The River of No Return

you, and I know you are not his mistress.”
    “No. I am not.” She looked him in the eye.
    She reminded him of modern women. The way she stood so confidently, the way she met his eye like an equal, the way she spoke unblushingly of the sex she was not having with her cousin. But her situation was clearly taking a toll on her courage. He could tell by the way she clenched and unclenched her left fist.
    Nick glanced up for a moment into the trees, wondering what to say next. He savored the cold air in his lungs. Then he looked down again at the woman standing before him. She was proud. And she was quietly desperate.
    Last time they had met here, they had both been children. He had been the desperate one that day, the younger one, despite their ages, and somehow she had calmed him, soothed him. He had then carried her with him through the years as a misty memory.
    Now her eyes were deep, storm-tossed. She needed him.
    He bowed. “I am at your service,” he said. “Tell me how to help you.”
    A smile broke across her face, and Nick realized that until this moment he had been seeing a pale shadow of Julia Percy, dimmed by her own defensive courage. Glad color rushed to her cheeks and she burst into speech. “Thank you, my lord. It has been the worst of times . . .”
    Her voice washed over him. He was here again, where he never thought to be, and Julia Percy was alive. She was struggling against the ridiculous strictures of her age, but it was her . Nick watched her face as she spoke: her dark hair and eyes, her vivid face. . . .
    God! The river was dragging at him full force, and he had to fight his way back. She was still speaking, and he held on to her voice until it broke through and made sense.
    “. . . but Eamon is difficult. He does not allow me to go abroad into society, and I have not been able to convince him that I need a chaperone to maintain my reputation.”
    “I don’t understand; he doesn’t let you out? Is he mad?”
    “I believe he is.”
    “Why has Clare not asked you to stay at Blackdown?”
    “Clare is at Blackdown!” She frowned. “I thought her gone to London with Bella and your mother.”
    “She helped them settle in London but she prefers the country. She has been at Blackdown since just after your grandfather’s death. I am shocked to learn that she has not contacted you.”
    That open face shut its doors again—slammed them, rather. “Oh.” She put her hand on her horse’s pommel. “She has heard the gossip. She believes it.”
    “No. I am sure she has not, would not.” Nick put his hand over hers. “Do not go riding off just yet, Julia.”
    She whispered, and he knew it was because if she spoke any more loudly she would either shout or cry. “Of course she believes it, Nick—my lord. I rode into the village yesterday. I saw their faces. What they believe of me, of my mother—”
    “They!” Nick scoffed. “Give Stoke Canon a man, a woman, and a slightly irregular situation, and it will serve you a steaming bowl of scandal broth before an hour has passed. They will sing a different tune once you are at Blackdown. As for Clare, she is not such a ninnyhammer, but if she is, then she must simply change her mind. In any case, I am taking you back to Blackdown right now. I will not have you return to Castle Dar.”
    He was amazed to see her sad eyes glint with humor. “So speaks the great marquess.”
    She was teasing him from out of the depths of her fear. He smiled. “Why shouldn’t the great marquess have his say? I have to be good for something. Riding roughshod over my sisters is one my most venerable duties.”
    That small sparkle faded. “I thank you for your kind invitation, my lord, and believe me, I accept. I accept wholeheartedly. But I cannot come with you at once. Although the scandal is baseless, Eamon has reason enough to want me at Castle Dar. If I come with you now he will simply demand me back.”
    “Demand you back? You’re a full-grown woman. You can do as you choose. . . .” Even before the words were out of his mouth, Nick realized that the sentence he had just spoken only made sense after two centuries of struggle that had yet to happen.
    “Where exactly have you spent these past three years, my lord? Among some Amazon tribe?”
    “In all honesty, I cannot say,” he said, and it was almost true. “I—I had amnesia.”
    “It must certainly have been somewhere quite different from England.”
    “It was.”
    She simply