“Touché,” he said, “All you need to know is that I intend to protect you. As long as you do as you’re told, you’ve nothing to fear.”
He had mentioned this before. Protecting her. More than once. It was an odd statement from a man who’d quite literally abducted her.
“But I’m a prisoner, am I not?” Was this a fair question? Before he challenged it, she continued. “I’ve been treated fairly today, but I am not here by choice.” None of this made sense.
What was she missing?
His lips turned up in a smirk. “You were traveling to London by choice, then? Were you lying when you said you were all too happy to forgo this year’s Season?”
“I wasn’t lying.” But this was different. “My father has my best interests in mind.” It was the only argument she had against his logic.
“Whereas I am concerned about your safety.” It was an odd thing to say. What did he mean? Weren’t they the same thing?
Amelia just shook her head. Her father believed himself smarter than everyone else, as did her brother, and almost every other gentleman she’d ever met.
She ought to be accustomed to this kind of blatant arrogance.
Still, she’d thought Mr. Beckworth was different.
Perhaps it was simply inherent in maleness to see oneself as knowing better than everyone else.
She took another bite of the fish and was temporarily distracted by the flavor, which was nearly enough to make her forget where she was.
If not who she was with.
“You like it?” He didn’t sound arrogant now.
Amelia glanced up from her plate and nodded.
He intrigued her like no man ever had. Once he’d realized her stays were bothering her, he’d berated himself repeatedly. He’d then left her alone in the coach and avoided her for hours, which implied that he had been annoyed.
But he’d apologized. He was, in fact, the only man who had ever done that. She believed he’d meant it sincerely.
Still baffled, she changed the subject. “How many inns do you actually own?” Perhaps if she could learn more about Mr. Beckworth as a person, his history and motivations, she might untangle some of the answers to her questions.
The suitors she was used to had always enjoyed talking about themselves predominately, but this man was quite the opposite.
“A dozen. Give or take a few.”
She leaned back. “Did you inherit them?”
Barely glancing up from his food, he snorted. “Do I look like I’m the sort who would have had wealthy parents?
“I’m not sure. I don’t know anything about you.” Since they were being blunt, she added, “Except that you’re not above violence to take something you want. And that some people like to refer to you as the King—which is treason, by the way.”
He shrugged and his knee moved, stirring an odd friction. She found herself welcoming those sparks of heat now. And this time, when he held her gaze, she had no doubt thathe knew.
He knew exactly what he was doing. And Amelia wasn’t fighting him. Not like she ought to be…
She found herself feeling more curious, fascinated, actually.
There was something… vibrant about this man. While doing something so mundane as eating, he emanated a charged sort of energy. It reminded her of the static in the air seconds before lightning struck.
“I never met my father.” His admission came abruptly. “And my mother made a living on her back. So no, there was no inheritance for me.” When he said the wordinheritance, it sounded like a curse.
On her back. She was a whore!
“Where is your mother now?” Amelia asked.
