Devilish Page 0,50

working for the French."

"Three," offered Diana, "Fear of what you might reveal."

"I have no secrets." Over her snort of disbelief, he said, "Four: fear of what the victim might do."

"If you have no secrets, milord, you delight in being falsely mysterious." But she sat in thought, meeting his eyes. "The French fear what you might do? You are a one-man Armada?"

"I would like to think so."

"Need I remind you that the Armada failed and sank?"

"Alas," he said, eyes crinkling with what looked like true hilarity. "We can only hope that my armed fleet would manage somewhat better."

"Which presents another problem, my lord," she said, trying to be stern. "The Armada was our enemy. I take as model Great Queen Bess, who stirred the opposition to the Spanish fleet."

"And think foul scorn that any prince of Europe should dare to invade the borders of your realm?" he said, giving a version of the queen's famous speech at Tilbury, when she dispatched her navy to face the mighty foe.

"Precisely, my lord. As I showed last year."

The smile tugged at his lips again, but he said, "Oh dear. Must I remind you of the plan for you to act the conventional lady?"

"Perdition." Her cheeks warmed with guilt. "I will do it when necessary."

"So says the drunkard ordered to give up brandy."

"This is my problem, my lord, and I will deal with it."

"Yet I have yoked myself to you in this."

"Not of my choosing!"

"No, but we are bound by fate."

She stared at him. "Until this is over."

He took another sip of coffee. "And when will it be over?"

"When I return north." She was unsure now what they were speaking about.

"This engagement will be over then, but as with the French, the problem will linger. Constant vigilance will be required. This connection, my lady, ends with death. Or with your marriage."

They were not speaking of her behavior.

"Or yours," she suggested breathlessly.

"I will not marry. But even so, it would not end your need of my protection. Outside of marriage, your situation makes you vulnerable."

Now she didn't know what they were talking about.

"I cannot ignore your situation," he said. "I will not intrude, but if problems arise in the future, I will be at your service."

She was not so foolish as to deny the benefits of that, but swallowed bitter disappointment. Protection again. Was that all? "We were talking, I think, of your problems, my lord, not mine. If the French wish to be rid of you, what will you do?"

"There is little defense against a resolute assassin. In this case, however, it seems they wish to make it look like an act of passion rather than one of cold blood."

"Resist passion, then, my lord, and we are both safe."

His tranquil gaze came to rest on hers. "My thought entirely, dear lady."

So, they had not only been speaking of the French. After a frozen moment, Diana looked down at her half-eaten sausage, and found her appetite completely gone.

Safe.

She'd always thought safety promised a damn dull life.

Scarce noticed at the time, she had just enjoyed a heady exchange of wits and barbs of a rare and precious kind. There'd also been something close to friendship, which she certainly had never expected of this man. Not the cozy friendship she had with Rosa, but friendship all the same.

Or perhaps something more.

Safe, indeed.

She put her knife and fork down, pushing the plate aside, and picked up her cup. One sip told her the coffee was cold. She put it down and looked up to find him still watching her, as if he expected some kind of answer.

She took a breath and gave it - the same response she'd given last night. "And if I don't want to be safe?"

"I am pledged to keep you so. From everything. Even despite yourself." He rose and indicated the door. "We should be on our way, Lady Arradale, if we are to make Stamford tonight."

Diana took another deep breath, and released it with care. That was a clear enough warning and statement of intent, and he was doubtless wise. But like the drunkard with a taste for brandy, she didn't want to be wise just yet.

Especially as she felt that she had just started to savor the full riches of the potent spirit.

By the time they rattled over the bridge in Stamford that evening, Diana had a headache and a fierce desire to be unwise, danger or not. Never, never had she imagined that merely sitting by a man for eight hours could