A long nod that affirmed her conclusion. “I once thought of running off to sea. I wanted to explore more of the world. I was in search of a place where life was better than what I knew, and then I realized that I had it within me to create the better.”

“And is your life better?”

“I want for naught.”

“You want for nothing at all?”

“What should I want for, Lena?” His voice was low, sultry, hinted at stolen kisses and pilfered minutes and thieved touches.

Me. The solitary word was a lonesome wail within her heart and soul. She wanted him to want her with a need that matched hers for him, with a hunger that didn’t care about consequences and wouldn’t allow him to sit so calmly opposite her but would drive him to cross over and take her within his arms, claim her mouth, her body, her senses. But she had too much pride to confess to that.

She wanted him to bed her not because her sisters were worthy or the estate would bring his child riches, but because he would cease to breathe if he did not. Instead, she squeezed her gloved hands together in her lap. “Sleep, I should think.”

The hysteria edging her voice caused her to inwardly flinch, and the awkward laugh that followed didn’t help matters. “Knowing how you keep watch over your establishment into the wee hours, I can’t imagine you retired at a reasonable hour and you had to arise so frightfully early. Please don’t feel a need to entertain me”—she did wish all the various ways he might entertain her physically hadn’t rushed through her mind in a kaleidoscope of images—“during the journey. Rest for a bit. I’ll awaken you when we near.”

“I am a bit weary.” He crossed his arms over his chest, settled back more fully against the squabs, and closed his eyes.

His legs relaxed more, stretched a bit farther, until she was fully imprisoned within them. Not that she had any desire to go anywhere. Soon he was snoring lightly, and she imagined herself with a child who had brown hair, feathery streaks here and there burnished to a faint, pleasing red. Long, thick, sooty lashes that rested on sharp cheekbones. She wanted to reach across and press a kiss to the underside of that strong jaw, wanted to snuggle against him and find her own slumber.

Instead she merely watched him sleep, wishing she could make his claim. I want for naught.

But she couldn’t because it was dawning on her as brightly as the sun now hovering over them that she wanted what she couldn’t have: him walking proudly beside her for all the world to see. But she couldn’t risk any doubt regarding her child’s parentage, would not risk him or her growing up as the subject of whispers.