Rebecca's Refusal

Chapter Five

Rebecca was reading in the drawing-room. It was the following evening, and she was already dressed for dinner and waiting for Hetty and Charles to come down. Outwardly she was calm. Inwardly it was a different matter. She was under no illusions about Joshua. She knew him to be a stubborn and determined man. There had been a look on his face the day before that had told her he had not accepted her negative answer to his proposal, but she was determined to stand her ground. Marrying Joshua because he had compromised her was unthinkable, she told herself.

Wondering, a moment later, why she had added the phrase because he had compromised her. Marrying Joshua was unthinkable for every reason. Of course it was. Even so, she fervently hoped that she would not find herself alone with him that evening, so that no possibility of a disturbing and intimate conversation could arise. And really, it was hardly likely, she reassured herself. A small family dinner was exactly the sort of occasion that would offer no chance of anything private. Although an evening at Lady Cranston's and an afternoon at Frost Fair should not have offered an opportunity either...

She was rescued from further uncomfortable musings by Hetty bustling into the room.

“Oh, I do hope the food will be hot enough,” said Hetty anxiously. She was every inch the hostess, and was worried about the meal her cook was going to serve. “It is so difficult to stop it going cold on its journey from the kitchen. In summer it is easy, of course, but in the winter... ah well, it cannot be helped.”

“I'm sure it will be perfect,” Rebecca reassured her.

“Well, Mrs Lunn will certainly do her best,” said Hetty dubiously. “But it is Joshua's first meal with us in over a year, and I would so like everything to go well.” Then, drawing her mind away from the problems attendant on having guests for dinner she glanced appreciatively at Rebecca, who was looking most becoming in a white satin gown en saque with a bodice of midnight blue velvet, over which she wore an Indian shawl.

“I am so glad colours have become fashionable again,” said Hetty, her eyes going from the midnight blue of Rebecca's bodice to her own yellow gown. Made of silk, its high waist was ornamented with a gold band, and its sleeves were decorated with gold lace. “Unrelieved white is all very well, but it never suited me, and I am vain enough to be pleased that colours are now the rage.”

At that moment Charles entered the room, rubbing his hands heartily and remarking that the dinner smelled good.

“Oh, do you think so, Charles? I am so pleased.”

“It will be delicious,” said Charles decidedly.

“Now all we need is Joshua,” said Hetty, glancing out of the small-paned window, across which the curtains had not yet been drawn.

“Oh!” she cried vexedly. “It is snowing again. I do hope he will be able to get through.”

She need not have worried. The sound of the front door opening and closing could be heard, followed by Canning's deferential tones, and there was Joshua, looking immaculate in a dark tail coat and pair of pantaloons.

He glanced at Rebecca as he walked into the drawing-room, his eyes warming as he saw her, and Rebecca felt her heart skip a beat. Really, it was most unfortunate, the effect he had on her, she thought. Why could he not leave her unmoved, as every other gentleman of her acquaintance did?

“Good to see you, Joshua,” said Charles. “We were worried you might not get through.”

“It's getting worse,” acknowledged Joshua, glancing out of the window as he took a seat.

“I hope it won't delay you going north?” asked Charles, offering Joshua a whiskey.

“I hope it will,” countered Hetty, turning to Joshua warmly. “Then we will be able to keep you in London for a few more weeks.”

Joshua laughed. “You may have your wish. I certainly can't go at the moment. I've just heard that the roads out of London are impassable. Even the mail has had to be suspended, and if the mail can't get through then nothing else can. But I mean to set out as soon as there is any chance of success. The manager has been left in charge of the mill for some time now, ever since I went abroad, and although I have every faith in him for the short term, I would rather not leave him in charge for too long.”

Charles nodded. “You must be eager to see the mill again, and take the reins into your own hands. There are some sharp practices going on in some of the mills these days, and it's as well to make sure your manager hasn't fallen prey to temptation.”

“I'm concerned about that myself,” said Rebecca. “If there are any unreasonable fines being levied, I hope you will make sure they are removed.”

Joshua's eyebrows raised, as though he had not expected her to be so well informed about what went on in a number of mills, and she had the satisfaction of having surprised him.

“I have had the good fortune to meet and talk to Mr Cobbett,” she explained.

Joshua put down his glass. “Have you indeed. William Cobbett's opinions need treating carefully. He has been imprisoned for libel before now, as I am sure you know —”

“His crime was nothing more than speaking the truth,” said Rebecca.

“As he sees it. But he lives in the past. He wants England to return to the days when labourers worked merrily in the fields. Unfortunately, he forgets that labourers did not always work merrily, and that they were often plagued by poor harvests ... as well as bad backs. Scratching a living from the land can be hazardous: farmers, as well as mill hands, have been known to starve.”

Rebecca sighed. “I know he tends to idealize the countryside and I know that he has a dislike, if not to say a hatred, of the mills, but some of his reasons for that hatred are sound. The way spinners are fined a shilling for leaving their window open, for example, or sixpence for leaving their oil can out of place.”

“I agree.”

“And that is not all,” said Rebecca, who had been so convinced that she would have to argue her case that she did not immediately take in what he had said. “In some mills, men are fined a shilling for whistling. I warn you, I will not countenance...” Her voice tailed away as his words sank in. “You... agree?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yes. I do. Is that so surprising?”

“Yes. No. I don't know.”

“Just like a woman!” laughed Charles. “Three answers in one!”

Joshua smiled, but nevertheless he turned to Rebecca curiously. “Which one is it?”

She frowned. “Grandfather told me you were ruthless...” she began.

“And so I am, in commerce. But not in my dealings with people who depend upon me for their livelihoods. I know what it is to be poor. Your grandfather began life in very difficult circumstances and he told me many stories of those days.”

Rebecca nodded thoughtfully. Her grandfather had told her about the hardships of poverty. “I knew Grandfather would never have allowed such fines, but as I knew he had not taken an active role in the mill for some time I wondered...”

“Whether I would have been a slave-driver?” asked Joshua with a lift of his eyebrows.

“Not a slave-driver,” said Rebecca. “I know that Grandfather would not have left you in charge if you had been that. But a hard taskmaster, perhaps.”

“I am a hard man,” he acknowledged, “but I am not a monster — as I hope you will soon discover.”

His eyes washed over her disturbingly, and she was pleased when Charles spoke.

“It looks like you two have more in common than you thought,” he remarked.

Rebecca nodded. She had wondered, when she had become aware of Joshua's ruthless streak, just how far this would carry him in his running of the mill, and she had been prepared to stand up to him. But she was pleased to learn that, although he undoubtedly had a ruthless streak — and, in business, she knew, a ruthless streak was necessary — it was tempered by fairness.

Joshua, she was learning, was a man she could respect.

“Still, the mill needs to be profitable,” remarked Charles.

“And I mean it to be.” Joshua took his eyes reluctantly away from Rebecca and gave his attention to Charles. “But not at the expense of other people's misery. There is no reason why the mill can't be run in a civilised manner and still show a healthy profit.”

“It's a good thing you two see eye to eye,” said Charles, blissfully unaware of the fact that on everything else they were at daggers drawn. “It doesn't do for partners to be always falling out. It's bad for business. But it seems that my father knew what he was doing when he left you each half of the mill.”

“You don't mind him having left the mill to us?” asked Joshua, looking at Charles.

“Not a bit of it,” said Charles, holding out his hands to warm them in front of the fire. “In fact, I'm glad he did. I've no head for business.”

“Nonsense, Charles,” said Hetty loyally.

Charles smiled. “I'm good enough at managing the property my father left me, but I wouldn't have liked to learn about something new. And besides, the mill is so far north it would have been impossible for me to keep an eye on it. An absent owner is never a good idea. As you say, it provides an opportunity for a corrupt manager to operate undetected. No, I didn't want the mill. It would have been a burden to me.”

The door opened and dinner was announced.

Charles gave Rebecca his arm, and Joshua offered his arm to Hetty.

Rebecca breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness! The custom that did not allow wives and husbands to go in to dinner together had served her well tonight.

They went through into the dining-room, an elegant high-ceilinged apartment decorated in duck-egg blue. White mouldings adorned the walls, and their brightness was echoed by an Adam fireplace, which was decorated by a line of dancing nymphs. In the grate burned a roaring fire.

Hetty indicated their places, and they took their seats at the long mahogany table. A group of candles were lit in the centre, casting their sparkling light over the glass and silverware. It was a most attractive sight.

Hetty looked a little anxious as the soup was brought in, but the first mouthful showed it to be good and hot and Rebecca saw her relax.

Good! thought Rebecca. At least Hetty will be able to enjoy the evening!

“Do you know,” began Charles, once he had taken the edge off his appetite, “I think —”

But whatever Charles had been about to say was lost for ever as there was a sudden crash and something came hurtling through the window, narrowly missing Joshua's head. It passed over his left shoulder and landed with a splash in his soup.

“What. . . ?” asked Rebecca, aghast.

She looked at Joshua, relieved to see he had not been hurt. If the stone — for a stone she could now see it to be — had been an inch to the right it would have struck him forcibly on the back of the head.

Joshua, throwing down his napkin, was already striding over to the window and looking out onto the lamplit street.

“Do you see anything?” asked Rebecca, joining him.

But as she looked out of the window she could see as well as he could that the street was empty.

“No. Nothing.” Joshua's voice was grim.

“Oh! How dreadful!” said Hetty. “Lady Cranston was telling me only last night that her own house had been burgled just before Christmas, and now our house has been attacked. I don't know what is happening to the world these days. It was never like this when I was a girl.”

Behind her, Rebecca heard Charles calling for the footmen as he gathered a party together and went outside in order to search for the miscreants.

And then she felt Joshua put his arm round her shoulder and steer her away from the window. As he did so his arm grazed her skin where, above her long white evening gloves and beneath the short, puffed sleeves of her gown, it was bare. She felt a shiver run up her arm and spread throughout her body. Instinctively she turned to look at him, lips parted, and he, feeling her reaction to his touch, turned towards her, eyes smouldering. There was a look of desire on his face that set her pulses racing. A desire that, alarmingly, was matched by an equally fierce desire of her own.

How had it happened? How had she found herself desiring the most stubborn man she had ever met? The most ruthless and the most perverse? A man who would relegate her to the fireside if she gave him a chance? Who would deny her the right to take an interest in her inheritance? And who, as the final straw, expected her to enter into a loveless marriage for the sake of her reputation? It was of all things the most contrary.

“London grows more dangerous by the day,” sighed Hetty.

Rebecca heard the words through a haze. She could barely hear, let alone think, with Joshua so close by. His presence seemed to be robbing her of an awareness of everything but him; his strongly-moulded features, his mane of hair, his full lips and his penetrating eyes.

With an effort she brought her wandering thoughts back under control.

She could tell that Joshua was making a similar effort. Although his eyes remained locked on hers, he replied to Hetty's remark.

“These things happen,” he said.

He had obviously made an effort to speak lightly, but even so his voice came out huskily. The sound of it made Rebecca feel weak.

Making an effort to control her powerful reactions to Joshua, she wrenched her eyes away from his and fastened them once more on the street outside.

“Do...” She stopped. Her voice was weak and trembling. She tried once more. “Do you think it will happen again?”

This time, her voice came out almost normally, with only the slightest hint of a quaver.

“I hope not,” said Hetty anxiously.

Fortunately, although she had looked at Rebecca sympathetically when Rebecca's voice had trembled, she seemed to think it was nervousness on Rebecca's part because of the stone flying through the window and nothing more.

“But it might,” said Joshua, who was once more in control of himself. Taking care not to touch Rebecca, he guided her back to the table. “I suggest we stay away from the windows,” he said.

Rebecca nodded. It was a wise precaution, under the circumstances.

Joshua turned his attention to the table. Reaching out his hand he took the stone from his half-eaten bowl of soup. The bowl had been cracked by the force of the stone, and soup was seeping out onto the damask cloth.

“Oh, no!” exclaimed Hetty, suddenly noticing what a mess it was making.

She rang the bell, and a minute or two later she began directing the servants, instructing them to sweep up the broken china and glass, for the table was covered in fragments from the broken window.

“The table will have to be completely cleared,” she told the servants as she superintended their activities.

Joshua turned the stone in his hand, feeling the jagged edges.

Rebecca looked at the stone, then took it out of his hand. She shuddered. It was large and heavy, and the edges were extremely sharp.

Joshua reclaimed it. “Better not to dwell on it,” he said. “Come and sit by the fire. You've had a shock.”

“No,” said Rebecca, pulling her shawl more closely around her. “I must see if Hetty needs any help.”

“No, thank you, my dear, the servants have everything well in hand,” said Hetty. “Lay the table in the parlour, if you please,” she instructed the servants. “We will finish our meal in the back of the house. And serve the soup again, if you will. We have hardly had a chance to touch it.”

At that moment Charles walked back into the room.

“Anything?” asked Joshua.

“Nothing,” said Charles, shaking his head. “Whoever it was has long gone. There was no sign of them.”

“I have ordered the table laid in the parlour,” said Hetty, in an effort to restore an atmosphere of normality. She glanced anxiously at the window. “I don't feel comfortable eating here any longer.”

“I think that's a wise precaution,” said Charles. “I don't think well have any further problems tonight, though,” he went on. “Now they know the house is well defended, the miscreants will think twice before attacking it again.”

Rebecca felt her calm returning. It had been an anxious fifteen minutes, but it was over now and no harm done.

Of far greater concern to her was her reaction to Joshua. If he was going to continue to have such a strong effect on her, she hoped he would remove to Manchester as soon as possible. Although even there she would have to see him from time to time, she thought with a shiver, especially as she was determined to take an interest in the mill.

“Come, let's go through to the parlour,” said Hetty. “Fortunately there is a good fire burning there. We will soon be comfortable again.”

The table was soon re-set and before long they had all settled down to their meal once more. This time there were no unfortunate disturbances, and they could enjoy their mulligatawny soup in peace.

But Rebecca's calm was short-lived. Because once they had finished their main course of ham in Madeira sauce and were about to embark on dessert, Charles said jocularly, “You don't have any enemies, do you, Josh?”

“Enemies?” asked Joshua.

Superficially the word came out light-heartedly, but Rebecca detected a note of tension in Joshua's voice. A moment later she asked herself how it was that she was able to catch the subtle nuances in his voice. Usually it was something she could only do with people she knew well, but she seemed to be able to do it with Joshua, despite their short acquaintance.

“No, of course not,” Joshua finished.

Again, the words came out lightly, but again there was an underlying tension to them. For some reason, although Charles had enquired about enemies jovially, Rebecca had the feeling that Joshua's thoughts had been running in the same direction.

“Well, of course Joshua doesn't have any enemies,” said Hetty, looking reprovingly at her husband. “Really, Charles! What a thing to say.”

“Well, it's just that first of all you were almost knocked down by a horse, then you were almost attacked by the rider,” said Charles. He was making an effort to be light-hearted in an effort to dispel the uncomfortable atmosphere that had settled over them after the stone had been thrown through the window, but he was unfortunately not sensitive enough to realize that he was making matters worse. “And then, when you came to us for dinner, a stone flew threw the window, missing your head by inches and landing in your soup!”

“Don't be so ridiculous, Charles,” said Hetty sharply.

Joshua smiled, but Rebecca could see that the smile was strained. He was trying to make light of Charles's remarks, but Rebecca had the disturbing feeling that there may be something in them; that Joshua may be in some kind of danger after all; and her thoughts went to the horse that had nearly ridden him down. Had that been an accident, as she had supposed? Or had there been something more sinister behind it?

She did not know. All the same, she could not help feeling anxious.

“No.” Joshua answered Charles in a bantering style. “I don't have any enemies. But you have no need to worry about your windows. I'll be leaving for Manchester before long and you won't have to worry about any more disturbances with your soup!”

“Well, really,” said Hetty crossly. “Now, Charles, see what you have done. You have made Joshua feel he is not welcome here. You will always be welcome here, Joshua,” she said, turning towards him. “You know that. You must come to dinner whenever you want.”

“Of course I know it,” said Joshua kindly. “Charles was just trying to lighten the situation. And that's the best thing to do with a situation like this; make light of it.” He raised his glass. “Here's to unbreakable windows!” he said.

Charles, too, raised his glass.

Hetty turned to Rebecca despairingly. “I do declare, Rebecca, men are just like children. They never take anything seriously.”

Rebecca attempted to smile, but she was ill at ease. She was convinced that Joshua did, in fact, take the matter seriously. Did he have any enemies? she wondered. The idea seemed ridiculous. And yet... and yet there had been a couple of incidents. Could they really be nothing more than coincidence?

“And now, if you have finished your fruit, we will retire to the drawing-room and leave the gentlemen to their port,” said Hetty to Rebecca. She turned to her husband. “But don't be too long. It seems to me you have taken wine enough already.”

And with this unusually caustic remark she led Rebecca out of the room.

The two ladies retired to the drawing-room, where they discussed the latest novels. They had just agreed that Mrs Radcliffe was their favourite writer, and The Italian — the book that Rebecca was engaged in reading — was one of her best books, when Canning brought a message to Hetty to say that one of the parlour maids was hysterical.

“It's the stone,” explained Canning apologetically. “It's frightened her. Cook's tried to quiet her, and Mrs Yeats, the housekeeper, has had a word with her as well, but after what happened this evening she is convinced the French have finally landed and mean to put an end to us.”

“Oh, dear,” sighed Hetty. “Ah, well, I suppose it's not to be wondered at. There has been so much speculation about a French invasion ever since the war began that one can hardly blame the girl for being frightened. It is that wretched stone! It has unsettled everyone. All right, Canning, I will come at once.”

“Would you like me to come with you?” asked Rebecca.

“No, my dear. She will probably calm down more quickly if I go alone.”

She left the room, and Rebecca turned her attention to a book of engravings. She was not alone for long, however. Before many minutes had passed Joshua entered the room.

To her surprise — and her consternation — Charles was not with him. He was alone.

She felt suddenly awkward. She stood up and walked over to the pianoforte. There, under pretence of looking through some music, she could keep away from Joshua. For if she drew to close to him, she did not know what her feelings might be. Her fear of being alone with him had intensified, but now it was not because she was afraid of him attempting to persuade her to marry him. Now her concerns were more basic. She was afraid that he might touch her, and that if he did so, no matter how innocent the contact might be, she would melt.

Joshua checked on seeing that she was alone.

“Is Hetty not here?” he asked in surprise.

“No.” Rebecca tried not to sound agitated. “She has gone to see to one of the parlour maids, who has become hysterical. And Charles? Is he not coming into the drawing-room for coffee?”

“He is taking a tour of the house. He wants to make sure all the windows and doors are properly locked and bolted. After the disturbance this evening it's as well to be certain everything is secure.”

“Very sensible,” said Rebecca.

There was silence.

Rebecca was aware of Joshua's eyes on her. She wished he would take a seat. Then she too could take a seat — well away from him, at the other side of the room.

As if reading her mind he sat down on one of the gilded sofas. He threw one arm along its back.

Rebecca felt a little more comfortable. Even so, she did not relinquish her place by the piano. Taking any seat would put her too close to him.

He did not speak, and as she continued to occupy herself with the sheets of music she felt his eyes running over her in a way that made her feel hot and flustered. She needed to break the silence, and to voice the questions that were circling in her brain.

“Joshua...”

“Yes?”

His eyes never left hers, and she picked up a sheet of music, holding it in front of her as though it were a shield, and would protect her — although protect her against what, she did not know.

“About the stone,” she said, clutching the music even more tightly.

“What about it?” he asked.

He stood up and went over to her.

She felt the urge to step backwards. There was a look in his eyes that made her feel strangely afraid.

“It's just that...” Her voice tailed away. She was finding it difficult to concentrate with him standing so near.

He looked at her enquiringly; but with an underlying glance that made her feel more vulnerable than ever.

“It's just that several strange things have happened to you recently,” she said.

“The stone was nothing.” His eyes ran over her face and lingered on her lips.

“Perhaps not.” She took a breath to steady herself, and then continued. “But it isn't only the stone. There was the horse.”

“The horse was ridden by a fool.”

“I know. But still... but still.” Her eyes went to his of their own accord. “You will take care, won't you?”

He did not speak at once. Then he said, his voice low and husky, “Why, Rebecca? Does my safety matter to you?” The words hung in the air between them.

“It does matter to you, doesn't it?” he asked, his eyes searching her own. She dropped them. For some reason she could not meet his gaze.

“Of course it does,” she said.

“Why?” he asked again.

“Why?” She swallowed, feeling as though she was in a trap.

“Yes. Why does it matter to you, Becky?”

“My... my grandfather was very fond of you,” she said, her eyes on the floor.

“And you?” he asked.

“I... I would not like anything to happen to you.”

“No?” His voice was huskier than ever.

“No.”

And why did the conversation seem to be so important, when it was about nothing but commonplaces? she asked herself.

“After all, we are partners now,” she said, making an effort to make the conversation seem more normal. But still she did not raise her eyes to his. She was afraid of what she would see there.

“Partners,” he said, his voice low. The word seemed full of hidden meaning. As if sensing it, he added, “In the mill.”

She could feel his eyes on her, but still could not bring herself to look at him.

“But is that all we are?” he asked.

“Yes. Of course.”

“Then why are you backing away from me?” His voice was soft and sultry.

Her eyes went to his own, drawn there by some irresistible force, as if she could read the answer to his question there. Why had she backed away from him? she wondered. She had not realized she had done so. But he was right. She had taken a step back — only to be stopped by the piano. It was pressing into her, hard and uncomfortable. But she did not move forward again. Because if she did it would bring her closer to Joshua.

“Because...” She gulped.

“Yes?” he asked, his head bending towards hers.

She tried to make some sort of reply but her voice caught in her throat and no sound came out.

“Partners don't back away from each other,” he said, reaching out his hand and lifting her chin.

She had no choice but to meet his gaze. It was so direct that she felt she was looking, not into his eyes, but into his soul.

“Lovers, on the other hand...” he said softly.

She felt her heart fluttering against her rib cage.

“We are not lovers,” she said. She tried to sound bold and confident, but her voice came out in a breathless gasp.

“But we could be... when we marry,” he said. “Marriage has pleasures as well as pains, Rebecca,” he breathed, tilting his head towards hers.

“Marriage!” she exclaimed. And suddenly she was free of the spell that had gripped her. “Marriage?” she demanded. Her head was held high and her shoulders were flung back. “So that is what lies behind your behaviour! The desire to seduce me. So that I will agree to marry you!”

“You make it sound like a penance!” he exclaimed angrily, his eyes blazing with copper lights.

“And so it is! To marry a man I don't love, simply because he has some misguided notion about protecting my reputation! It is the worst kind of penance!”

His eyes boiled.

“I have told you before. I will not marry you,” she declared. Her head was thrown back and her chin was high; at that moment she was every inch Jebadiah's grand-daughter.

“What will it take to make you see sense?” he demanded, his eyes burning now instead of boiling. “If anyone else finds out we were alone together in my bedroom at The Nag's Head —”

“But they will not,” she returned. “And even if they do, I will still not marry you. I could never marry for those reasons.” Her eyes blazed. “The idea is unthinkable.”

“Think carefully, Rebecca. This is the last time I will offer you the protection of my name. If you do not accept my hand this time, I will not offer it to you again.”

“Good. Then it will spare me the trouble of refusing it,” she returned. “Nothing on earth would induce me to accept the hand of a man I do not love.”

“And that is your final word on the matter?” he demanded.

“It is.”

“Then there is no more to be said.”

They stood glaring at each other, like two combatants in a duel instead of two guests at a dinner party.

And then came the sound of footsteps approaching the door on the other side.

They glared at each other for one moment more before sanity reasserted itself and they turned away from each other, both of them trying to regain their composure before Hetty or Charles should enter the room.

Rebecca turned to the pianoforte, where once again she busied herself with the sheets of music. Joshua, striding across to the other side of the room, picked up a decanter and poured himself a glass of whiskey. So that by the time Hetty entered the room they seemed to be engaging in commonplace activities.

“Such a fuss!” said Hetty, completely oblivious of the hostile encounter that had just taken place in that very room. “The silly girl was convinced that the French had invaded until I took her to the window and showed her that the streets are empty of soldiers. Ah, well, she has calmed down now.” She looked round, as if noticing for the first time that Charles was missing. “Where is Charles? Don't tell me he's still sitting over his port?”

“Charles has gone on a tour of the house, checking that all the doors and windows are bolted,” explained Joshua.

“Oh, what a good idea!” said Hetty. “We don't want any more disturbances tonight. The sooner the war is over the better things will be for all concerned. It is no wonder there is so much unrest, when so many of the people in the country today cannot remember a time when we were not at war with France.”

Rebecca privately though that Hetty was being unduly optimistic in thinking that the end of the war would mean an end of all other disturbances, but she did not say so.

She was glad when, a few minutes later, Charles entered the room and a normal atmosphere was restored. Fortunately, Charles was in a talkative mood, and she did not have to contribute much to the discussion. After her heated conversation with Joshua she felt it would have been beyond her.

Blast the woman! thought Joshua angrily as, back in his own home, he undressed for bed.

Why did she have to be so stubborn? Why couldn't she have accepted his hand? Why couldn't she have let him offer her the protection of his name? Why couldn't she have allowed him to guard her against the wagging tongues of the gossips? Why couldn't she have seen the sense in what he was suggesting?

It was all very well for her to say that Lacy wouldn't talk. That, he believed, was true. But if Lacy had seen them together, then other people could have seen them, too. And the only way to take the wind out of the gossip's sails was for them to wed.

If you think I am going to marry for the ridiculous reasons you propose... she had said to him.

Ridiculous? To marry for the sake of her reputation?

It was a down-to-earth reason to wed.

And yet even as a part of him railed at her for refusing him, a part of him admired her. She had not been prepared to compromise her principles, not even for the sake of her reputation.

What strength she had! What determination!

“If only she had been a man!” Jeb's words came back to him.

At the time he had not known what Jeb meant. He knew now. But he could not agree. Because he was grateful, with every fibre of his being, that she was a woman.

A smouldering light glowed in his eyes as he remembered the feelings that had coursed through him earlier in the evening. When she had declared that she would not marry him — when, eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed, she had thrown back her head, her every word, her every gesture speaking defiance — then he had felt a surge of admiration flood through him at the sight of her. He had been filled with the wild desire to sweep her off her feet and carry her to the sofa where he had longed to make passionate love to her ....

Oh, yes, he thought, as the image danced before his eyes, he was extremely glad she was a woman. Every inch a woman.

If only she was not such a stubborn one.

He went over to the washstand and threw water over his face and chest.

But one thing was now certain. He must see as little as possible of her. He was powerfully attracted to her, and now that she had refused his hand he must never let himself be carried away again. There could be no repeat of the incident at Lady Cranston's ball. His dealings with Rebecca must be circumspect. He would not compromise Jebadiah's granddaughter in any way.

But it was going to be almost impossible to restrain himself.