Such as the respect the maids and innkeepers seemed to have for him, a grateful kind. That he’d blamed himself for the trouble she’d had with her stays. How he’d supplied her with two new gowns, and then encouraged her to eat. He’d not even come close to raising a hand to her.
Except for those two swats when he’d had her slung over his shoulder.
And to be fair, she had just stabbed his finely shaped backside with her crochet hook. Anyone would be feeling a little cross.
That... that was an insane thing to think, wasn’t it? He’d been in the process of abducting her; she’d been well within her rights to fight back against something like that.
But if he was doing it for the right reasons, if he had taken her from her family to protect her...?
Her feelings for him switched all too easily from hot to cold—and a thousand temperatures in between.
He was bad, but in a good way. Or was he good, but in a bad way?
Or was he simply a human—struggling to make his way in life by doing things she’d never once imagined?
Ultimately, she had no choice but to conclude something quite alarming. And that was that she, Lady Amelia Crowley, was devastatingly attracted to a man who was a highwayman and smuggler.
And kidnapper.
She mustn’t forget that.
DELUSIONAL
“Iwasn’t sure you’d would want to join me.” He was seated at the far end of the table… and unlike when they’d dined at the inn, he refrained from standing. “Seeing as I’m a smuggler.”
Amelia hadn’t wanted to join him. Initially. The servant who’d knocked on her door that evening had asked if she wished to have a meal brought upstairs or join Mr. Beckworth in the dining room.
Of course, he would give her a choice—a concept that he, ironically, had introduced her to. So even though she was inclined to crawl into the lovely bed in her chamber, she’d agreed to join him.
She was a lady, after all.
A very embarrassed lady.
“Right,” she said, sliding into the chair adjacent to his without anyone to assist her. Before she even opened her napkin, she took a deep breath and dove right in. “I owe you an apology,” she said.
There. She’d done it.
His brows shot up.
If she was going to apologize, she supposed she ought to do it properly. “You never did anything to lead me to believe otherwise,” she added. “And, well, after everything else, I suppose it would be silly to hold that against you.”
When he failed to respond, she lifted her stare to meet his, which looked a little incredulous.
“I see,” he finally said. “I admit, I didn’t expect you to take such issue with it. To be honest, I thought you just… knew.”
Amelia flushed. “You must think me incredibly stupid.”
“No.” He shook his head. “Just incredibly trusting, in a generous way.”
Amelia considered this, turning his words over in her head.Trustingandgeneroussounded far better than what she would have called it.
“I don’t know why I didn’t realize before…”
Mr. Beckworth paused, his expression focused and utterly serious. “Not all people cope with adversity in the same manner,” he said.
But the next moment, he was interrupted as the doors to the dining hall pushed open and a handful of servants entered, carrying a variety of dishes. One of them brought a bottle of wine, and Mr. Beckworth murmured a quiet “thanks” once it was poured. Rather than reach for any of the serving dishes, however, he stared at his wine with a frown.
“Your assumption is understandable, considering the situation. I’ve seen it all. Some people fight and claw. Some become despondent and defeated. Others”—he tilted his head toward her meaningfully—“try to make the best of the situation.”
