“In all my fantasies, yes.”
“Well, then, Don Quixote. In your fantasies, what role do I inhabit?”
She immediately regretted the improperly forward question. In fishing for his regard, she had sailed out of her depth. Much to her relief, he did not appear appalled, alarmed, or otherwise surprised. He simply maintained his easy smile.
“In truth, your traditional role in my fantasy has been the windmill at which I tilt. A lazy metaphor, I know, given your status as a miller’s daughter.”
Her humor faded. “So, I am yet the adversary?”
He held up a hand. “I said traditional role. Traditions change. Windmills are imaginary foes and tilting against them is pointless. When I recently realized my mistake, I assigned you a new role.”
She cocked her head, her empty stomach suddenly aflutter with nervousness. “And what is that, sir?”
He sighed and dropped his eyes. Without looking at her, he replied, “Dulcinea. In my fantasies, you are the one for whom I battle rogues and monsters.”
The meaning of his statement settled slowly into the still, small places of her heart. The urge to respond accordingly overtook her. However, fear resisted mightily. Instead, she turned to gentler humor. “Did not Don Quixote fight imaginary rogues and monsters because he was a bit dicked in the nob?”
Adam lifted his eyes and nodded. One corner of his mouth tipped upward. “I suppose so. I should have said nothing.”
She reached out to touch one of his kneecaps with a single finger. He flinched. She held the finger in place for a moment before withdrawing it. “I am glad you did.”
He nodded, apparently relieved of embarrassment. “I have had much time to ponder the situation while you slept.”
She noticed again the stubble of his jaw. “Adam, how long have I been asleep?”
“Three days.”
The number surprised her at first, but she quickly began to calculate. “Then we left Mr. Rutley’s office ten days ago.”
He nodded grimly. “That’s right.”
In dismay, her hands found her cheeks. She stared at him woefully. “Oh, Adam. The thirty days are ticking by without progress, and it is my fault. We should go now.”
She began to sit up in bed again but his hand to her shoulder stayed the motion. “Lie down, Jane. You have been deathly ill with fever for three days. You are in no position to leave this bed, let alone travel.”
She fell back to the pillow as the weight of the situation settled heavily upon her. Fever might have ruined her chance to avoid debtor’s prison. However, she would not drag Adam to the depths with her. She lifted a finger to point at him. “You must continue without me, then. Aunt Hester can go in my stead and represent my interests.”
“What nonsense are you speaking, Jane?”
“I will not have you jeopardize your future because I happened to fall ill at an inopportune moment. You must go forward without me. I will recover here and wait for word from you.”
He folded his arms and frowned. She feared he might say nothing, so long was his silence. Finally, he shook his head resolutely. “Never. I will not leave you here alone, despite the sterling natures of our host and hostess. We go together, or we go not at all.”
“But Adam…”
“I mean what I say. The matter is settled. I will instead devote my efforts to nursing you back to health expeditiously.”
She expelled a breath and gave him a pout of her lower lip. “Do you always get your way, Mr. Ashford?”
He chuckled. “Almost never. This time is the exception.”
Her pout faded as she considered what he offered. With nothing less than his family estate at stake and precious time slipping by, Adam chose loyalty to his former adversary over his best interests. Which had changed most—him or her perception of him? She sighed again.
“Very well. However, I am still sorry for causing you trouble.”
His smile grew wider. “You have caused me trouble before. I am quite accustomed to it.”
“Do you speak of the incident at your confirmation? I already apologized for that.”
