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knew his coach would be far more comfortable than anything provided by the Royal Mail Service. And she had to admit she enjoyed his company and would be far safer with him than alone. What could it hurt to pass a few more hours together before they parted for good?
    "Go on, Jack," he urged. "Say yes."
    She hesitated a few seconds longer, knowing she ought to say no. "All right, yes."

----
Chapter Three
    "Penelope."
    Lily relaxed more fully against the dark-blue velvet coach seat across from Lord Vessey and shook her head. "No."
    "Margaret."
    His vehicle, which was every bit as luxurious as she had suspected it would be, raced along the turnpike toward London. Fitted with polished brass fixtures, supple tan leather appointments, and springs so lithe even large ruts in the road could barely be felt, the coach was one of the finest she had ever seen. Certainly the finest in which she had ever ridden.
    "Afraid not," she said, reveling in her present comfort.
    He stroked a thumb against his chin in a moment of silent consideration. "Jane."
    She sent him a sympathetic little half-smile. "Come now, my lord, do I really look like a Jane to you?"
    "What you look like is a vexing minx who thinks herself quite clever. Come on, now, let's have it. What is your name?"
    "Oh no, you won't worm it out of me so easily. It is my secret to keep and yours to find out."
    "I've been making guesses this past hour and I assure you there is nothing remotely easy about it." He pinned her with an assessing stare. "Bertha."
    "Bertha!" A laugh shot past her lips. "You are growing desperate, I can see."
    "Not at all. Believe it or not, I've known a few Berthas and none of them ever likes to admit to their name. Brunhilde, then."
    "Now you are just being ridiculous. Who in the world is named Brunhilde?"
    "I feel certain Prinny has at least one Cousin Brunhilde tucked away in some remote Hanoverian principality. Good God, I never thought! You don't have one of those impossibly tongue-twisting Latin names like Agrippina or Domitilla? Now
that
I would wish to hide."
    "No, my name is really quite ordinary and very easy to pronounce."
    "
Aha!
Finally a clue. Perhaps I'll figure it out after all."
    Perhaps he will,
she thought, wondering why she had divulged even that amount of information. She barely knew him and yet felt comfortable in his presence in a way she could not before recall ever feeling with a man. He set her at ease, enough so that if she was not careful, she might make another unfortunate error like the one she'd made about the London-bound coach.
    How easy to fall victim to his charm,
she thought,
something against which I must guard and guard well!
    Nonetheless, she could hardly deny her attraction, not when the very sight of him left her jittery, pulse stuttering, her breath shallow as if she couldn't quite draw in enough air. She might be innocent, but she recognized her desire for what it was.
    Being confined in the coach with him barely two feet away left her insides as warm and gooey as a melted marshmallow. Though she tried not to notice, she couldn't help but be aware of his long, powerful frame as he sprawled in negligent grace against the seat across from her.
    Wide and strong as an ancient oak, his shoulders filled his chocolate-hued coat to perfection, leaving him without a need to resort to the padding some men used to conceal their flaws. The rest of him was every inch as delicious—strong arms, solid chest, muscular legs encased in a pair of buckskin pantaloons that hugged every inch of his taut thighs and calves with glovelike perfection.
    In fact, as far as she could tell, Lord Vessey had no imperfections, none that were visible, anyway. From his wavy golden hair to his Hessian-clad feet, he was masculinity personified.
    She swallowed against the sudden knot lodged at the base of her throat, wondering how many miles yet they were from London.
    "Rose."
    His voice, silky and robust as a tot of heated rum, interrupted her