Page 16 of To Protect

“The one who pursues women indiscriminately, complimenting them more easily than might be deserved for my own nefarious purposes?”

Despite herself, Amalia laughed. “I could not have summarized my thoughts any more succinctly.”

Aside from raising his brows, Roland said nothing until she prompted.

“Am I not right?”

“Would you believe me if I answered nay?”

“No,” she admitted. “I would not.”

“Then it seems we are at an impasse.”

Amalia stifled a laugh. “It seems we are. Perhaps we should discuss a new topic?”

“One that has not to do with your beauty or riding skills?”

You do not care about his compliments, Amalia.

“Aye.”

“Such as?”

“Tell me of your family.”

And so, he did. Roland told her of his parents and brothers. Of his sisters. Though she’d known already his parents’ marriage was arranged, it seemed their union was at least a fruitful one. One of his brothers and both sisters were married with children, despite the fact that Roland was the eldest. Though he spoke highly of his mother and sisters, it seemed Roland’s relationship with his brothers was as strained as that with his father. All supported the king, except Roland.

“Does it not bother you that your mother and sisters do so as well? You seem less concerned for their opinions on the succession.”

“If they had opinions, they would concern me as well as any. My mother agrees with my father on all things involving politics, and both of my sisters look to my mother for guidance on most matters.”

Amalia thought about that for a moment. “’Tis as expected, I suppose.”

“Was it not the same for you?”

Amalia admitted that she’d not lived with her family for many years, but that aye, it was the same with Lord Ashcroft and Evelina. Except somehow, her lady had never so easily bent toward expectations.

“Perhaps because Sir Eamon is her true father?” Roland mused.

“She did not know of the fact until recently,” Amalia argued as they approached the outskirts of the village.

“But Eamon did.”

Amalia thought on that. The implications of those words. He had known for years, and though they’d not enjoyed a father-daughter relationship, the two had always been close. Had Eamon influenced Evelina over the years? Certainly, he had. Perhaps more so than Amalia had considered.

Which meant he’d influenced Amalia as well.

She looked at Roland.

“Would that everyone could be so fortunate as to have a man like Sir Eamon Thorne for guidance. I think you’ll find many of the ideals you hold likely align with his. Others, of course, reflect back to your parents. And still some”—he grinned—“are yours alone. Those are the trickiest of all but, once you understand them . . . ”

He never finished. The market was on the edge of the village, and they’d reached it, along with the chaos that ensued. Vendors called out the contents of their wares. Children laughed, and some cried. Chickens squawked. It was a lively place, one Amalia adored. As it always did, her gaze found the row of permanent shops beyond the makeshift stands. She imagined a wooden sign hanging outside one of them, a sprig of parsley, perhaps.

“Amalia?”

Brought out of her reverie by Roland, a very different one replaced it. One where Roland lifted her from the saddle to the ground, pulling her against him more closely than necessary. But instead of pulling away, she’d lean into him.

Their lips would meet.

She swallowed.

“Aye, Roland?”

“We’ve arrived.”