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three paces...
    He had too much time to think here. That was the real problem of his confinement. He could do nothing more now until the gaoler reappeared. Nothing except pace. And remember. He tried to focus instead on Elliott and that girl. By Jove, she was a handful!
    Ross tried to picture what she looked like, but failed. He could see only a mass of dark hair, tangled and dripping, and a white gown that clung to her limbs. He recalled his shock at discovering that her feet and legs were bare. But he could not recall her features. Had he actually seen her face in the darkness? He had had a vague impression of huge dark eyes in a pale face. Nothing more. He was not at all sure he would recognise her if he saw her again.
    Still pacing, he grinned into the darkness. See her? How could he? He could not even see his own hand in front of his face!
    His decision was already made. When the gaoler returned, he would offer him a bribe in return for pen and ink, and the promise to take a letter to the provost. Ross fingered the hidden pocket and the riches concealed there. It had served him well in France and Spain, and had saved his beloved Julie from many a hardship.
    Julie... The memories came flooding in, like the rush of water when the sluice is released. He remembered every detail of her beautiful face, her peach-bloom complexion, her golden hair. The sinuous curves that moved beneath the plain cheap gown she wore, causing his breath to catch in his throat and his body to heat. Her low husky voice, her brilliant smile, the way she worried at her full lower lip when her thoughts were far away—
    Enough! He knew now what she had been daydreaming about. Certainly not about Ross Graham, much though she had tried to cozen him into believing that her regard for him might soon turn into love. She had played him for a fool.
    A part of him—the gallant, honourable part—attempted to defend her still. Perhaps he had misunderstood her behaviour? Was it not possible that she had intended to show him only gratitude, and friendship? That he had simply seen what he longed to see?
    He paused to think back over the months of their escape together, the hundreds of miles they had tramped from Julie's humble cottage along the French Mediterranean coast and across the north of Spain to find a ship to England. She had been so brave and determined throughout their ordeal, in spite of all the dangers, even when they had so nearly been captured by Bonaparte's soldiers. Was that what had blinded him to her wiles? For they were just that—wiles. She was a lady, of course, but that had not stopped her from flirting with Ross: those frequent little touches of her fingers, how she insisted he take her hand to help her over uneven ground, the way she looked up at him with those wide trusting eyes, running her tongue over her lips as if inviting him to kiss her. Damn it, she had known he could not. Not while he alone was responsible for bringing her out from under the nose of the enemy and delivering her safely to her relatives in London. She knew he was a man of honour. That was surely why she had agreed to escape with him? Was it necessary to make him love her, too?
    He shuddered. Whatever her motives, she had succeeded. Twice—at Perpignan and at Santander—he had tried to declare himself. Twice she had silenced him with a soft finger across his lips. 'Say nothing now, my dear friend,' she had said, that last time. 'We shall be in London soon, and free. There we may both say everything that is in our hearts.' And then she had smiled her blinding white smile and moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. Almost as if she were tasting him.
    Ross's body began to harden at the very thought. He cursed aloud at his own weakness. For a woman he had never even kissed!
    Fool that he was, he had believed that Julie, the granddaughter of a marquis, would stoop to consider a man with little wealth and no family.
    He had persuaded himself that once she was