“D-do what?” she hedged.

Jamie reached out, with one of his gloved hands, and smoothed a tear from her cheek with an agile motion of his thumb. “Cry that way,” he replied, frowning. “You made up your mind to do it, and then you did. And don’t bother denyin’ it, lass.”

If it hadn’t been for the fact that she was headed toward Wellington and Mr. Alexander Zate instead of an outgoing ship and an exciting new life in America, where her mother awaited her most eagerly, Bliss would have been amused. It was rare to meet a man so perceptive.

Still, being able to cry on order was a skill that came in handy on occasion, and Bliss, like a magician with his tricks, was quite jealous of the secret. She gazed at Jamie in stubborn silence and, to her utter amazement, he burst out laughing.

She did wonder what it was about her that amused this man so thoroughly. Quite miffed, she stiffened on the hard wagon seat and hugged herself with both arms to keep from assaulting Mr. McKenna in the purest rage.

Still grinning, he touched the tip of her nose with an index finger covered in soft, worn leather. “What a fiery little ’ellcat you are, Duchess. A man could spend all ’is life just learnin’ ’ow to read you.”

Bliss felt a strange, warm shiver at his touch, and a series of forbidden pictures rose in her mind. Memories of the night before, when she’d lain beside Jamie McKenna in a dark bedroom, caused a tender and throbbing ache in the very depths of her femininity.

I’m never going to feel this way about Alexander, she thought to herself, and she was filled with utter despair. If only her father were forcing her to marry Jamie—a girl could live with an ultimatum like that.

They traveled in silence, beside the misty sea, for a considerable distance, and then Jamie drew the wagon to the side of the road in order to let the horses rest. Bliss, longing to stretch her cramped legs, scrambled down from the wagon seat before her companion could help her.

She rubbed her hands together in an effort to warm them; though it was near noon, the weather was still inordinately cold. Jamie, meanwhile, spoke quietly to both the horses, pausing to rub their soft muzzles and offer them lumps of sugar from the palm of his hand.

Remembering the picnic basket Carra had so grudgingly provided at the farm that morning, Bliss felt a sudden and keen hunger. She found the wicker box and lifted it out of the wagon.

“By all means, Duchess,” Jamie said, watching her with a laughing tenderness in his eyes, “help yourself.”

Bliss felt her cheeks grow hot. It seemed to her that Mr. McKenna was forever pointing out some lapse in her deportment. She made no apologies—it was too late for that, after all—before opening the basket’s wicker lid and taking out a thick sandwich wrapped in a plain cloth napkin.