Instead of taking one of the chairs across from her, Jack sat on the narrow cushion beside her. These seats weren't meant for two, Becky thought, unless the two were lovers.

Not so long ago, she'd thought of Jack as her lover.

She clenched the armrest harder. She was an intelligent woman. She was a thoughtful person, well educated and well read. Yet she wanted to be a strong, confident woman. Like Cecelia was. Like Sophie and Kate were.

"I should return all your gifts." She fixed her gaze on his face, forcing her hip against the armrest so her thigh wouldn't touch his. She pressed her free hand over the book in her lap.

His brows crept upward. "Oh?"

"Yes." Her voice was somber, but one corner of her mouth quirked up into the beginnings of a smile. "But I cannot. They are special, one-of-a-kind, and I am too selfish."

"Good. I want you to keep them."

"Why are you here, Mr. Fulton?" She searched his face for a clue. She didn't understand why he seemed so intent on giving her such special, unusual gifts, on seeing her... on continuing along this mad course.

"I wished to formally ask if I might court you."

"Court me?" she repeated in confusion. Hadn't they already gone far beyond courtship?

"I went about it wrong. I never thought..." He paused, took a breath, and continued. "I never thought you wanted anything more than..."

"I don't," she said quickly.

"And I didn't either," he continued, "but now there is more to it. More I'd like to explore." He looked down at his lap, then up at her. "I know I'm far beneath you, socially and financially-"

She coughed out a horrified laugh. "Please tell me you don't believe my refusal has anything to do with that!"

"No, I don't. I learned quickly that your family isn't characteristic of the aristocracy." He paused. "Becky, the time we spent together... those were some of the finest moments of my life."

Mine, too, she wanted to say. And she wanted to be alone with him again in such a way. Talking, naked and in bed, after they'd made passionate love and were sated and comfortable. She wanted to wrap her arms around his bare chest and talk and talk about the world until they were too tired to say any more. She wanted to fall asleep beside him, then wake up, make love, and talk some more.

These thoughts were dangerous. "This has nothing to do with the scandal? With my family?"

"No. It has only to do with you and with me."

Becky clasped her hands firmly over the book in her lap. "Mr. Fulton, I do believe it's possible that it might work out between us in time, but my first priority is to alleviate the strain this scandal has caused to my family. I should very much like to see you again, but only when the gossip has been long forgotten. If you decide you don't want to wait-" She broke off, swallowed hard, then continued. "I will understand. And please forgive me for being rude to your father. It was not well done of me, not at all. I regret any inconvenience it might have caused you."

"It wasn't an inconvenience." He took her hand and cradled it in his own. "You made me proud."

"What?"

"You were magnificent." He raised her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against it.

"I allowed my temper to get the better of me. I rarely do that."

He lowered her hand and met her gaze head-on. "I am glad you did. My father deserved it."

His eyes looked deep into her, as if they saw her, not her outside shell, not her twisted arm, but her. She shifted on the hard cushion, trying to regain her equilibrium.

"Becky... I want you."

It took her a moment to recapture her breath before she spoke again. "You must understand that I cannot allow the outcome of my entire life to depend on an ephemeral 'want.' "

"No. Not ephemeral."

She ignored that statement. "I cannot base my future on a corporeal feeling. I cannot promise to spend the whole of my life with a man I don't know."

"I am a man. Who wants you. You, and no one else. What more is there to it than that?"

She clasped her hands in front of her. "There is far more to it, Jack."

He thrust his fingers over his scalp, then closed his fist around a clump of hair, closing his eyes in defeat. "You're right. This is why I propose a formal courtship."

"That would be a farce," she said quietly, "given that it's public knowledge we were in bed together."

Jack shook his head. "Not a courtship to display to the world, Becky. One between you and me. No one else needs to know, or even be involved."

Her resolve wavered. He dropped his hand, leaving his hair tousled. The desire to try to tame it with her fingers flitted through her, but she thrust the notion aside.

He smelled so good, so salty and clean and masculine. His lips were supple and soft, she knew from experience. She wanted to touch her own lips to them, to feel them glide over her skin.

"I'm not giving up, Becky. I want to be married to you someday. Someday soon."

"There are many ladies on the marriage market who are far more qualified, and far more eager for marriage, than I am."

"I'm not interested in any of them. Wives are not horses. I won't choose a woman from a pool of eligibles only to toss her back and select another when something goes awry."

He was so different from other men. So focused, so intent on her. Why her? A soft shudder tickled up her spine.

"I've already found the woman I want."

"And if the woman you want has no desire..." She paused. She couldn't say she had no desire for him. That would be a lie. "...to be married?"

"Then I will change her mind."

She broke her gaze from his face, her own face growing warmer by the second. "You should go," she whispered.

"Yes, I'll go." His voice was gruff. He pried the book out of her hands and set it aside. Then he leaned closer, turning a little so his breath blew softly over her cheek. "But you're coming with me."

Chapter Nine.

Where are we going?"

Jack glanced at Becky. A light flush suffused her cheeks, and she had gnawed on her lower lip incessantly since he'd helped her into the carriage.

"I told you-it's a surprise. But I promise you'll enjoy it." He slid his fingers over hers, the gesture intended to comfort her. His thumb played over the fine lace on the edge of her sleeve. "We're almost there," he murmured. Their destination was only a few minutes away from Lady Devore's house, and there wasn't much traffic today, for the promise of rain was heavy in the air.

She slid him a nervous glance. "We shouldn't be seen together."

"I know." He squeezed her fingers. "I won't do anything to further damage your reputation."

At that, she released a short burst of cynical laughter. "It doesn't matter, I suppose. My reputation is quite beyond repair."

She made her voice light, but her eyes were stark with the upset the scandal had caused her. The scandal orchestrated by him.

It had to be done, he reminded himself. The ends justified the means.

A blustery wind propelled the carriage to the bottom of Bond Street, where it stopped at the corner of Piccadilly. Jack exited and went around to Becky's side tohelp her out.

She glanced up as they stepped out of the carriage, then her eyes sparkled in genuine pleasure. "The Egyptian Hall."

"Mmm." He gazed up at the facade of the Hall with her. "The museum is closed this afternoon. They're adding a few final touches to their newest exhibit before it opens to the public next month."

"Their African exhibit?"

He smiled. "I thought you would have heard about it. I've arranged a private showing for us."

She didn't move for a long moment. Then, as if in slow motion, she slipped her arm through his.

He stood beside her on the pavement, gazing at the edifice of the Egyptian Hall, relishing the trust in her touch and the contentment in her expression. People brushed by on all sides, and behind them the street was thick with the sounds of traffic. He wished he were alone with her. The image of her body, bare and creamy, in the semidarkness at Sheffield's Hotel assaulted his memory, and his body hardened all over-one particular part of his anatomy in rather extreme, painful fashion.

God, he wanted her. He wondered whether anything would be able to coerce him to leave their bed once they were married.

He'd best focus on the present lest his carnal recollections run away with him and his state become obvious. He was thankful that the day was frigid, and he wore a heavy woolen coat. He pressed his free hand over hers, the black of his glove a sharp contrast to the bright white of hers.

"Do you know what it says?" He gestured up at the symbols carved into the architrave of the building.

"I think the hieroglyphs are nonsensical. The architect claimed the design of this place was taken from the temple at Dendera, but..." She frowned. "It possesses certain Egyptian qualities, I believe, but it is not an accurate representation."

"But you have never been to Egypt."

"No, I haven't." She shrugged. "I might be wrong, of course."

He studied her from the corner of his eye. It was clear that she didn't really think she was wrong. He didn't think she was wrong, either. She read profusely and with impeccable attention to detail.

They entered the Hall, and the curator hurried up to welcome them. It was thanks to Stratford's acquaintance with the man that they'd been allowed to explore the museum today. After shaking Jack's hand vigorously and bowing to Lady Rebecca, the man took their coats and excused himself, saying he had much work to do with the forthcoming opening, and he hoped they'd make themselves at home. This had been planned, too. Jack had wanted their private showing to be completely private.

After the man vanished into one of the side rooms, Jack led Becky through the silent entry hall toward the natural history collection from southern Africa. They entered the Great Room of the Hall. The place had been redecorated since he'd last come here as a boy, in an ostentatious permutation of modern and Egyptian styles. Columns painted in earthy colors and encircled at their tops by the carved visage of an Egyptian goddess lined the walls. To Jack and Becky's left, tucked between two of the outlandish columns, lay two live dogs sleeping in a cage. Becky hurried up to them and he read the plaque attached to the cage: "African Canines: Specimens from the Cape." The dogs inside were smallish, with wolflike features and random patterns of black, red, yellow, and white in their fur.

As Becky studied the animals, Jack's gaze wandered to the center of the room, where a bevy of stuffed ducks, geese, and birds stood round a large swatch of blue fabric meant to resemble a pond. In the center of the pond stood a monstrously fat creature he didn't recognize. "I suppose they couldn't acquire a live specimen of one of those," he murmured.

"Mm," Becky said as they approached. "A hippopotamus. It's enormous, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't like to be attacked by one," he said. "Looks like he could eat an entire ship."

"They're known to become quite aggressive," Becky agreed. "They'll occasionally attack Nile boats."

"I suppose we should be happy we don't reside in Africa. No chance of encountering such ferocious beasts."

"Oh, I don't know." Wryness edged Becky's voice. "There are ferocious beasts aplenty in England. Mostly of the human variety."

He chuckled, but at the same time he acknowledged there was some truth to her joke. More truth than he was comfortable admitting.

A movement caught his eye, and he looked across the room. A cage was tucked into the corner, no bigger than the cage holding the dogs, but the animal inside was much larger. The horned creature gazed at them between the bars with dark, watering eyes. It was incredibly ugly-a little smaller than a cow, with black fur, skinny legs, a mat of tangled shaggy hair for a mane, and a long, pointed beard. Horns curled up from its ears, and its nostrils flared.

"What is that?" he asked, equally appalled and intrigued.

"I believe it's a gnu," Becky murmured. "Poor thing, it can hardly move."

He gazed at her, at the compassion in her face and stance as she reached through the bars and stroked the animal's woebegone muzzle, and something inside him went soft.

She was so different. So unlike any woman he'd ever known. She was special.

"Look at him," she murmured. "Once he ran free on the African plains with his herd, and now... he is alone and trapped. You can almost see his spirit seeping out of him." She looked up at Jack with shining eyes.

"Shall we set him free?" he whispered, gazing at Becky rather than the gnu.

"I wish we could." She blinked hard. "But what good will it do? He would die in London. He would be caught again, or shot..." She drew in a ragged breath. "There is no freedom here."

"You possess a great deal of compassion toward a creature you know nothing of."

"I do know a few things about gnus," she said. "I've read about them."

"Of course you have."

"Despite their wild appearance, they're more mild-tempered than many of God's creatures. They live in tight herds, and they protect one another. None of them deserves to be caught, caged, and taken from everything he knows."

"That's probably true." He studied her. She looked beautiful, with dark curling tendrils of hair peeking from the brim of her green velvet-trimmed bonnet, with the matching lapels of her moss green silk redingote, and her shining midnight-blue eyes, so expressive and rich with feeling. Her dark gaze, so sad, so full of the life she'd lived and of the experiences she'd had, smacked him in the chest.

She'd been beaten down by her husband, and that made her tentative and hesitant, fearful of setting herself free, of opening her heart. She believed she couldn't survive being hurt again. Jack understood completely. He'd been in that same place for many years after Anne's death.

Jack wanted her to stop hurting. He wanted to protect her, cosset and spoil her, until she was confident enough to set herself free. Until she was confident enough to allow herself to be happy.

He wouldn't let anyone hurt her. Never again.

"Come." Becky smiled, but the look of sadness lingered in her eyes. Sighing, she threaded her arm through his again and turned him away from the gnu. "Let us walk awhile."

Arm in arm, they began a slow promenade through the Hall, their heels tapping on the wood floors as they progressed through the otherwise silent rooms.

When they reached the landing on the second floor, they gazed out the front windows, watching the rain fall sideways onto the street below.

He leaned closer to her, breathing her in. She smelled sweet and fresh, like the pink amaryllis he'd sent her.