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“Of course.” She saw his look and shrugged.

“We needed guns to fight the French, and our king was a weak traitor who’d handed the country over to the enemy.

” She noticed his expression and added, “It wasn’t so hard.

I had no sentimental attachment to most of her jewelry—only the pearls.

I never saw Mama wear anything except her pearls.

They were a wedding present from her parents. ”

“Where are they now?”

“Hidden in Papa’s secret safe place at Valle Verde.”

“So you want to fetch them.”

“No, my mother’s pearls are not sufficient cause.

To be honest, I don’t look forward to going back there.

I have no desire to meet my cousin Ramón again, and my home is no longer my home, not without Papa.

But I promised Papa obedience, and I broke my promise when I fled Valle Verde and abandoned Perlita and her mother to their fate. ”

“You were a child of thirteen,” he reminded her.

“I was responsible. And Perlita was— is— younger than me by two years.”

“Her mother wasn’t younger than you, however. Shewasan adult and perfectly capable of taking care of her own child.”

Isabella shook her head. “She was not raised to be the son of the family,” she said, hearing the edge of bitterness in her voice.

“Perlita’s mother is beautiful and brainless.

She was entirely dependent on Papa for everything.

And he passed on that responsibility to me when he left.

And then, as he lay dying, he charged me with their care…

” Her voice cracked, and he completed her tale.

“But in your fear of being forced to marry your cousin Ramón, you panicked and forgot them.”

Isabella glanced away and said nothing. Fear and panic were acceptable excuses for a thirteen-year-old. Let him believe it. It was better than the truth.

“Did you make inquiries after you reached the convent?”

“Yes, my aunt sent letters to Valle Verde several times.”

“And received no response?”

“No, but in wartime, letters go astray. And if Ramón received the letters…” She made a gesture of disgust. “Ramón would pass on nothing from my aunt. He suspected she was hiding me, but there was nothing he could do.”

Lord Ripton seemed to be pondering the situation.

“Papa gave Esmerelda and Perlita a house on the estate. They must be there. Where else would they go?”

“Were you close?”

“What does that matter?” she said, a telltale defensive note in her voice. She scanned his face, trying to read his expression. “My sister’s fate weighs heavily on my conscience. I must go.” Could he not see that? He had to, surely.

“No, it’s eight years since you left your half sister behind. There’s no point in traipsing across Spain on a wild-goose chase. Whatever her situation when you left Valle Verde, it is long since changed, and I don’t wish to delay our arrival in England any further.”

“Because of this important engagement of yours?”

He looked at her. “Yes.”

“What is so important that it comes before my sister’s welfare?” Isabella waited. She’d bared her soul to him—almost—and he’d waved it aside as if it meant nothing. And to him, perhaps it didn’t. But not to her. It was a matter of honor. And blood.

“It’s not important.”

“It clearly is important if you override my concern for my sister for its sake.”

“I meant it’s not your concern. All you need to know is that I made a promise and I intend to keep it.”

An indirect cut at her broken promise to her father? Deliberate or not, it flicked Isabella on the raw. “Then I’ll go to Valle Verde by myself and join you later in England.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort. I won’t have my wife gadding about a foreign country on her own.”

“It’s not a foreign country. England is the foreign country to me. You can hire guards and a duenna if you don’t trust me.”

“It’s not a matter of trust. The discussion is ended, and you will obey me.

If you’re still worried about your half sister when we get back to England, I’ll send someone to make inquiries.

Now, let us continue on our way. I intend to reach the town of Berdún before nightfall.

” He rose to his feet and held out an imperious hand to assist her.

She knew it was childish, but she refused to take his hand.

They packed up the remains of their luncheon and washed their hands and faces in the mountain-cold stream.

Again, Isabella recalled bathing in that other stream that dreadful day, and how Lieutenant Ripton had come and lifted her out of the freezing water and wrapped her in his shirt and comforted her.

It was hard to believe he was the same man.

The second half of the day passed more slowly. They still rode in silence, but it was the result of constraint.

Bella brooded over his brusque dismissal of her need to go to Valle Verde. She wasn’t happy about it at all, but the more she thought about it, the more she had to accept that for him, a bastard half sister was of little significance.

And that his engagement in England was obviously very important.

If she didn’t share his priorities, that was her affair.

I n the late afternoon, a light drizzle set in.

Isabella made no complaint; she just pulled out the blue hat and a gray woolen cloak from her bag, put them on, and kept riding.

Luke was not so sanguine. The hat offered little protection.

The misty rain caught in the tiny curls that framed her face.

Droplets clustered on her lashes. The cloak was old and threadbare and was soon sodden.

What the hell was her aunt thinking, letting her embark on a long and difficult journey with such inadequate clothing? It was taking poverty and simplicity too far.

“Stop,” Luke told her, and with a puzzled look, she reined in her mare. He reached over, yanked Isabella’s cloak off her, and tossed it into the bushes.

“What are you doing? That’s my cloak. You can’t—”

He pulled off his many-caped greatcoat and held it out to her. “Put this on.”

“But—”

“Don’t argue. It’s warmer and drier than that blasted threadbare thing you were wearing.”

“But what about you?”

“I’m used to being out in all weather.” He rolled the sleeves up for her. “Now button it, all the way up.” He watched as she buttoned it tight to her throat, then nodded and led the way onward.

They rounded a bend, and a small cluster of buildings came into sight. “The village of Biniés,” Luke told her. “We’ll spend the night here.”

“I thought you wanted to get to Berdún tonight.”

“You’ve ridden all day and you’re cold and wet and tired.”

She glanced at him. “You’re wetter than me.”

“I’m used to it,” he said brusquely. “Even in so small a village, there’s bound to be an inn of sorts, though it might be a little spartan. We’ll find a room and wait out the rain.” And he had plans for the night that would warm them both, most thoroughly.

She hesitated, and then said, “Two rooms, please.” Her skin was moon-pale and wet with rain.

He reined in his horse and stared at her. “ Two rooms?”

She moistened cold, berry-dark lips. “You said this would be a marriage of convenience.” She looked nervous, but her chin was braced and resolute. “Well, it is not convenient for me to share a bed with you… yet.”

She was punishing him, Luke thought, for his refusal to let her go on a wild-goose chase after her half sister by her father’s mistress.

But he was damned if he’d venture into the wild hills that had harbored the worst experience of his life. Bad enough he’d had to come to Spain to fetch her. That had stirred up all kinds of unwelcome memories. But to return to the hills where Michael had died so horribly… And all Luke’s fault. No.

Besides, her tale was nonsense as far as he could tell. What man would expect his thirteen-year-old daughter to take care of his adult mistress and her illegitimate child? Provide for them in his absence, perhaps. But escort them across a war-ravaged country? Preposterous.

The man should never have let her know about them in the first place.

Luke was damned if he’d let it drive a wedge between them. This marriage had already started on a rocky and unorthodox footing, but he was determined to make it work. And bedding her well and often figured large in his plan.

Two rooms be damned. He opened his mouth to tell her so and noted the white-knuckled grip of her reins. He glanced at her mouth. She saw him looking and swallowed.

Oh hell! It was nerves, bridal nerves. What the hell was he thinking, planning a night of passionate lovemaking on the first night they were together?

She’d been attacked as a child. And had spent the last eight years locked up with a bunch of nuns. She was probably terrified of the wedding night.

He glanced at her again, all big, dark golden eyes and gorgeous, vulnerable mouth. Of course she was scared of him; scared of what took place between a man and his wife in the bedchamber.

For one long, enticing moment he entertained the thought that it would be better to get it over and done with, show her there was nothing to fear, introduce her to a world of pleasure…

One glance at her white face and the set, tight look around her mouth, and he relented.

It was his own desire talking, not her needs.

Dammit!

He’d promised her friendship, and forcing a frightened bride to his bed was not at all to his tastes. He looked at her beautiful mouth with more than a pang of regret. Perhaps later he would introduce her to the pleasure of a kiss. It would be something, at least. And who knew where it might lead?

“It’s not spite,” she said, surprising him. “When we get to England, I promise you I will do my duty as a wife.”

Do my duty. That settled it. His body might ache for her, but do my duty killed any desire he had to bed her tonight.

When he finally made love to her, he vowed, duty would be the last thing on her mind.

They found a small tavern that could accommodate travelers. It was simple and rustic but very clean. “Two rooms,” Luke told the tavern keeper.