Good Lord. What did she expect from him? “Pray have a bit of sympathy, Lady Amelia. Am I permitted at least a few hours to mourn the loss of everything I hold dear?”

She sat, but her movements were gingerly, and she did not look comfortable in her position. “Forgive me.” Her jaw clenched, and she swallowed before she said, “I should be more understanding.”

He let out an aggravated breath, rubbing his hand over his eye and forehead. Damn, he was tired. He hadn’t slept the night before, not a wink, and at least an hour of his wakefulness had been spent in the rather uncomfortable state of wanting her. And now she was acting like this?

“Don’t beg my forgiveness,” he said, exhausted by the whole thing.

She opened her mouth, then shut it. He suspected she’d been about to apologize for apologizing.

He took another drink.

Again, she did not take the hint. “What will you do?”

“This afternoon?” he murmured, knowing full well that wasn’t what she meant.

She gave him a peeved look.

“I don’t know,” he said irritably. “It’s only been a few hours.”

“Well, yes, but you’ve been thinking about it for over a week. And on the boat you seemed quite certain that this would be the outcome.”

“It’s not the same.”

“But—”

“For God’s sake, Amelia, will you let well enough alone?”

She drew back, and he instantly regretted his outburst. But not enough to apologize for it.

“I should go,” she said, her voice flat.

He certainly wasn’t going to stop her. Hadn’t he been trying to be rid of her? She would walk out that door, and he’d finally have some peace and quiet, and he wouldn’t have to just sit here, trying so hard not to look at her face.

At her mouth.

At that little spot on her lips that she liked to touch with her tongue when she was nervous.

But as she rose to her feet, something grabbed him from the inside—that annoying little kernel of integrity that refused to make its exit along with the rest of his identity.

Bloody hell.

“Do you have an escort?” he asked.

“I don’t need one,” she replied, clearly unimpressed with his tone.

He stood, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I will escort you back.”

“I believe I said—”

He took her arm, a bit more roughly than he’d intended. “You are an unmarried woman, alone in a foreign land.”

She gave him a look of some disbelief. “I have a mount, Thomas. It is not as if I will be walking the roads alone.”

“I will escort you,” he repeated.

“Will you be civil?”

“Civility seems to be the one thing I cannot lose,” he said dryly. “Else I’d have been happy to leave you be.”