HOW COULD IT POSSIBLY BE PERSONAL?

Neither had spoken and she suddenly felt she must fill the silence. "I...I've made lamb chops. I hope that's all right."

He tried not to smile. She seemed slightly flustered and her cheeks had flushed pink. "I like lamb."

"Oh...good," she breathed, feeling like a teenager. His presence did that to her, made her feel somehow...inexperienced. The utterly masculine intensity that radiated from the man was breath-taking. She continued standing where she was, just staring at him.

After a moment he asked softly, "May I come in?"

"Oh! Oh...yes...certainly," she blurted, reddening a bit more. "Dinner's ready. If you are, that is. I mean, we can wait if you like. Or eat."

"I am rather hungry. Eating is fine."

"Of course you're hungry," she laughed awkwardly. "You've had a busy day. All that mud and all. Falling off logs. Very busy."  Good Lord! Couldn't she even talk any more? She led the way to her dining room, biting her tongue, never having felt so inept in any man's presence.

"Falling off logs is very easy," he said as they walked. "It's the staying on that can be difficult."  He smiled again. "At times," he added.

"You...you fall off logs....often?" God, she was five years old again!

"I've been known to," he said quietly, taking in her cozy dining room. It wasn't large but was decorated with exquisite feminine taste. "Did you do this?"

"Oh, no, it was already done. I've only added a few personal items to it. I'm just renting so I can write my book."

"Number eight?" He pulled a mahogany chair out for her at the table.

"Eight. Yes."  She sat and then realized she had to go to the kitchen to get the lamb. Rising again quickly she cracked his chin with the top of her head. "Oh...NO!" she gasped. She'd done that once already today.

Robert staggered two steps back and clamped his hand to his chin. "Are...are you all right?" she asked, holding her head and hovering near him.

"I think I shall live," he replied. "I wasn't expecting you to stand again so soon."

"Lamb," she said, pointing toward the kitchen. "I need to get the lamb."

"Ah," he murmured. "Do you need assistance?"

"No...no, you just sit there, all right, and I'll get it."

He took his seat and, still rubbing his hand across his chin, watched her hurry off to the kitchen. She was a beautiful woman, indeed, but evidently very dangerous to one's well-being, not to mention one's attire. Closing his eyes briefly, he wondered if she might also prove dangerous to his identity.

In the kitchen, she pressed her palms to the countertop and leaned forward. "Get a hold of yourself, Julianna!" she whispered. "So far this evening you've been a total ninny."  She sucked in a long breath then arranged the chops on an oval platter, spooning mint sauce over them. Thank goodness the side dishes were already on the table. As she returned with the platter, he stood in that gracious way men used to do. She liked it.

Seated again herself, she nodded toward the bottle of wine. "Would you...?"

"My pleasure."  His hand slid beneath the bowl of her goblet, its stem between his fingers, and she found the movement oddly erotic. Her breasts ached in response and she bit her lip as he lifted the glass smoothly and began to pour the wine. "Is that good?" he asked, holding it back toward her.

Her hands were clasped in her lap because her fingers were trembling. She kept them there rather than reaching for her glass. He held it out for a while, waiting, then she finally murmured, "Very good," her color rising again. A moment more passed and when she still didn't take it, he set it back on the table near her plate, cocking his head slightly.

"Are you all right, Julie?"

"I...," she cleared her throat. "Yes, I'm fine."

The food served, he made an attempt at conversation. "Would you tell me about your books? They are novels, right? Where and when are they set?"

Oh, that was good! She could always talk coherently about her books. "England, in the late 12th century, "she began, then stopped when his eyes widened. "Do you not like English history?"

"I am quite, um, attached to English history," he said, his tongue licking across his lower lip. "Why that particular place and time?"  His heart was beating faster, his muscles tensing.

"King Richard," she smiled. "I've been obsessed with Lionheart since I was a little girl."

"In, um, what way?"

"If I'd been a man back then, I'd have gone on crusade with him." She sat back in her chair, folding her napkin in her lap. "But being a woman then would have been...interesting...too. The men of that time always seem so...special...somehow." She laughed lightly. "Oh, I know I've probably got it all romanticized! My books are centered around a young noblewoman who loves an Englishman who goes off on crusade with Richard."

"The crusades were not very...romantic," he whispered, looking toward the window.

"You...you're interested in crusade history?" she asked, her voice eager.

"Once," he smiled wryly. "Not any more."

"Why not?" she pursued.

"Blood and...pain." His voice was barely audible, his gaze turned completely inward. "And death. So much death."

She stared at him, studying his gone-away expression, and her mind wrote furiously, setting him with that very expression upon some dusty hilltop in the Holy Land after a battle. It was amazingly easy to put him there.

He was lost in his thoughts for a long time, then blinked slowly, and looked back at her as she asked, "What do you think of King Richard?"

"What do I...?" He could hardly believe she'd asked him that. Blowing out a long breath, he said, his voice low and very deep, "He was a great warrior." Again he looked toward the window. "Not so great a king and even less as a husband."

"Ah, yes," she added. "Berengaria. She hardly ever saw him, did she?"

"Hardly ever...yes. She became a nun...later...you know."

"I know, but she did have an exciting life most of the time. She even got to go on crusade with him."

"He didn't love her. Not really."

"He captured Cyprus to set her free!"

"She was his property, yes."

"I like to think it was more than that! I mean, she was on her way to marry the guy!"

"A king needs a wife," he shrugged. "He doesn't have to love her." He looked at her seriously. "It is rumored that he may have loved her brother Sancho, however."

"That's all that is. Rumor!"

"As you say...rumor."

"Well, you've got to admit that when her ship ran aground on Cyprus and Comnenus held her prisoner, he came and took the whole island, overthrew its ruler, and whisked her off to the Chapel of St. George to marry her, that sounds pretty romantic!"

"It does sound that way. However, for the men who took Cyprus with him, it was not romantic at all."

"She must have cared for him, though. When he was taken prisoner on his way back to England later, she tried desperately to raise ransom for him."

"But when he was free, did he take her to England with him?"

"Well, no. She never even got to set foot in England while he was alive."

"His mind and heart lay elsewhere after he was freed. She was of no concern to him. His focus was on his kingdom, not on his queen. So much had been lost by John or taken by King Philip of France."  His eyes turned inward yet again and he murmured, "John."

"I take it you are no fan of John."

He looked at her, his lids half lowered. "I have no reason to be."

"You say that almost as though it were somehow personal, Robert."

Smiling wryly, he replied, "How could it possibly be...personal?"

"I...I don't know. You...you just...."

"The lamb was excellent," he said firmly. "Could we have tea?"