Her chest heaves in her gown, drawing my eyes where they should not go, and I have to forcibly move them back up to meet her gaze. My hand itches to slide the errant chestnut curl behind her shoulder. I want to put it all back in place and...

"I'm fine. Many thanks to you. I was... extremely uncomfortable." Her voice chimes like bells on the wind, and something floral follows her as she steps toward me, closing even more of the small space between us.

"So," I clear my throat. "What am I to call you, my bride?"

Her demure giggle grates at my nerves and warms my heart all at once. Something in me wants to know everything going on behind those piercing brown eyes of hers. I have no idea why, but she draws me. "Catalina, my lord."

She dips into a curtsey so low her hand pulls downward on mine as I press the back of it to my lips for a kiss. "And I take it you are here with your... husband?" I ask, searching her eyes for an answer. Though I know logically she's not here with her husband. She would never have accepted my offer if that were the case.

"I am no one's wife," she says, rising to full height.

"Well, then." I offer my arm to her. "It appears you are mine."

She pulls back almost imperceptibly. Her smile falters into something altogether lacking spark. I should be glad to be rid of it, but instead all I feel is the need to bring it back.

"For appearances only," I whisper into her ear.

Do I imagine the shiver that shakes through her as my breath reaches her neck?

"Well, in that case," she muses, threading her arm through mine and clasping her hands together. "I was thinking of returning to the dining car. Would you care to join me, my husband?"

It wouldn't hurt to eat something on this journey, I suppose. "It would be my honour," I answer. "Catalina," I add almost as a prayer.

She walks toward the dining car, and I follow her lead, all the while formulating outlandish theories about how she ended up on my train car.

Once we are seated at the dining table, I'm acutely aware of the unwelcome ears and eyes surveying our conversation, so I lower my voice. "May I ask?" I begin. "May I inquire as to how you found yourself on this train without a ticket?"

She delicately places a spoonful of paella into her mouth and her eyes dart around the room before she leans in, lips inches from my ears. "What makes you think I don't have a ticket?"

It takes everything in me not to release the groan that gathers in my throat as her warm breath dances across my neck. My firmly closed eyes and clenched jaw are all that stands between me and a very poor decision.

A wholly improper decision commensurate with my reputation rather than my character.

When she pulls back from me, she rests her hand on mine atop the table, glancing around and taking another slight spoonful of her paella. Her lack of ring a glaring omission to those of our stature.

My stature, I suppose. I know nothing of her.

"I think you don't have a ticket," I say once I've leaned close enough that only she can hear, "because you do not look like the type of lady who would need to pretend in order to attract a husband. It can't be difficult for you to become someone's wife. Especially not mine. And yet you jumped at the opportunity. So the only logical conclusion is that you did not, in fact, pay to board this train."

"And you, knowing all of that, decided to help me in my fraudulent journey?" She's staring at me now, hands folded in her lap.

"I don't know what came over me." And truly I do not. How I managed to get myself into this situation is beyond me. I'm not usually so impulsive. At least not when it comes to beautiful women in distress.

A small blush creeps into her cheek before the train lurches, slowing down at an alarming speed and sliding people and furniture around the carriage. My instinct carries me, surefooted around the table and to her side, bracing against the wall for support as the train continues its sudden slowing.

She melts into my arms, delicate curls resting against my chest and chin until the train finally lurches to a stop, jerking her away from me only slightly. My arms resist her momentum, keeping her protected and secure against my chest.

"What was that?" Her voice is weak and breathy, pitched higher than it had been before.

"I've never encountered it before," I answer her, pressing the wall as though the act will give me information about the state of the train. Finally, after several moments, I risk rising to my feet. Most of the gentlemen in the car look as haphazard as I feel, but there is one young man near the door who appears calm and collected. Ready to assist.

"Please ensure nothing happens to my wife," I say, pointing down at Catalina and not daring to look into her eyes to see her response to my use of the title.

His nod is enough to ensure her safety.

I make my way through the cars, searching for answers from someone who might know what's going on. Those seated had fared better than those of us in the dining car, but even they look shaken. Finally, I arrive at the first passenger car, only to hear the tail end of the conductor's speech. Something about being stuck here until further notice.

I follow him into the next car and listen to the whole thing again before racing back to the dining room, where Catalina sits still cowering in the corner.

"What's going on?" she asks again, voice small and eyes wide. Her arms are open. Trusting.

"You need to come with me," I say, offering my hand. Her touch sends warmth through my hand in a way I'm ashamed to admit, but I have no time to think on that. My only job right now is to keep her safe.

We are barely out of the dining car before the conductor and stewards make their way inside.

"Where are we going?" she asks when I slide the door to my sleeper open.

"We are going to bed," I say without thinking, checking back over my shoulder to assess the status of the stewards.

If I had been thinking clearly, I would never have left that without an explanation.

At the very least I would have expected the slap and subsequent tongue lashing that I received.

Face still stinging from her hand making contact, I wait for her to take a breath and interrupt.

"You know an awful lot of foul words for a woman or your stature," I say, pulling her hands into my chest. "And I don't have time to explain, but I meant nothing untoward. If, as I suspect, you do not have a ticket, you need to go through this door and get under that blanket and let me do the talking."

Her resistance slows, and she lets me ease her backwards through the door.

I explain further, gently guiding her into the room. "The train has run into some tracks that aren't proper. They suspect vandalism or scavengers looking for metal. Regardless of the reason, our train is halted at least for this evening." I hope for only this evening, or I will surely be caught.

She stares up at me, wide eyes and open lips. I turn my face to look past her. "They are clearing the dining cars and escorting everyone back to their rooms or seats," I say, when I am once again ready to look in her eyes.

"And requiring tickets once more," she whispers. Then, lower still, she adds, "Why did I have to get on a train?"

I have no time to tell her I'm glad she got on this one, or why, because I just need to keep her here. With me. I swallow a growing lump in my throat and push her away from my body, hoping she won't notice what she's doing to me.

"I don't want them asking too many questions you don't have the answer to. I don't want to take any chances they might have heard..." I'm not sure how much she knows, and I hardly want to make myself seem worse, so I add, "Well, I'd like to avoid talking to them as much as possible. If they look in and see you under those blankets, they are likely to assume we are doing as married couples do—"

Her eyes widen and she draws her lower lip between her teeth.

I look at the wall and think about damp alleyways and mouldy bread as I finish pushing her into the room. "If they think that's going on, my stature should keep them from requiring me to produce either of our tickets or spend too much time chatting."

"The more we say, the more chances we have of being caught," she whispers again, a small shiver running visibly up her arms.

"Yes, but once they come by I suspect they won't want to interrupt us again. It would be very improper. You'll be safe until morning at least."

Her eyes ask the question I know she's thinking about just as much as I am. Why am I doing this for her? Why am I putting everything at risk for a girl I've just met?

Why, indeed?