"Yes."

"I only arrived back from Scotland this afternoon. You were there, waiting, and Madam said the minister was late for another engagement. She would have fretted if I had plied her with questions."

"So you married me without knowing anything at all about me?"

"Madam said you were acceptable," Taylor replied. "You don't know much about me either, unless Madam told you about my background, but since we won't be seeing one another once we reach Boston, it really doesn't matter, does it?"

"No," he answered. "I suppose it doesn't." He decided to answer her earlier question then. "I have a ranch in an area called Montana Territory, near the edge of the valley. It's isolated, sparsely populated now that the gold rush is over, and the only town around is just two streets wide and long. You would hate it."

"Why would you think I'd hate it?" she asked.

"The only society there is the Sunday gathering in front of the general store for the reading of the newspaper from Rosewood. There aren't any parties or balls. Survival's a lot more important there than society."

"And that is what appeals to you?" He didn't answer her. "What is the name of the town?"

"Redemption."

It sounded wonderful to her. "Could a person get lost there? Is there enough space to walk for a full day and never see another soul?"

If he thought her question odd, he didn't say. The carriage rocked to a stop near the street leading to the loading docks. The ship they would board was called the Emerald, a two-ton paddle wheel steamer moored in the center of the river. A small steam tender would convey the passengers to the ship.

Taylor was suddenly anxious to be on her way. It was well past one o'clock in the morning, yet the streets and pavement were teeming with activity. Their carriage was hindered from progressing any further by all the wagons, mail carts, and carriages ahead of them being unloaded of their letters, packages, and passengers.

"Are our suitcases already on board?" she asked. "Or must we find them in this clutter?"

"They're already in our stateroom."

"Our stateroom? Don't we have separate quarters, sir?"

She was trying hard not to panic again. Lucas wasn't paying any attention to her now, and that was a blessing, she thought. She knew she'd gone pale. She felt faint. Did the man expect to share her bed? Heavens, she hadn't considered that obscene possibility.

Lucas unlatched the door, pulled the drape back, and then turned to her.

"Your grandmother insisted the log show we shared the same quarters, Taylor. She wanted only one reservation written down. Feel like walking the rest of the way?"

She felt like running. She nodded instead. He got out of the vehicle, then turned to assist her. She left her cloak behind. He reached behind her to get the garment, saw her gloves were on the floor, and collected those as well, then turned to help her put her cloak on. Taylor seemed surprised she wasn't wearing her gloves and hastily put them in her pocket. She knew he was being extremely considerate with her, and that fact made her feel better. Perhaps he wasn't such a barbarian after all.

"Why didn't I notice how tall you were?"

She hadn't realized she'd asked the question until the words were out of her mouth and she couldn't take them back.

"You were standing on the step next to your grandmother's bed. I wasn't."

She barely heard his explanation. She was thoroughly occupied staring at him. He had a wonderful smile. And beautiful white teeth, she couldn't help but notice. Heavens, he even had a dimple in the side of his cheek. If that wasn't appealing, she didn't know what was. She let out a little sigh over her errant thoughts.

He glanced down, caught her staring up at him, and wondered what had come over her. She was blushing. She was such an innocent, he thought. Taylor looked mesmerized, almost dazed. What in thunder was the matter with her?

"What are you thinking about?" he asked

"You're very handsome," she blurted out. She immediately regretted telling him the truth. He looked exasperated with her. Her face felt as though it were burning. God, she wished she were more worldly, more sophisticated. "Of course, I'm a horrible judge of men," she hastily added. "You've probably figured that out by now."

"Why's that?"'

Now she was exasperated. "I was going to marry William," she reminded him.

He shrugged. She didn't know what that was supposed to mean. "I should hate all men, I suppose."

He laughed. "You're too young to hate anyone."

"How old are you?" she asked.

"Old enough to hate the world."

He was through discussing the matter. Lucas grabbed hold of her hand and started walking. She had to run to keep pace. Fortunately, the crowd swelled near the corner, and he was forced to slow down.

He had a firm grip on her hand. Taylor felt safe. It was an interesting feeling, overwhelmingly pleasant, actually, for she hadn't felt safe in such a long time. Things were looking much, much brighter.

They threaded their way through the chaos. The wharf was ablaze with light and activity. Carts piled high with trunks and suitcases stood unattended in the center of the street. Vendors shouted their prices and waved their wares as they pushed their way around the obstacles, while couples huddled together in a waiting line outside the ticketing office. Pickpockets darted in and out of the crowd, some as young as eight, others as old as eighty, but no one got within spitting distance of Taylor. Lucas wouldn't allow that. Men did gawk. They didn't touch. She noticed several gentlemen staring at her and believed her formal attire was drawing all the attention. With her free hand, she pulled the dark cape close and held the edges together against her chest.

Lucas noticed the action. "Are you getting cold?"

She shook her head. "I'm trying not to draw attention," she explained. "I'm not dressed appropriately for travel," she added when he continued to look down at her.

It wouldn't have mattered what she wore, Lucas decided. She couldn't change what she looked like. Her curly hair cascaded down her back. The color, as pure a gold as a stalk of prairie wheat, was like a beacon to anyone who happened to glance their way. Taylor was of medium height, yet she held herself like a tall, regal princess. There was a definite sensuality in her walk, too, Lucas had noticed that right away, and those were just a few of the hundred or so reasons why he didn't believe it was possible for her not to draw attention to herself. She was damned beautiful, and when she looked directly at a man with those big blue eyes, he might as well give up trying to do anything but stare back. Even if Taylor were dressed in beggar's britches and an oversized man's shirt, she would still attract notice and lustful stares.

He didn't like the attention she was getting any more than she did. He felt possessive and couldn't understand why. His reaction to her didn't make any sense, yet the need to protect her fairly overwhelmed him. Hell, he barely knew her. Yet she belonged to him. She was his wife now. And what in God's name was he going to do about that?

He was glaring down at her. His moods, she decided, were as contrary and unpredictable as the weather.

"I should have changed my gown after the ball," she announced for lack of anything better to say.

"It wouldn't have helped."

He sounded surly. He was still frowning something fierce, though Taylor was happy to notice the focus of his displeasure now seemed to be centered on a group of young men lounging against the metal hitching posts.

She didn't waste time speculating about his sudden change in mood, however, because they turned the corner then and she spotted the Emerald in the distance. Her breath caught in the back of her throat. The ship was a magnificent sight. The moon cast a golden glow upon the mighty vessel, making it appear mystical in size. White frothing caps from the churning waves of the Mersey slapped against the sides but the ship didn't appear to move at all. Why, the Emerald looked as sturdy as a mountain and as welcoming as a preacher on Sunday morning.