By the time the sun was setting, James realized he was heartily sick of not talking to Jo. She had stayed quiet while they rode that day, only passing words where it was utterly unavoidable. He hadn't been much better, but as they traveled the back roads to London, he found himself wondering what she was thinking.

Jo's defense of her uncle, when he had a few minutes to cool off and to think of it, sounded... perhaps unnervingly familiar. After all, there was a reason he was in Yorkshire and not enjoying the best that London had to offer, wasn't there? He could almost remember that night outside of White's without flinching. If James was being entirely honest with himself, he wasn't sorry for what he’d done. What had happened the morning after that would stay with him for the rest of his life, he thought grimly.

At some point, Tempest, discontent with being second in a single thing, had surged ahead of James and Gunner, carrying her proud rider past with the erect posture of an unbowed queen. Jo was deliberately not looking at him, and that meant he could look at her at his leisure.

She looked every inch a lady, and James remembered with a slight feeling of guilt that she was a marquess’ daughter. She had pride and breeding to spare, and there was no reason for him to speak to her as he had done.

It seemed that one way or another, there was no way to think about Jo without some kind of heat sneaking in, whether it was anger at her prying questions or the heat of the passion they had felt together in her bedroom at the Waters' residence.

James shifted uneasily. He was known for his licentious behavior in London. He liked women as well as he liked the gambling tables, the races, or the fine alcohol that flowed like water if one only knew where to look. However, there had never been another woman who stirred him like Jo had, brought him to instant lust or instant rage as easily.

He might never forget the incident that brought him to Yorkshire, but he didn't regret it either, not when meeting Jo Sallings was the result.

As the shadows started to lengthen, they came to a small inn at the side of the road. Jo turned to him with a deliberate diffidence, as if she did not want to acknowledge their earlier disagreement or to continue it.

"Shall we stop here? It's no London hotel..."

"But it's far better than sleeping in the woods and getting slugs in our bedding. Quite right."

If she was startled by his easy agreement, she didn't show it, and they went about the business of getting a room. He was startled when she signed them in at the inn's registry as "Mister and Missus Finely," but she shrugged when he asked her about it in the stable.

"It has worked out well enough before, and I suppose aside from some sulking, you make a better than passable husband."

Her words stung a little, but James found himself grinning as he went back to the task of brushing down Gunner and settling him for the night. Neither of them had acknowledged their fault, but they weren't demanding apologies either, and he thought he might be able to live with that.

After dinner, in the dusk, James went out to check on the horses one more time before they bedded down for the evening, and he found a little boy standing on tiptoe to peer into Tempest's stall. When the child heard James’ footsteps on the wood floor, he spun around and looked ready to flee until James nodded at him.

"She's a fine animal, isn't she?"

The boy looked at him suspiciously. James recognized him as the pot boy from the kitchen. "She is, sir. I ain't seen her like before."

"You may not again. She has better blood than most of the nobles in London, all the way from the Orient."

The boy sighed, and James thought he could see dreams of horses like the west wind, blowing along the dunes, come to life in the boy's eyes.

"In the next stall there, that's my Gunner. His blood's not as good, but you think you'd like a ride?"

The boy's face lit up, and in a few moments, James was bridling his patient gelding and leading him into the field behind the inn. He showed the pot boy how to mount a horse bareback, and then, telling the boy to hang on to his waist, took him for a brief canter around the field. When the boy shouted with pleasure, James urged Gunner up to a gallop, and the boy laughed with pure delight.

It wasn't until they both dismounted that James noticed Jo was watching them from the shadows of the barn.

"Go on back to the inn," he said to the boy, never taking his eyes off Jo's form. "I've kept you far too long already."

As he led Gunner back to the stall, Jo followed him and watched as he rubbed the gelding down again.

"I thought you were making up the bed."

"I did, but then you never came back up. I wanted to see if you'd been eaten by an auld goggie."

"What in the world's that?"

"Oh, a monster we're threatened with when we're children. You know, don't go out walking at night or an auld goggie will get you. Did you have anything similar in London?"

"Of course. Press gangs, purse-slitters, cutthroats, muggers..."

"I take your point. Anyway, I wanted to see what you were doing."

"And now you have."

"And now I have. You were kind to that little boy."

"He only wanted to see Tempest up close. He had to settle for me and poor old Gunner."

"Gunner's a fine horse in his own right, and I am sure you know it. I suppose it is only that it is not something that my father would have done. He would have thought a horse as fine as the ones we bred wouldn't be for boys like that."

James frowned. "I'm not sure I agree."

Jo laughed, and James was startled by how the sound refreshed him. They had only been quietly ignoring each other for a few hours, and it felt like an eternity since he had heard that sweet sound.

"I know that I don't. The look on his face was pure joy when you kicked Gunner up into that gallop. I suppose that's much how I looked the first time my father took me up on his big roan, Caesar. I'm glad you did it."

James shrugged. "I'm glad I did, too."

When he closed and latched the stable door, Jo's hand alighted on his. That sizzle of pleasure passed between them again, and from the way that Jo paused, he could tell that she felt it, too.

She shook her head slightly.

"I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry."

"Are you?"

She grinned. "As stubborn as I can be, I do know when to admit that I am wrong, you know. And I was wrong today. However angry I was at you, I shouldn't have pried into your family. I mean, I want to know everything about your family and how you became who you are, but that's hardly important now. I shouldn't have pried, and I am sorry."

James looked at her and saw nothing but sincerity in her eyes. "You're forgiven. And I am sorry for making assumptions about your family. I should have stopped when you started to get angry."

"Good. Shall we put this behind us?"

"If you tell me one thing?"

Jo looked at him warily. "And what is that?"

"Tell me what your uncle's name is? And your father's name?"

He could tell that his request only confused her, but Jo shrugged, eager enough to put this behind them that she didn't feel the need to ask too many questions.

"My uncle's name is Francis William Sallings, and my father's is Marion James Sallings."

James smiled a little.

"Your father's middle name—"

"Is the same as your Christian name, yes. Believe me, I noticed."

She smiled as she said it, looking away a little, and James found it so enchanting he couldn't resist taking her hand as they walked back to the inn.

It was almost normal when they were in the quiet of the room at the rear of the inn, a banked fire on the hearth and a cheery quilt over the bed.

"I suppose it's ridiculous to insist that one of us take the floor near the hearth," she said.

James laughed at her a little and pulled her into his arms. She looked up at him, some tension in her body, but he could sense the same heat in her in that coiled tight at his center. Along with it came the understanding that they couldn't and shouldn't do anything about it at all.

"We could have the fight if you want, but I'm a little tired from not talking to you all day. What if we agree to share the bed, and I promise to be a gentleman if you promise to be a lady?"

"I think we can handle that."

She was dressed only in her shift when she climbed into bed, and James felt a strange sense of calm and quiet fall over him when he came to lie down next to her. There was something perfect about the way that they fit together, something that was incredibly comforting, as if they had done it every day of their lives.

I am not looking forward to losing this, when it ends. He was struck by such a pang of grief that he nearly sat up in bed.

"What's wrong?"

Jo's voice was already muzzy with sleep.

He rested his arm over her hip to calm her. "Nothing, nothing at all, Jo. Go to sleep."

He listened to her sleepy acknowledgment, and after a while, where his thoughts circled around and around, he was finally able to do so as well.

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