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Lucy marched up the stairs. His door was open, but remembering their last encounter, she halted and knocked.

He looked up from placing folded linens in an open case on the end of the bed, his red coat vivid against the somber colors of the room. The disturbing intimacy of catching him once again in a personal act made Lucy’s stomach dip in a queer way. He had told her there was no lover. A lover could watch a man shave or pack or... She wrapped her hand around the doorpost and clung.

“Do you think I can just leave the inn, today?”

He glanced at her, but his hands did not pause in their work. “Yes. A chaise will take us to your friends this afternoon.”

Lucy tightened her grip on the doorpost. “You are hurrying me, Captain. I’ll go when I’m ready.”

He looked briefly at the contents of the case, appeared satisfied with them, and closed it up, his hands quick and sure on the fastenings. He swung the bag to the floor as if it weighed nothing. “Then you’d best be ready at two. Your friends expect you in town for tea.”

Lucy let out an exasperated breath. “You seem to have taken everything in hand, but it’s my inn.” And my life, she wanted to add.

His steady gaze met hers. “Take one of the girls to help you pack. Unless you require my assistance.”

“Your assistance?” In spite of herself she took a step backward.

“If there’s one thing army life teaches, Miss Holbrook, it’s packing.”

She looked away, fixing her gaze on a long curved sword in a black sheath, lying on the counterpane, its handle glinting in the light. Some senseless, giddy part of her that had no business making decisions welcomed the rush into which he’d thrown her. It was decided. She was going to London. Today. But she wanted the last word in their exchange, a quip or sally of wit that would show him she was seizing the moment, not merely bowing to his will.

He watched her with that unmoved gaze of his that felt anything but cool. No quip came. “And Adam?” she asked.

One eyebrow came up. “Does he have a case?”

“He can have one of Papa’s.”

“Leave me the key to your father’s room, and I’ll see to Adam.”

She turned on her heel.

“And, Miss Holbrook, be sure to pack your husband hunter’s guide.”

* * * *

In the end leaving the inn happened so swiftly that Lucy had no time to fix the impression in her mind. With Hannah’s help she’d packed so quickly that she hardly knew what was in her two cases. She glanced at her laughing lady as she closed the door to her room. Her lady seemed to urge her to go, and she tried to remember those questions she always asked of her lady. Surely, Papa never meant that in living with her friends in Mayfair she would get above her home. The least forgetfulness of the inn’s plain comforts would be fatal to her plan of returning.

When she descended the steps to the waiting coach, the driver was on the box with Adam seated inside. The captain simply offered his hand, lifting her up. Her bottom touched the cushions, the captain sprang in after her, and the horses began to move.

It was the longest seven-mile journey Lucy could remember. The captain took the backward-facing seat, his hands resting on his knees, while she and Adam faced forward. He had that rigid wary posture, his head slightly inclined for listening. In the enclosed space one of his episodes would be harder than ever to handle. Mrs. Vell might consider the captain ruin in a red coat, and as much as his presence unsettled Lucy, she had to admit that he steadied Adam.

Once the coach reached the London road, her old friend fell into a restless state of repetition. She let him know she was by his side with a squeeze of his hand or a word in his ear as he repeated a series of new phrases. She half suspected that Harry Clare had something to do with the new sayings. Horses very fast. Captain Clare has his sword. Later—Adam stays with the captain. Lucy stays with friends. Each brief speaking spell would end with—Lucy is the lady now. The phrases took on the rhythm of the wheels and ran together until Adam fell into a doze.

Lucy wished she could do the same. There was nowhere to look but at Harry Clare’s harsh, compelling face and broad shoulders. He could scrutinize her at will, as well, and she suspected he could read her impatience for the journey to end and her London time to begin. If he must judge her, he must.

In Brook Street, the captain’s hand in managing her affairs was once again visible. The coach pulled up at the charcoal brick townhouse with its tall windows. Instantly, the door opened, and the butler appeared, directing two liveried footmen to collect Lucy’s cases. Captain Clare handed her down to the pavement and offered his arm to help her into the elegant vestibule. Her three friends met her with warm embraces.

“Lucy, dear, you’ve come.” Cordelia sighed.

Margaret gave her a hug and a smile.

“Come, dear,” Cassandra invited, “let’s warm you up from the journey.”

Lucy started forward, then turned back for the door. She made a dash and caught the captain with his hand on the carriage door. “You didn’t tell me where you are taking him.”

“I’ll report to you tomorrow evening. He’ll be safe.”

She heard Adam from inside the coach. “Lucy is the lady now.”