dying but not

yet extinguished.

"Have you not seen your daughter since?"

"He sent her north to family of his near Carlisle. He thinks my love for her will make me return, or else he can force me to on his own. I am safe while he is at sea. When his ship comes to England I am not, so I disappear however I can."

"That must make it difficult to keep employment."

"I manage. I haven't had to sell myself at least. Although I could if I had to, I expect. After all, I sold myself to Jacob, didn't I? If I could do that with a man I had grown to fear and hate, I expect it would be possible with a stranger."

Pen knew that she should say something moral about virtue and sin, but she did not have the urge to do so. Who was she to judge this young woman and the choices that might be made? Especially since she herself had written a list of men with whom she might do "that" in order to find a way to be free.

The farms rolled past, gray and bleak like the sky. In a few days they would be in Grossington, and she would see Cleo. She wondered how the years had passed for her, and what kind of woman that cowed, frightened girl had become.

Was she being cowardly in considering this choice instead of a bolder move? She would love to be truly free. She envied Catherine her greater freedom, even if they both remained bound to their husbands in the law. Catherine could escape Jacob's reach, could disappear within Britain. The Countess of Glasbury never could.

For her, running away and hiding meant leaving all she knew and loved.

And standing and fighting meant hurting family and friends.

"Mr. Hampton is very handsome," Catherine said.

"I think so."

"I guess all women would think so. Quiet, though. I think more men could stand to be quiet more often.

Usually they talk a great deal but say little of significance."

"I think Mr. Hampton would agree with you."

Catherine smoothed the top edge of the blanket on her knees. She watched her long fingers play at the binding.

"Are you going on a holiday? Is that the reason for this journey?"

Just like Julian to explain nothing. "I have a visit to make, and Mr. Hampton is escorting me."

"Ah. I see. Odd to be taking different names, then, but it isn't for me to say." Her fingers stroked and smoothed some more. "Will you and I be sharing a chamber at the inns?" "I expect so."

"Will Mr. Hampton be staying at the inns as well?"

"I think that will be necessary. You do not need to worry. If Jacob is following you, you will not be without protection." "I protect myself, my lady. However, having Mr. Hampton nearby may be useful. I sleep very soundly.

After a journey it would take a cannon to wake me. Should there be any trouble, it is good to know that Mr. Hampton will be right next door. If anyone were to enter our chamber during the night, I would be completely unaware of it."

Pen realized what Catherine was insinuating. "I am very sure that there will be no entering or leaving during the night." "Yes, madame. However, should there be, I will certainly sleep right through it. I thought you should know how deeply I sleep." She bent and fished beneath the seat. "Let me get you another blanket, madame. You are looking pale."

It became obvious to Julian that Catherine Langton had concluded several things about her new position. First, she thought that her presence had been arranged to provide the pretense of respectability to what was in actuality a lovers' tryst. Second, she had decided that she had no interest in interfering with that tryst. She possessed an admirable talent for making herself scarce. She arrived late for meals and departed early, so that he and Pen could have time alone. She went down to the carriage before her mistress, and found excuses to leave Pen's chamber at regular intervals in the evening.

Had Julian in fact been conducting an affair with Catherine's lady, he would have been delighted.

Since he wished that he was even though he wasn't, he welcomed the privacy with Penelope anyway.

The third evening, they dined in Pen's room at an inn in York. As soon as she completed her meal, Catherine excused herself.

"I think I will get some air, if that is acceptable to you, madame."

"It is raining, Catherine."

"I do not mind a bit of rain. I have my cloak and will stay under the eaves. I feel the need to take a turn

after riding in a carriage all day."

She left the chamber. Julian wondered if she would be carrying her pistol with her.

He looked through the flickering candles at Pen's perfect skin and soft red lips and sweet expression.

The urge to reach over and caress her velvet cheek almost triumphed over his better sense. He loved the gentle softness in her face and body, and the greater one in her heart. The latter had led her to befriend young women in need of a protective wing before, and he could see how she was warming to Catherine now. Pen might never use a gun, but she could be selfless in defending those she cared about.

"I was too quick to judge Catherine. You were correct, and she is a pleasant companion, Mr. Hampton.

You chose well." "I said that you were not to address me formally again. Considering what transpired at the cottage, it would be absurd to take that up again."

She blushed prettily. The candlelight heightened the rosy glow. It also reflected tiny sparks in her eyes that revealed the real reason she had tried to be formal. As her lids lowered, her glance darted around the chamber in awareness that this was her bedroom.

She nervously fingered the handle of the fork near her hand.

He knew he should leave, or say something to put her at ease.

Memories of her body, of her breasts firm and soft under his lips and her hips rising to his caress, had

invaded his mind, however. The light from fire and candles, the bed hidden behind its drapes, the mutual memories of what had beenit all created a mood that he had no interest in dispelling.

"Approaching Mrs. Levanham for help was very clever, too. Did she know you were aiding me?"

"I did not say that the lady requiring a companion was the Countess of Glasbury, but I think she assumed as much. After all, I made her acquaintance when you sent her to me for advice on the law."

"If I had known you were visiting her, I would have given you my essay to deliver. I was going to post it from Billericay, and will do so tomorrow before we leave York."

"I would prefer you did not, Pen. It can wait until we are finished with this journey."

"I can see no reason to delay."

Julian looked at her left arm. She still favored it a little. "When you spoke with Glasbury yesterday, did he say anything about that pamphlet?"

"He mentioned it."

"I assume he is displeased."

"Very displeased. I told him I would publish it anyway. He said it was one reason he would make me

return, along with the need for an heir, but I do not think this is about either of those things. Not really."

"What do you think it is about?"

Her expression became thoughtful. "I spoke of his estates in Jamaica, and how the new law had taken

away his slaves. Something frightening entered his eyes when I said that. An angry, resentful spark."

"The law will have economic consequences. Even with the compensation granted by Parliament, it will cost him dearly." "I do not think it was the financial effects he reacted to. He liked owning slaves, Julian. He loved owning the rights to human beings and having them subjugated to him. He tried to recreate that world here in England, and after I left he visited Jamaica from time to time so he could enjoy that power again for a while. Now, with the new law, that is over. Legally, he can never know it again." Except with me. The chamber seemed to whisper the words. He practically heard her thinking the final sentence that she did not speak.

She was right. Glasbury could know something very close to those godlike rights with a wife or children.

All men could, but most did not exploit the power.

She rose and paced away to the window. She glanced through the curtains, as she so often did when

Glasbury was discussed. "Until yesterday, I had not really understood what drove him. I had not comprehended just how wicked he is. I should have, however. In two days we will be facing the evidence that should have enlightened me." "I sense that you are unsettled about seeing Cleo, Pen." She tilted her head this way and that, peering through the darkening world, her breath making little fogs on the windowpane. "It is making me remember, that is all. Not that one ever really forgets." Her voice was bland but her eyes looked haunted. She was remembering right now. He got up and went over to her. He did not want her remembering, ever. He carefully placed his hands on her shoulders, forcing the gesture to be reassuring and not possessive.

He wanted to embrace her, however. He wanted to hold her and banish her worries. He wanted to make love to her. He had been thinking about little else for three days.

"I will speak with Cleo alone, Pen. You do not have to see her at all."

She glanced back at him. He could see her wavering, tempted.

She shook her head. "I was responsible for her. I should have understood sooner. If I am going to stir up the past, I should not shirk from witnessing what it does and what it means to her. I will not know otherwise whether she has the courage to stand beside me if the need arises."

She appeared so troubled and sad. He instinctively reacted and caressed down her arms in an impulse

to what? Comfort? Seduce?

Her body flexed in awareness, then did not move. A lovely flush colored the elegant nape mere inches from his mouth. He waited for a sign, any sign at all, that said she would welcome more. He was indifferent to whether it should or should not be, and so hungry for her that the reasons did not matter.

She did not move. She did not shrug off his hold. Her beautiful neck mesmerized him. He was convincing himself that a seduction would not be dishonorable, when a small commotion interrupted him.

Outside the door a feminine voice called for hot water. Shoes stomped on wood amidst loud muttering

about bitter cold, drenching rain, and muddy streets.

Catherine had returned and was ensuring they heard her arrival.

Pen jumped out of his hands, and hurried to the other side of the chamber.

Chapter Twelve.

"Will Mr. Hampton be wanting to depart at once?"

Typical of her somewhat nettlesome efficiency, Catherine was busy planning the morning down to the last minute while she and Pen ate breakfast at the table in the chamber they shared.

"I have not spoken to Mr. Hampton since he left us last evening, so I do not know what he intends."

After the awkwardness that had greeted Catherine's return last night, Pen felt some obligation to clarify that she and Julian were not having an affair, nor intending to start one.