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and take her in his arms, but instead he walked to the window and looked out at the roses.
    “The man is cruel,” he said. “Every instinct can tell you that.”
    Helena wiped her eyes and smiled at him. “Yes, and I am an abject coward, to use you for protection and force you to be witness to my rejection of his offer. Even Nigel Garthwood did not deserve that humiliation. You really don’t need to marry me, you know.”
    “But I want to. Are you sure of your decision?”
    “If you really mean it, I most gratefully accept your proposal, sir.”
    “Of course. I don’t go back on my word.”
    “Then it would seem that we have agreed to marry each other.”
    He smiled. “If we’re to leave today, you had better pack.”
    Helena stood up. “Captain Acton, I must thank you.”
    He came over to her and took her hands, then lightly kissed her fingers.
    “No, ma’am. It is you who have honored me with your acceptance. Now, let’s send a man for that carriage.”
    * * *
    The chaise was stuffy inside and smelled faintly of fish. Helena leaned back against the red velvet cushions and closed her eyes. There was a thump and the ancient carriage swayed as the hired men strapped on her box. She had brought every one of Edward’s letters, folded and tied with white ribbon, that storehouse of anecdotes and funny stories from the Peninsula—and her first portrait of Captain Richard Acton. Yet she could not bring a maid. All the servants at Trethaerin were local people with family in the village or the surrounding countryside, and none of those fresh-faced girls would make much of a London lady’s maid.
    What had she done? She had just agreed to marry a perfect stranger. What possible reason could he have to go through with a marriage to a woman he had known for only two days? Perhaps he would ravish or abandon her?
    The door to the chaise opened.
    “Good heavens,” Captain Acton said lightly. “It’s like being Jonah in the belly of the whale. I thought I would join you. Bayard will follow tied on behind willingly enough.”
    “Of course.” Helena did her best to match her tone to his. “But never having been on the sea, I can’t say whether Jonah would have felt at home in our distinctly piscine equipage or not.”
    He stepped athletically into the carriage and took the seat opposite her. “You mean to tell me that you spent your life in Cornwall and never ventured out on a boat?”
    “I had a very uninteresting upbringing, Captain.”
    “Yet if the books in your father’s library are anything to go by, you did not lack for mental stimulation.” He smiled as she gave him a surprised look. “Forgive me,” he said. “I nosed around shamelessly while you were packing. Did you read all that stuff?”
    Helena was forced to laugh. “Most of it! There was nothing else on long winter evenings.”
    “Good God!” he said with a grin. “I’m marrying a bluestocking.”
    “I refuse to believe that you haven’t read the classics yourself, sir.”
    “Yet I ran away from school several times, and a knowledge of Ovid and Homer wasn’t in the least use in my later career.”
    At last, the opening she wanted. “Have you always been a soldier?”
    The black eyes surveyed her with considerable amusement. “Like Jonah, fishing? No, I have not, but I have always retained an appreciation for Homer.”
    And he adroitly turned the subject to a discussion of poetry.
    As they traveled into the long summer twilight, Helena discovered that Captain Acton could be an extremely fascinating companion. Little by little, she became more entranced. He was more than widely read—he put her knowledge of literature to shame. They were debating the merits of Lord Byron’s work, when he suddenly leaned forward and rapped on the panel. Instantly the carriage swayed to a halt.
    “Why are we stopping?” Helena asked.
    “Because the sun is setting, dear Miss Trethaerin.”
    He leaped from the coach and held open the door for her. Helena