However, he couldn't deny it. After all these years. After all the women and war and denial he'd put between them, she still possessed the ability to strip away all his self-control and reveal the passionate, primal man beneath.

That's not her fault. You can't resent her for that.

But he did resent her for it. How unfair of him. How selfish. And he also resented being shown how selfish he was. It gave him a most unpleasant sinking sensation right in the pit of his belly.

He raked his hands through his unkempt hair. Then he picked up the linen towel, rubbing his fingers over the coarse nap before vigorously drying his face with it. A strong smell of soap made him wrinkle his nose. He tossed the towel to the washstand. Pray God the towels were kept in a better state than the mattresses. Preferably boiled when they were washed. What had happened to the quality of this inn? The thought brought another wave of that sinking sensation in his stomach. He'd been wrong to distrust Sunny about the state of that bed. She went to extreme lengths to be forthright.

Forthright about things she shouldn't take blame for and shouldn't tell others. He blamed her parents for having instilled that need to confess within her. She held herself to such high standards, no flesh-and-blood woman could ever live up to them.

Yet, hadn't he tried to hold her to such standards?

Aye, and would she take on all the blame for the night before?

But she hadn't been forthright about everything, had she? What was this business of her still being a virgin?

Without another thought, he went to the other chamber. She slept, curled on her side with her hair a glorious spill of golden brown over the pillowslip. His gaze followed the curve of her bare shoulder, the creamy tops of her generous breasts and the broad, round shape of her arse beneath the sheet.

His cock stirred. He grasped himself and gave his unruly erection a chastening squeeze.

No, no, old boy, that's all over.

He was determined to enact a new, firmer measure of control over himself. Yes, he'd made her that rash promise last night about finishing the deed. But no woman could ever expect to hold a man to a drunken promise, could she?

She looked so innocent in sleep. Virginal.

Yes, virginal still. Just barely. Last night, it had taken everything inside himself to pull back from her, to resist the urge to press forward and break the fragile barrier of her maidenhead. At the memory of her wet, hot flesh against his, his erection jerked and fluid leaked from the crown. He winched with the aching desire. What was all this business of her affaire with the Sassenach footman? He longed to ask her, but this morning wasn't the time for what promised to be a longand possibly emotional-discussion.

They would have plenty of time for her to enlighten him once they reached the grange. In fact, he didn't trust himself to spend too long with her this morning. The memories of last night were too strong. And his head was just now beginning to pound. He wasn't accustomed to drinking to excess any longer.

He wouldn't allow himself such a lapse again.

He quickly found his clothes and put them on. Then he went to the bed, sat beside her and caressed her arm with a light touch.

"Sunny?"

Her eyes fluttered open slowly.

"James," she said, sleepily.

"Good morning."

A slow smile brightened her face.

Lust slammed through his cock. He caught his breath. She was so damned lovely. Blood rushed into his burgeoning erection, lengthening it. He released his breath slowly and forced himself to refocus on what he wanted to tell her.

"I must see to the details of our journey today," he said. "But you will not be alone. Robert will be here to attend to your needs."

A shadow seemed to cross her face. Anxiety.

He touched her hand. "Will you be that uncomfortable alone?"

She frowned.

He caressed his thumb over her palm. Her skin was soft, warm, velvety. His attention fell once more to the swelling of her bosom above the sheet. His cock jerked and a small surge of seed leaked from the crown. He didn't want to leave her. He wanted to crawl under the coverlet and draw her close and touch those beautiful breasts. To stroke every inch of that wonderfully youthful flesh. His erection had grown rock-hard, pressing insistently against his fall.

"At Blayne House, I wouldn't ever be left alone in the company of a manservant."

Her softly spoken words pulled him out of his lustful haze. He jerked his gaze back to her face. Powerful emotion was stamped into her expression. Fear of herself.

She'd had such desire for an unsuitable man that it now frightened her. She was afraid she would desire a man like that again. A man other than James.

Something new burned in his blood. Not lust. Jealousy.

How unworthy of him. He forced it down. Forced his expression to be calm. "Don't you think all that worry on the part of Aunt Frances is a bit foolish?"

"She's not the only one who worries." Her voice was sad.

"I trust you, Sunny. I trust you not to cause me any difficulties during our journey."

Her eyes widened and her gaze clung to his, as though he were her only means of safety in a whirlwind. "You trust me?"

She sounded so desperate to believe him. She needed someone to believe in her. To trust her.

He'd never been needed by any woman in this emotional manner.

He hadn't expected this. None of this. He took a deep breath. Forced a more pleasant expression and gave her hand a squeeze. "Of course I trust you."

What would he do if she proved unworthy of that trust?

He could feel that distasteful jealousy, bitter and hot, at a low hum in his blood, like bubbles under the surface of the water in a kettle, just waiting to break into a boil. It had quite begun to overtake his lust. How would he manage to control the extremely powerful emotions she could evoke? To hide his inner turmoil, he smiled. "Are you going to be all right, here alone with Robert?"

She flashed him a smile. "I will no' be trouble. At least no' more than I can help."

Her eyes and expression bore a definite flirtatious demeanor. Her intentional exaggeration of her brogue warmed him. She exuded sensuality. What was it? The glint in her eyes? The glow of her skin? The way she posed her body? It was all of that.

Lust resurged within him, sending blood rushing back into his cock. Even so, her words echoed in his mind.

At least no' more than I can help.

What the devil did that mean?

Was she flirting with him? Or was she picking a soft way to warn him that she couldn't promise to control herself. Was that fear valid? Or was it something Meeker had convinced her was true?

He couldn't marry a woman who could not control herself. He had a duty to his family, to his position. He simply couldn't risk making an unsuitable woman his baroness. His countess.

His smile felt frozen to stone. They stared at each other for a few moments. He longed. Burned to ask her all about that business of the English footman and how she could still be a virgin.

Yet, he didn't think he could bear to hear the details just now. As it was, he was having trouble managing the burning, bitter jealousy. The hot, insistent lust. The twin emotions urged him to take her by the shoulders and press her down upon the bed. Pin her there, strip the sheet away and put his knee between her legs and...He closed off the thought. Uneasiness wound through him. It had been years since he had experienced any sort of distrust of his own emotions, his own reason.

She licked her lips. "I am so thirsty."

Her eyes remained haunted, despite her smile.

With an ever increasing sense of unease tightening the muscles of his stomach, he arose and found the pitcher and poured a glass of water, took a deep drink then refilled the glass and brought it to her.

Whilst she drank, he couldn't keep his mind off of the taste of her mouth. He wanted to kiss her, deeply, to take his fill.

He could not.

And that brought him to the very thing he must discuss with her. She had drained the glass. He took it from her and placed it on the night table.

Her smile was pure sunshine, all small white teeth and full rose-red lips. Bright green eyes. She rose to a sitting position, her hair spilling over her shoulders, her full breasts bouncing with their nipples just barely covered by the sheet that she held to herself.

Beautiful. The most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

His unruly cock began to lengthen and harden all over again. He was aching. God, he'd been in a constant state of aching desire since he'd seen her in the garden at Blayne House.

He took her hand. "Sunny, I am so sorry about last night."

Her mouth dropped open, giving him the instant urge to swoop down and cover it with his own, to thrust his tongue against hers again and again until they were both breathless with need.

He compressed his lips a moment, struggling for composure. "I made a mistake and the blame is all mine."

Sunny looked into James' blue eyes. How grave he looked. As though someone had died. A cold weight settled into the pit of her stomach. She began to wish that she hadn't gulped down all that water.

"Is there any blame between us?" she asked, hearing the sadness in her voice. Yes, she'd done some shameless things over the past few years. But last night hadn't felt like one of them. It had felt strangely right.

"I should never have taken advantage of you." Remorse sounded in his tone.

She gaped at him. "Advantage of me?"

"Of your state."

She winched. "You mean my state as a-a lightskirt?"

"Good God, no." He frowned. "No."

She winced again.

His expression eased. "I meant the laudanum. Surely it affects your judgment."

Relief washed over her like a spray of cool water on the hottest day in June. The tension melted from her body and she couldn't help a slight smile. "I took only a small dose of laudanum last night." She held up her thumb and forefinger. "Very small."

She was aware that she fluttered her lashes. Aware that her smile had widened. It was so easy to play the flirt with him. Too easy. She did it without thinking. He kept making her feel that it was all right to be her natural self.

And she was at heart a flirt. But maybe with James, it would be all right to relax her guard? To let go?

He didn't return her smile.

All the exuberance within her chilled. Her smile died. She suddenly felt she ought to apologize for having been too much...too much what?

Too much herself.

A weight settled into her chest. She bit her lip and searched for the best way to express herself. "I am sorry."

He scowled. "For what?"

"For-for overstepping. For assuming-"

"Stop." He held up a hand.

"I am just trying to apologize for-"

"Sunny, you've done nothing you need to apologize for."

"Then why would you deny us this chance to be together?"

"You are still recovering from all that has happened to you," he said, gravely.

"I suppose I am."

He nodded, his eyes so full of sorrow. Regret.

"Oh no, please do no' do this."

"Don't do what?"

"Don't think me that fragile. I need-"

"You need time."

He didn't understand.

Oh, no, not at all.

This was a chance for her to make a decision, all on her own.

Even the decision to be Silas Chapman's lover had been forced on her by limited opportunities.

But now, for the first time in her life, she was choosing from a position of true desire.

She chose James.

But how to make him understand without injuring his male pride, his need to be the pursuer?

"Yes, I do need time to sort myself out. But James, should I stop drinking and eating and sleeping whilst I do?"

"This is different. And you'll blame yourself. You'll call yourself wicked. I know that if I...if we-" he closed his eyes. His expression looked oddly pained and he took a long, deep breath. "-you will blame yourself."