calm and peaceful there. I love watching the horses,” she explained. “They don’t care about things like manners or looks.”
“Looks?” he asked, surprise in his tone.
Julianna sighed. “Yes. Have you any idea what it’s like to be told your entire life that your beauty is the only important thing about you?”
“No,” he replied quietly. “But I do know what it’s like to be told your title is the most important thing.”
There was a pause before Julianna replied, “I suppose we have something in common then.” She leaned up momentarily and took another drink.
Rhys stared up at the clouds. He felt like an ass. He’d never stopped to consider the fact that debutantes had pressures of their own.
“Would you believe me if I told you I’ve often had the thought that I like horses better than people because they don’t expect anything of you?” he asked.
“Yes!” she exclaimed, lifting a hand into the air. “They don’t care how you dress or how you behave or even who your family is.”
“Agreed.”
She leaned up and gave him a sheepish grin. “Would you believe me if I told you that was one of the reasons I liked you…when we were courting?” she clarified.
“I didn’t care who your family was?” he replied with a laugh.
“Well, perhaps you did. But I always felt as if I could be myself around you. As if I didn’t have to be perfect. I’ve never felt that way around anyone. Especially any gentlemen of the ton. I’ve only ever felt that way around horses.”
Rhys’s chest tightened. He sat up, handed her the bottle, and studied her face. “The truth is, Julianna, I always felt the same way about you.”
Perhaps it was the wine or the fact that they’d finally declared a truce, but they were speaking to each other the way they had when they were courting, and it felt both real and inexplicably comforting.
Julianna glanced away. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”
“You too?” he asked, taking yet another swig from the wine bottle.
“Yes. And I normally sleep like the dead,” Julianna admitted. “Why do you think you can’t sleep?” She, too, took another drink.
“I cannot make my mind stop thinking, I suppose,” he answered, sitting up too.
“It’s funny how everything has worked out,” Julianna said, leaning back against her braced wrist on the blanket.
“I suppose funny is one word for it,” Rhys replied with a sigh.
“May I ask you a question?” Julianna said.
“You just did.” He laughed and took another swig from the bottle.
She batted playfully at his hand. “Don’t drink it all.” She pulled the bottle from his hands and took another long sip. “And I would like to ask you another question, if you please.”
He grinned at her. “Very well, go ahead.”
“You never did tell me, but I still want to know. Why did you leave?” She bit her lip hesitantly. “Why did you go to the country that spring?”
Rhys took a long swig from the bottle and then expelled his breath. He hung his head. He supposed it was finally time to tell her the truth.
“I didn’t go to the country,” he said quietly.
“What?” She searched his face, shook her head. “What are you talking about? You lied?”
“I had to. At the time I wasn’t at liberty to say where I was going.”
She shook her head again. “I don’t understand.”
He met her gaze. “I went to France.”
Julianna gasped. She sat up straight and pushed away the nearly empty wine bottle. “France?” She peered at him as if trying to discern from the look on his face whether he was jesting.
“That’s right,” Rhys continued, pushing his hair back from his face.
“Why in the world would you go to France? We’re at war with France.”
He chuckled softly. “Yes, I’m well aware. That’s why I went.”
“You went to France to fight Napoleon?” she breathed, her eyes widening as if she couldn’t quite believe it.
“No, I went to France to spy on Napoleon. Well, his men, not Napoleon himself,” Rhys clarified.
“You’re a spy?” Her eyes were so wide Rhys saw the whites.
He shook his head. “Not exactly. I was sort of doing a favor for a spy. Helping the Home Office if you will.”
“Oh,” she said knowingly. “You were helping Lord Bellingham.”
“I wouldn’t say that exactly…but I wouldn’t not say it,” Rhys replied with a grin. “When one is in need of an unlikely spy, who better than that drunken lout, the Duke of Worthington?” His voice was filled with irony.
She reached over and touched his knee. “Are you a drunken