But was it so wrong of her? Noblemen had been finding their pleasure and love with the lower classes since...well, since there had been noblemen.

Yet, this little confession of hers was a disturbing reminder that the new, all-grown-up Sunny was an exceptionally sensual creature who was capable of finding an outlet for her energies.

A peculiar queasiness twisted through his gut.

Burning. Intense. Pure jealousy.

He gaped at her and saw, not the lush, sensual, beautiful woman before him but the Sunny who lived in his memories, her slender body dressed in white sprigged muslin, her narrow waist adorned with a bright, cheerful yellow sash. She'd sat by his sickbed and fed him licorices. She had greeted his jests with her soft, musical laugh, and her large green eyes had clung to his adoringly, making him feel that every word he spoke was the most interesting thing she'd ever heard. She had read to him from the Bible, her gentle voice comforting him when he was unable sleep, and her thin, elfin face had contorted with sympathy for his pain. He had placed her on a pedestal within his heart where no other woman, not even his own mother, had ever dwelt.

He had loved her.

Loved her even when she'd made it clear there was no hope.

Oh, his bonny, girlish Sunny! He didn't wish to hear about her lusts for other men. Didn't wish to have his last remaining fantasies of her purity shattered.

"James?"

However, he knew that his wish that she not do anything to further disturb his memories of her purity was neither reasonable nor kind. She seemed to have a strong need to confess her "sins," and no one else she could trust to do so with.

Somehow it had fallen to him to play the role of her protector and her confessor.

He, the man least able to cope with the shattering of her innocence.

Stop being selfish! She needs you. Be what she needs.

He took more deep breaths then focused on what he needed to say. "It's normal for a woman to notice a man," he said, feeling an uneasy tightness in his throat. He didn't want her to notice anyone but him...

What foolish vanity! He'd never before seen himself as a vain man. Or an unreasonable one. Oh, but she had the ability to reveal these unflattering sides to himself.

"I tried not to notice him." Her soft voice sliced into him like sharpened nails. "But then, I could no' be sure I didn't find him too attractive. I worried that I had been too encouraging."

Heat flashed through James' blood, bitter and yellow-green tinged madness. By God, if he hadn't already dismissed the young man for today's betrayal, he would have dismissed him for having been too forward with Sunny.

For Robert must have crossed some line. What else could have triggered her strong reaction to the young valet?

Instantly, the anger turned to himself. For years now, he had commanded men and made impersonal decisions each day. Never had he had an impulse to respond in a punitive fashion towards an underling for such base, personal reasons.

It was unworthy of a gentleman.

Yet the jealousy remained. Smoldering, and making him feel that he couldn't trust his emotions or his thoughts. To say nothing of his reactions.

He just wished to end the conversation.

"I doubt you were too encouraging," he said, hearing the terseness in his voice and being unable to soften it.

She flinched slightly.

He winced inside. He had just failed her, made her ashamed to have spoken of the matter.

Damn.

She moved to the other seat and spent a long time staring out the window at the dark night. He fancied he could feel the intensity of her thoughts and emotions crackling on the air.

And the whole time, he kept struggling with the urge to go to her. To grab her and kiss her breathless. To drive from her mind any and all thoughts of handsome footmen, valets and coachmen and any other type of man living on this earth.

Sunny left off chewing the tough mutton in favor of bolting it, but the tallow hung in her throat, thick and sticky. An urge to gag overwhelmed her. She grabbed her glass, lifted it to her lips and gulped the somewhat bitter wine, frantic to wash the stew down.

When she lowered her empty glass, the rancid back taste remained. She suppressed a grimace and glanced up at James.

He had eaten methodically, seeming not to notice how dreadful the stew and wine were. Maybe having been so many years in the Navy, he was accustomed to horrid food. Sunny was not. Even with her stomach still achingly empty, she put down her glass.

He didn't notice. His gaze was distant, his expression stony.

So he had been since she had confessed her bad behavior with Robert. She didn't know if he were disappointed in her for the lapse with the valet, or if he were irritated with her for bringing the matter up at all.

He was an important man. He had spent years as a commander of a fleet of ships-of-the-line during wartime. Now he was a Scottish baron. Soon to be an English earl. Her pathetic problems must seem insignificant to him. The enforced leisure of traveling by carriage, enduring miles and miles of sitting with nothing to do, must also be a hardship.

She hadn't been able to make him care enough for her to take Dr. Meeker's place. Not completely.

Hopelessness settled into her stomach, increasing the ache there. She put her hand over it, rubbing gently. She glanced down at the wood trencher, at the congealing stew. Queasiness twisted through her and she jerked her gaze away.

James exhaled deeply, drawing her attention. "I am sorry, they usually do much better here." He frowned. "Or perhaps my taste was too much dulled by food at sea." He compressed his lips. "I should have been more sensitive to your needs. I am sorry. I am unaccustomed to the needs of ladies."

The needs of ladies. Ladies! Why did he insist on seeing her that way? She had needs, real needs, but they weren't those of a lady.

His frown deepened. "Sunny, are you all right? You look a bit peaked."

She rolled one shoulder. "It's late. I just need sleep."

He considered her a moment, his expression softening for the first time in hours. "Could you eat something else? Pie?"

The thick sickness of the tallow returned to her throat. Or was it dryness? Her stomach lurched and bitter acid rose in her throat. She swallowed it back and shook her head.

"You must have something. We didn't eat all day."

She shook her head more firmly.

His dark brows drew together and he reached behind him and rang for the maid.

"I really just wish to find my bed now." And to pull the covers over her head.

"You need something in your stomach first." He nodded at her empty glass. "Else all that wine you drank will make you ill."

A knock sounded at the door of their private dining chamber. James called for the maid to enter. But this time it was not the maid.

It was the rather handsome young man who had seen to their baggage earlier. His ginger-blond hair gleamed in the candlelight. His bulky homespun coat and trousers couldn't disguise a tall and lean-muscled form.

At a brush on her shoulder, Sunny looked up.

James took the edges of her pelisse and jerked them closed. Then he sat back in his seat.

Sunny jerked her gaze down to the trencher and listened to James order a cup of coffee and a bowl of oat porridge with milk and honey.

Her heart hammered like thunder against her rib cage. She had forgotten. How could she possibly have forgotten that underneath her pelisse, she wore only the shift that Mrs. Tibbs had stripped her down to at Blayne House?

Dr. Meeker had warned that her inner wickedness would lead to "slips" like this. But it was no slip.

She was a temptress of the worst sort.

"Take this nauseating mess away," James said tersely.

"Of course, sir." The young man came close and began lifting the trenchers. He had apparently forgotten to don his gloves. Perhaps he'd been mucking it out in the stables? Or getting ready for his bed when he'd been called to serve them. His large hands were tanned, with rustic looking knuckles. The backs sprinkled with pale reddish hairs. Very masculine hands.

Sunny closed her eyes tightly, wishing she had not noticed.

A loud slam sounded, echoing in her chest. Making her heart race harder. She opened her eyes.

The trencher lay on its side. Yellow tallow, waxy potatoes and grayish chunks of mutton were strewn all over the tabletop, broth soaking the cloth. The young man gasped. A sound of self-chastisement.

James' muffled, aborted curse made her glance up, alarm tingling through her belly to her toes.

He was scowling at the spilled stew.

"I'll have this tidied up right away, sir-"

James jerked his head up and glared at the young man.

Such a glare!

Sunny jumped, pressing against her chair back.

"Never mind." James stood and reached into his pocket and threw a handful of coins on the table. They landed in the midst of the spilled stew. "Just bring the coffee and porridge to our chamber."

Sunny dropped her attention to her lap, but she could still feel James' stare burning into her. Could picture him, compressing his lips with disapproval.

"My wife-" he said the words with such deliberate intention. "-is not feeling well."

"Yes, sir-my lord, right away." The young servant hurried from the chamber.

Yes, they were traveling as Mr. and Mrs. Cooper. She had forgotten and hearing herself referred to by James as his wife was quite disconcerting.

The door to the chamber closed and she dared raise her gaze. With an expression like granite, he offered her his hand.

Sunny stood at the washstand, taking another swipe at her hair with her silver-backed brush. Her belly full of porridge and milk, she was feeling better by the moment. A small dose of laudanum in tea eased her even more. At the rhythmic strokes to her scalp, a pleasant sleepiness had begun to lull away her earlier tension. Her eyelids became heavy.

She only wished James' mood would lighten. In the reflection of the looking glass, she saw him sitting in a rustic wood chair by the fire, sipping his coffee and glowering into the flames.

All right. She must admit it. He frightened her tonight.

He had always seemed so even in his temperment. Serious, grim at times, but calm. Black moods were unlike him.

Now she could sense the emotions within him, simmering like a storm brewing on the horizon.

Peculiar tingling raced through her belly. She set the brush on the washstand then went to the bed, pulled back the coverlet and crawled halfway under the covers, but remained sitting to braid her hair.

"Sunny, we must talk."

She went still, all her sleepiness washed away by sudden alarm. That peculiar tingling became outright chills. Did he wish to chastise her over her shameful behavior with the ginger-haired young man?

"I was tired."

It was the best defense she could muster.

James' expression hardened with a fierce frown. "What?"

"In the dining chamber. I was tired. I forgot I was only wearing my shift under my wrap. When the young man stared at me so intently, I was-"

James held up a forestalling hand, his expression so fierce that her tongue froze and her heart's beat raced away.

She gulped and lowered her gaze to the coverlet. It was dark green, with a faded gold braid that was a bit tattered.

"That was nothing, Sunny. A minor oversight on both our parts. Put it from your mind."

How confident he could sound. How reassuring. She could almost believe the incident downstairs was nothing to worry over.

She picked up her tresses to braid them. But her hands began to slip. "I wish to discuss a matter with you. It is serious and I wish to have your full attention." His tone held a slightly censuring note.

She dropped the half-finished braid. "Yes?"

"This business Dr. Meeker told you about needing to-" His mouth twisted. "-fix you. About you needing to be under the authority of some man. It's not true."

"Yes, you said this in the carriage."

"So, you were actually listening?"

"Yes," she said with a gasping rush of breath. Why must he press her like this?

"Well, let's discuss it again. And again, until you really hear it with your whole being. You are a widow of means."

She caught her breath. The way he said that. It made her a little afraid for there was something there, a distance in his voice. As though he were trying to distance himself from her. Perhaps he was. Suddenly, she felt more tired than ever.

"You'll always have a home with the Blaynes. Eventually, your investments will grow and you'll have a measure of financial independence."

"You said that will take years and years."