She felt him behind her.

"You thought that I would not be harmed."

"If you are now, I will never forgive myself."

He turned her around and gazed in her eyes. He still looked angry, but no longer hard. "All of your life you have done this, Pen, and you must stop it."

"I realize I have not always been a paragon of good judgment, Julian, but you are not being fair. I did not think this little journey would be dangerous. Not yet."

"I do not speak of the danger, or of your judgment over the years, but of how you sacrifice your own security and happiness to protect others. To spare your family, you did not divorce. You even married Glasbury so that others would not be hurt."

The last accusation shocked her. "I did not marry him for that reason."

"Didn't you? Did your mother never explain the large sum that Glasbury gave her? It kept things afloat for several more years when the family finances were a disaster."

"She explained no such thing. She did no such thing. I married him because I was young and stupid. He was an earl, and such things matter to ignorant girls."

"Your mother threw you at him. Even your brothers did not like it."

She had to take deep breaths to contain a spinning indignation. "You are lying. You are"

"I have seen the accounts, Pen. Nor do I think you were completely ignorant."

"What a horrid thing to say. How dare you accuse my mother of of"

She came close to smacking him.

Instead she grabbed a shawl and ran from the room.

She flew down the stairs and out of the inn, mind red with resentment. She strode down the street, impatient to find some privacy where she could curse Julian for impugning her family. Shops and homes blurred past as she mentally put a certain man in his place, and castigated him for such bold and unfair accusations.

She found her way to the churchyard where the village eyes would not see her. She paced out her anger amidst the grave markers and along a little garden's paths.

Slowly the fury abated. A miserable fact kept blunting her righteous denials.

Julian would have seen the accounts. As family solicitor, he would have access to all the financial records, even the ones from when she got engaged to Glasbury.

She sank down on a bench beside a bed of dying plants. Confusion replaced her anger, and sadness her indignation.

A shadow fell on the ground in front of her. Julian had followed her.

She glanced to where he stood at the other end of the bench.

"Mama did speak well of Glasbury. She encouraged the match even before I came out," she admitted. "When I suggested that I would perhaps like to wait until my second season to decide, she said we could not afford that. I knew how much my presentation cost, and my season. She often spoke of my father's impracticality, and how we lived on credit."

"And your duty. I am sure she often spoke of that, too."

"Yes. Often." She looked over at him. "I will admit that I ignored my misgivings because of all that. If what you say is true, about the money, it is not so unusual. She did not know what he was, Julian. She could not have suspected."

"I am sure she did not suspect. It was not your mother's motivations that I spoke of, but yours. Now, once more, you have taken a path to protect others. Your family. Me. It is a sign of your good heart, Pen, but I am very angry. I will decide for myself what I will risk and what cost I will pay."

He reached in his coat and withdrew a stack of folded papers. He set them down on the bench.

"What are those?"

"Your future, if you want it. Bank drafts and letters of introduction. You can go to America, but not destitute. It is all there, even the means of passage."

She opened the documents. The bank drafts and letters were signed by her brothers and her dearest friends. There was more than enough to live comfortably for years. She need only go to Liverpool and sail away to find herself safe, at least for a while. One sheet was a letter from St. John giving her free passage on any of his ships.

She unfolded the final letter.

"What is this, Julian?"

"A letter of transfer."

"Your bank and your account? So much? I do not need it, dear friend. Not with the other"

"That one is not for you, but for me."

His response stunned her.

"I cannot permit this, Julian. I do not need the protection you think to give. I am not helpless in any case, and especially not with these drafts and letters." "It is not your choice to make, but mine." "I truly do not need your protection on the voyage, especially if it is with one of St. John's captains. You must not remove yourself from London for so long, just to see me established in America safely. You would be gone for months."

"Longer, I expect. Unless Glasbury dies."

The calm resolve of his voice delayed her comprehension of what he was saying. The implications of his words astonished her.

He did not intend merely to see her safely to America.

He planned to stay there, too.

"This is foolhardy, Julian. What will you do in America? Their laws may derive from ours, but I doubt

they are the same. Will you become a clerk again, and start over?"

"I will do what I have to do. I will become a fisherman or farmer if necessary."

"You are not being very sensible at all."

"I am being most sensible."

"No, you are not. You are being honorable in the same way that honor leads men to duels. You feel

responsible for me now, because of what has happened. The result is that the ruin I feared you would face here will follow you to America, and be worse there."

"I told you that it is my decision whether to pay the cost."

"We will both pay. Do you think to continue an affair? If I use these letters, everyone will know who I am. I will still be a married woman. We will be seen as adulterers. I doubt that is more acceptable in America than here. Less so, to hear Bianca speak of their mores."

"I am not doing this so that we can continue an affair.You can ignore me on the crossing. You can refuse

to receive me in America. You can never speak to me again."

"I do not want you to do this," she said firmly. It was a lie. Her heart grabbed at the notion that she would not be alone, that he would be there with her.

He did not see her thoughts, but he heard her words. His expression sharpened. His isolating reserve fell like a barrier.

"I am still coming."

"I can take care of myself."

"Normally, I would agree. However, your situation is far from normal, and I will be watching your back now."

His voice was calm. Too steady.

Suddenly she understood.

He was not joining her because of the passion of the last few days, but because of the friendship of many

years. Not because of obligations created in bed, but because of a chivalry learned as a boy.

She gazed down at the letter of transfer in her hand. He was going to throw over his whole life. Walk

away from it.

There was only one reason he would take such a rash, irrevocable step.

"You, too, think he had Cleo killed, don't you?" she said.

"Yes."

"You do not believe I will be safe in America, either. You once said Glasbury could follow me there, and

that is what you think will happen."

"I expect he never forgave the humiliation of your leaving. Also, he wants his heir. Such men always do. I

think he will do whatever is necessary to have one."

Whatever is necessary. Force his countess to return, or find a way to have a new countess.

"When did you conclude he was capable of this, Julian?"

"After I met with him in London."

Before that first kiss, then.

"Julian, I want to ask Mr. Hampton something. Can you be him again, for just a short while? I need his

advice, and I want to know that it will be objective, and the advice he would give any woman in my situation."

"I will do my best, madame."

He smiled as he donned his professional tone. However, that smile gave his eyes a warmth that had her thinking about things she had never thought about with Mr. Hampton.

"Then, tell me, Mr. Hampton: What do you think is my best course of action?"

"I first must know what resolution you seek."

She had to look in her soul, past the confusion of the last weeks, to find the answer.

"I want to stop living like this, being free but not free. I want to never think of him again, nor have to.

And I want to be done with this fear that I have now, that he will harm me or those I care about if he cannot get his way."

"You will have none of that if you go to America."