PHILIP WAS STILL NOT entirely sure as to why exactly he’d told everyone that Miss Compton was his wife.

Not true.

He glanced at her while he turned the page of Pride and Prejudice and decided her gorgeous blue eyes must be to blame. Either those or her kissable lips. He’d noticed both almost as soon as he’d seen her, for they were the features of a goddess, not of a mortal woman.

Or perhaps it had something to do with the gleaming copper locks he’d glimpsed beneath the brim of her bonnet. He tried to focus on the reading. “‘Within a short walk of Longbourn lived a family with whom the Bennets were particularly intimate.’” Mostly, he decided while the words continued to flow from his mouth, it was because of Mr. Smith’s sudden interest in her. As soon as he’d realized another might swoop in and snatch Miss Compton away, Philip had said the only thing that would force the other man to retreat.

And she hadn’t called his bluff.

Almost. But not quite. Which had to mean that in spite of refusing to accept his help with her valise and proving further disinterest in him by reluctantly giving her name, she must be warming to him. Mustn’t she?

He certainly hoped so, for he had already decided that he rather liked her. Not just because she was stunning to look at or because he enjoyed the spark of irritation that flashed in her eyes each time he provoked her, but because she’d thanked him. Even though there had been no doubt in his mind that she’d rather hit him over the head with her valise, though the reason for this still puzzled him, she’d been polite.

In Philip’s estimation, this said a lot about her character. The way people were treated mattered to her, which was something that mattered to him. Whether or not that would lead to an attachment was unclear. For now, he was simply enjoying the game, the woman presently nestled against his side, the chance she might be enjoying it too, and the absolute certainty that she, unlike his wife, would never hurt him with words.

“Are we almost at the Falcon’s Talon?” Mr. Smith asked, interrupting Philip’s reading with an obnoxious yawn.

“I do not know,” Miss Compton said. She leaned forward to look out the window. “It does appear as though dusk is setting in, so I’m sure we must be there soon.”

“In another quarter of an hour, I suspect,” one of the old women said. “How many times have we stopped since London?’

Philip knew the answer to that. “Six.” Unlike the rest of the group, he hadn’t slept, remaining awake each time the carriage had stopped for a new set of horses. The hostlers had been extremely efficient, taking an average of only three minutes to switch out the team.

“Then I am right,” the older woman said. “We are almost there.”

“Will you be spending the night or continuing on your way?” Mr. Smith inquired.

Instinctively, Philip reached for Miss Compton’s hand, because the question had been inappropriately asked of her. To his relief and pleasure, she allowed the gesture without pulling away. It looked natural. To the rest of the group, there was no reason at all to suspect that they weren’t really married.

“Yes,” she said. “I need a reprieve from the carriage and a proper night’s sleep before setting out again.”

“That is what we always like to do too,” one of the old women said. “The alternative is far too exhausting.”

Philip agreed, but staying overnight at an inn would give him and Miss Compton a bit of a problem. It was one he hadn’t really considered until now. But the option would soon be to tell these people the truth, which was out of the question since Mr. Smith’s interest in Miss Compton had not yet waned completely, or do what a newly married couple was expected to do, and share a room.

For now, he decided to keep silent on the matter and simply focus on helping his ‘wife’ when they arrived at the Falcon’s Talon. He stepped down from the carriage before her and offered his hand so she could alight, assisted her with her luggage, and escorted her inside the inn. When Mr. Smith followed close on their heels, Philip knew there was only one option. He could not admit to the truth and leave Miss Compton without his protection.

“Will you be requiring rooms for the night?” the innkeeper asked when he saw their small group arrive. He looked at each of them in turn before saying, “We’ve only two available.”

“We can easily share,” one of the old women said. She addressed the young girl next. “And you are welcome to stay with us if you don’t mind our age.”

“Not at all. You’re very kind to offer,” the girl replied.

“I can have a bench brought up to the room for her with some cushions for comfort,” the innkeeper said, “but that still leaves three of you without beds.”

“We’re married,” Philip said, quickly cutting off whatever Miss Compton was starting to say. He pulled her closer to his side and became aware of how stiff she now was. Most likely because he was taking charge, but surely she had to know he was only looking out for her best interests.

“In that case, there should be a spot for you in the hayloft,” the innkeeper told Mr. Smith. “If you don’t mind.”

Mr. Smith snorted. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve slept there. I’m just glad for the chance to get some proper rest.”

“Excellent.” The innkeeper grabbed a couple of keys. “Right this way.”

Releasing Miss Compton, Philip picked up both of their bags.

“For a moment there I thought you were having me on,” Mr. Smith remarked. “That you were only pretending to be married so I wouldn’t bother Miss Compton anymore.” He grinned and rocked back on his heels. “You’re a lucky man, Mr. Dalton. Very lucky indeed.”

“That I am,” Philip agreed before urging Miss Compton to follow the innkeeper.

She remained completely silent until they were in their room and the door was securely shut behind them. At which point she turned toward him with annoyance flickering in her eyes. “You go too far,” she told him crisply. “I cannot possibly remain here with you for the night.”

“Would you rather take your chances with Mr. Smith or one of the other men staying here?” he asked her calmly.

“I am an unmarried woman, Mr. Dalton. What we are doing is so far removed from what is proper, I lack the ability to describe it.”

“If it is scandal you fear, you may rest assured that no one is going to discover the truth.”

“But I will know, and...” She glanced at the bed and clenched her jaw with visible discomfort.

Ah. So that was the crux of the matter. “You need not worry. I shall sleep in the chair over there, and you may have the bed. Your virtue will not be threatened in any way. At least not by me.”

She scowled at him and placed her fists on her hips. “I do not know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.”

“Women.” He shook his head. “You want us to keep our distance, and yet you condemn us when we don’t show enough interest.”

Her eyes sharpened. “You speak as though from experience.”

He blew out a breath. “My wife—”

“Your wife?” Her eyes were now wide with horror. “Are you telling me that you’re already married?”

“Was.” He set his valise by the wall and placed hers at the foot of the bed. “She’s been dead these past ten years.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.”

He winced. “She wanted more from life than I was able to give her and...eventually that got her killed.” Scrubbing his hand across his face, he considered Miss Compton, whose expression had turned far too serious. “Are you hungry?”

“A little.”

He smiled. “Shall we go down to the dining room then?”

She nodded, removed her cloak and her bonnet, and went to the door. Pausing there, she turned to him, hesitated briefly, and said, “My given name is Leonora. I thought you should probably know that if we are to pull this scheme off.”

Leonora.

It was a lovely name, one that suited her tremendously. It made him want to bow his head and kiss her, right on her rose-colored lips, but seeing her hair completely uncovered and being made aware of what she looked like beneath her voluminous cloak made movement impossible. He stood as if frozen, just staring at her copper tresses and admiring the way they shimmered in the light from a nearby oil lamp. And then she was out the door and heading for the staircase.

Philip forced himself into motion, removing his greatcoat and hanging it on a peg before following her down the stairs. Catching up to her in the foyer, he offered his arm and felt warmth seep under his skin the moment she accepted.

“What tempts you?” he asked as soon as they were seated.

She coughed. “I beg your pardon?”

Realizing her wayward thoughts, he grinned and pointed toward the chalkboard hanging over the bar counter. “For dinner?”

“Oh.” Her cheeks turned a charming shade of pink. She cleared her throat. “I believe I’ll have the chicken soup.”

“And to drink?”

“How much do you suppose they charge for their wine?”

He smiled at her warmly. “You mustn’t worry about that as long as we’re married. Whatever you like is on me.”

“I couldn’t possibly accept your—”

“Please, Leonora. It would be my pleasure.”

Her blush deepened and she averted her gaze. “But it would be wrong when I don’t even like you.”

The words were so softly spoken he almost missed them. “Are you sure about that?” Because while he was certain it might have been true that morning, he believed her opinion of him had changed during the course of their journey.

She turned her gaze toward him, her eyes conveying both doubt and hope. “I saw you speaking with Mr. Becker before we left London, and I just...I cannot believe that a friend of his, or even an acquaintance, would be the sort of person with whom I would wish to associate.”

Philip frowned. “Forgive me, but are you referring to the stout man with the silver tipped cane with whom I exchanged a few words right before you arrived?” She nodded and Philip blew out a breath. “I never met him before, but apparently he recognized me and was eager to chat.”

“Why...why would he recognize you if you did not know him?”

A waitress arrived before Philip could answer and he quickly placed their orders. When they were once again alone, he said, “I own The Gentleman’s Emporium.”

Leonora gaped at him as if he’d just sprouted carrots from his ears. “The fancy shop on Bond Street?”

“There’s another on Piccadilly, and we’ll soon be opening a new branch on The Strand, but yes, that is the one.”

She slumped back against her chair, her eyes slightly dazed. It almost looked as though she’d taken a hit to her head. “Then you must be...” Her words faded as if she was having some trouble thinking clearly. “Why on earth would you choose to travel by stagecoach when you must surely be able to afford your own carriage?”

The edge of his mouth twitched. “I can afford a lot of things. That does not mean it is wise of me to invest in all of them.” He shrugged. “I see no point in spending money on a carriage and horses, on stables and grooms and coachmen, when I can just as easily travel the same way as everyone else.”

“I see.”

“Do you really?

“Honestly?” She looked slightly lost, which lent an adorable appearance to her expression. “I’m not entirely sure.”

He nodded. “You are honest, direct, and polite, Leonora, which are all admirable qualities.”

The food arrived along with their drinks, and Philip raised his wine glass for a toast. “To our ongoing adventure.”

She bit her lip. “I owe you an apology, Mr. Dalton.”

“Philip,” he amended, not because it was strange for a wife to address her husband as she had just done but because he longed to hear her say it.

“Very well, Philip.” The sweetness of her voice was almost poetic. “I must ask your forgiveness, for I fear I misjudged you entirely. It was badly done and—”

“Completely forgotten as long as you answer my toast by drinking some wine.”

She smiled and took a quick sip. “Oh. That is rather good.” She allowed herself to take another swallow while he watched, his stomach tightening at the sight of her lips pressing softly against the rim of the glass. Lord give him strength. “In all honesty, however, I allowed myself to draw some unfair conclusions about you, for which I am truly sorry.”

Sensing she would not let this matter rest until he said what she needed to hear, he reached across the table and placed his hand over hers. An immediate charge went through him, leaving sparks of desire in its wake. She wasn't wearing gloves and neither was he, and by god, he should have known better than to touch her like this.

Forcing himself to meet her gaze, he immediately noticed her dilated pupils, like two north stars guiding him to her. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry even though he’d just had the wine. “You mustn’t worry about that anymore,” he somehow managed to say. “I accept your apology. Now eat your soup before it goes cold.”

She did as he suggested, and he gave his attention to his own soup. They ate in silence, which was yet another thing he appreciated about her. She did not seem to require constant conversation and yet the lack of it wasn’t uncomfortable. Quite the contrary.

“Would you like some cake for dessert?” he asked when they were both done eating. “Perhaps some tea to go with it?”

“I do not wish to impose.”

“I know, but as I have already told you, I am happy to indulge you.” He deliberately smiled. “Besides, I have a penchant for sweet things myself.”

Her eyes flashed with amusement. “In that case, I do believe I am the one who will be indulging you.”

Somehow, her words encouraged the wickedest notions to manifest in his brain. A flare of heat followed as every muscle in his body grew tight. “If only,” he murmured, too low for her to hear. Perhaps this idea of his to pretend they were married had been unwise. He was a man, after all, about to spend the night with the loveliest woman he’d ever met – a woman he longed to kiss...touch...undress...

He raised his hand to call a waitress while acknowledging the danger he’d placed her in when he’d only wanted to keep her safe. But could he resist her until they arrived in Sheffield?

You bloody well have to or you’re no better than Mr. Smith.

Perhaps he was worse. Perhaps he ought to make an excuse, pretend they’d quarreled, and remain in the dining room for the night. But when they finished their cakes a while later and the time came for them to retire, he could not make himself walk away.

Scoundrel.

Perhaps, but not necessarily. Not as long as he slept in the chair.

#

“I’VE BEEN THINKING,” Leonora started as soon as they were back in their room. “It wouldn’t be right to make you sleep in the chair.”

“You’re not making me do anything,” Philip pointed out. “I am choosing to sleep there because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Yes. I know. But isn’t the point of an overnight stay to get some decent rest? Otherwise you might as well have continued on your way in the coach.”

“Not unless you came with me.” He met her gaze directly, the heat of it burning straight through her. She swallowed, still slightly undone by how gorgeous he looked without his greatcoat. The jacket he wore was perfectly tailored, lying flat against his chest, while his trousers were tapered in a way that accentuated the length and strength of his legs. “What sort of man would I be if I went on without my wife? And you need to sleep in a proper bed, so you can be ready to travel again in the morning.”

Leonora sighed. “I feel as though I’ve been a tremendous inconvenience for you already.”

“Not at all. Either way, you would have gotten this room even if you had stayed in it by yourself. I would have been in the hayloft with Mr. Smith, and frankly, I’d rather make do with the chair.”

“But...” Leonora bit her lip. So far he’d proven to be a gentleman, a fun and adventurous one too – one refusing to take advantage of her even though he had placed himself in the perfect position to do precisely that. “I see no reason why we cannot share the bed.”

He stared at her. “What?”

She pointed toward the piece of furniture. “You can sleep on top of the blanket if you like, while I sleep underneath.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why? It is not as though we would be any closer to each other than we were in the coach.”

“That is not the point, Miss Compton.”

She frowned. “Are we reverting back to formality now?”

“I think it might be best.”

“Because I suggested we share the bed?”

His nostrils flared and his fingers curled inward, balling into a pair of fists. “Yes.”

Leonora held his gaze before turning away with a shrug. “Suit yourself then, but don’t complain in the morning when your limbs are too stiff and achy to move.”

He responded with a snort which she decided to ignore. He was just trying to be considerate, even though she felt he was being entirely too stubborn about the whole thing. Not to mention... She grabbed her valise and placed it on the bed so she could open it. A part of her wanted him close. Tomorrow when they reached Sheffield, they’d go their separate ways and possibly never meet again. Was it so terrible of her to want to sleep with his arm around her once more, to hope he might show her what kissing was like?

Frustrated, she searched for her comb and her toothbrush and powder. Locating all the items, she turned to determine where best to use them and saw that Philip was now crouched in front of the fireplace, where embers were starting to catch on a piece of wood. A flame grew and then another, dancing lithely against the bricks behind them.

Leonora paused to watch, liking the domestic element about him. For a man with a fortune, he had a remarkable way of being ordinary.

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “The room should warm up in no time now. It will make it easier for you to get ready for bed.”

Her comfort, first and foremost.

Deciding not to argue, she thanked him instead, sat down on the edge of the bed, and started unpinning her hair. One lock fell down her back, followed swiftly by another and then by a third as the pins came loose. She shook her head slightly and reached for her comb, clasping it just as she heard Philip suck in a breath.

She glanced toward him and stilled. He’d risen without her realizing and was presently staring straight at her as if in a daze. Slowly, he placed one foot in front of the other, moving toward her like a man entranced by what he was seeing.

“You are...” He arrived by her side and reached out his hand, allowing his fingers to slide through her hair.

Leonora held her breath and simply waited to see what came next. Her heart beat rapidly against her breast while tiny sparks of awareness played across her skin. Yes. Please. Touch my hair more. Touch me. Kiss me.

He shook his head and took a step back, his expression wrought with a mixture of longing and pain. “I’ll give you some privacy so you can prepare for bed. There’s water over there on the table if you need it.” And then he strode to the door, grabbed his greatcoat and flung it over his shoulders as he rushed from the room.

Leonora’s heart sank. He would resist her as was proper, for which she ought to thank him. Instead, against all odds, she wanted him to do the opposite, which could not possibly speak well of her character. Apparently she was not the straight-laced plant enthusiast everyone thought her to be, but rather a woman with a newfound interest that beckoned to be explored.

But would you be willing to give him your virtue? If that is the price to pay, can you do it?

Probably not.

No.

Not probably.

Definitely.

Definitely not, that is.

She would only allow her true husband to bed her, which meant she would have to wait a really long time, perhaps even forever.

#

WHEN PHILIP RETURNED upstairs to their room after taking a brisk walk outside, the oil lamp was dimmed and Leonora was tucked into bed. He closed the door quietly behind him before casting a look in her direction. She was turned on her side with her arm flung over the coverlet, allowing him a glimpse of bare arm and shoulder until it was interrupted by the strap of her chemise.

Emitting a groan, Philip took off his greatcoat and crossed to the chair. Temptation would likely drive him mad and possibly even kill him before the sun rose again. He sat and began removing his boots while cursing himself for allowing this situation to arise in the first place.

Earlier, when he’d seen her hair, the need to touch it, to feel it slide over his skin, had assailed him more fiercely than any need ever before. It had robbed him of logical reasoning and drawn him toward her, like a helpless sailor toward a siren. His only course of action had been to flee. It had been either that or ravish her until she forgot her own name.

But now, seeing her there in the bed with her stunning red hair fanned out on the pillow...

He scrubbed one hand across his face and prayed for strength. It had been at least a year since he’d last had a woman, and that had been an unpleasant experience with an opera singer whose ego surpassed the span of the Atlantic Ocean. Since then he’d been too busy, preoccupied by work and unwilling to repeat his last disastrous round of lovemaking.

Until Leonora Compton walked into his life with equal parts personality and beauty. He’d never wanted a woman more. Hell, he could scarcely think straight or find a comfortable position for himself without the ache of his need exerting a strain on each cell in his body. She was everything he wanted, everything he’d once dreamed of having with Claire. But he’d been young and foolish back then, and she, so eager for him he could scarcely believe his good fortune.

But then came their wedding night, and Philip began to suspect he might not be Claire’s first, second, or even third lover. Her experience had been far too telling, and when he finally chose to confront her, her answer was worse than what he had feared. The names of the men who’d had her had spilled from her lips with little effort, her taunts and insults in the face of his accusation spearing him to his soul.

He’d thought himself in love. Instead he’d been thoroughly used.

“You were just a means to an end. A way for me to save my reputation.”

Her words had stayed with him ever since. In the end, he’d been the one humiliated, the one who’d unwittingly married a woman who’d continued to flaunt her lust for other men while everyone laughed. Not at her, but at him, the poor boy deceived by illusion.

Philip stretched out his legs and stared into the fire. He would never marry again, and he would most definitely not make another man suffer the way he once had, which meant he would have to keep his hands to himself where Leonora was concerned. When she eventually went to her real husband on her wedding night, she would do so with her innocence completely intact. And if she didn’t, then he would not be the one to blame.

But this course of action was tested to the full extent of Philip’s restraint when a rustling sound made him stir. He was still half asleep when he opened his eyes and saw her standing near the fire with her back toward him. Philip’s pulse leapt, not because she was there, but because the glow from the flames allowed him to see so much more than he was supposed to. It turned her chemise into a translucent veil, offering him a view of pale skin curving down over her waist to her impeccably rounded bottom and legs that appeared to go on forever.

Jesus.

He hissed out a breath between his teeth and clutched at the armrests. Why was she there instead of in bed? “Leonora?” He had to inform her that he was awake. It would be wrong of him not to.

She flinched and spun toward him, which only made matters worse, because now he was able to see...everything. “Why aren’t you asleep?” he asked her gruffly.

“I was thirsty, so I came to get some water.”

It was then that he noted the jug in her one hand and the glass in the other. “I see.” And by god did he ever, from a pair of shapely breasts that would fit quite perfectly in his hands, to the way her belly curved down toward that secret place between her thighs.

Without even thinking, he flexed his fingers.

Stay.

Don’t even think about trying to touch her right now.

“I should probably go back to bed.” She hesitated briefly. “You’re still welcome to come lie down next to me if you like. If that would make you more comfortable.”

By all that is holy...

“I don’t think so,” was all he could manage to say.

She nodded, hesitated some more while every muscle inside him screamed for something he wasn’t willing to allow. Until she moved out of sight, blending in with the darkness, and allowed him to relax as much as a man could relax when he was fully aroused with no chance of release.

He muttered an oath.

“What was that?” she asked from the bed.

“I said, good night,” he grumbled.

“Good night to you too,” she replied.

Christ and all his apostles, this woman would put him in Bedlam if he wasn’t careful. So as much as he knew he’d regret parting ways with her soon, he had to acknowledge that they could not arrive in Sheffield fast enough. It was now a matter of preserving his health.