Was it possible she didn't understand what could happen to her, even after Grimthorpe's assault? "Let me make it quite clear to you that, even if it were public knowledge about our ill-spent evening, I could walk away from you with only a blot that would quickly fade. Your reputation, however, would be ruined forever."

"You needn't tell me." Her hands stilled for a moment. The tight line of her lips softened suddenly as she smiled with a shyness that was absurd given their present situation. "I was never able to thank you for seconding Valentine in the duel."

The look in her eyes was even more dangerous than that of a young woman determined to make herself his wife. He had seen such a gaze before, in the eyes of his youngest, most untried men. Dear God, the woman had a case of the hero-worships for him.

He half rose from his crouch at the fire to protest, but she lifted the paring knife from the cheese wedge she was slicing and waved him to silence. "Valentine told me all about it, you know, even though Mama strictly forbade him."

She lowered her eyes and sliced into the cheese.

"It was to be my punishment — to hear nothing more of London. As if I cared." She pressed her lips together, silencing herself as she took an apple and began slicing it, wielding the knife with a stroke that cleaved the fruit cleanly into halves, then quarters, then eighths.

He was shocked. "Surely you had another chance at a Season? Your reputation remained unmarked. Your parents must have known you'd grow sensible enough for a second try?"

"I don't know. They never said any such thing before they died." With a quick shake of her head she added, "Then, of course, there was no possibility of a Season. I had my sisters to see to, and Valentine was too far away to be of use."