Coming Home by Vonnie Hughes

them, so she reached behind her and grabbed the pillow. Holding it against her stomach she told him, ‘Like you, Papa was a younger son with no prospects. But you have made something of yourself whilst my father …’ She trailed off and explained, ‘If he wanted to insinuate himself into some of the digs, he would offer to lecture at the Universities of Cairo and Coimbra. When they paid him in books or research materials Mãe and I were not happy.’ She grimaced. ‘If our financial situation became untenable he would press Mãe to apply to her parents for funds. My grandparents were comfortably off, you see. Poor Mãe hated doing that, but the Ervedosas were always generous. They were pleased that their daughter had married a man of letters.’
    Colly vouchsafed no comment about her revelations but simply looked at her for a moment, his hazel eyes serious. Then he smiled ruefully and stepped away from the bunk. ‘Well, Miss Colebrook. We seem to be back where we started. We had best … that is, good night.’
    He bowed ironically in her direction then lay down on the cabin floor, shoving the folded blanket beneath his head. His long body
stretched right to the door. He folded his arms beneath his head and closed his eyes, feigning relaxation. The shaggy, dark brown hair fell back from the shuttered face.
    Juliana smiled ruefully and lay back on the bed, stifling a sigh. He had not so much rebuffed her as gently set her aside, but it hurt – oh, how it hurt. They certainly were ‘back to where they had started.’ And she had lost her gamble.
    She lay still, listening to the creaking timbers and the wash of the sea against the hull of the ship. If Colly had not raped that girl, who had? In fact – and here was an interesting thought – had she been raped at all? She wondered if the Colebrooks’ house at Melksham was far from Bath. Then she told herself sharply to mind her own business. How many times did a man have to say ‘no’ before she accepted it?
    She nibbled on a fingernail. Oh, he admired her, he desired her. He had admitted it. But he had no intention of doing anything about it. She had already twisted his arm to make him bring her to England. Now she was trying to seduce the poor man. What did she think she was doing? Three years ago Juliana Carlotta Ervedosa Colebrook would never have done such a thing. But three years ago she had not yet discovered that a woman alone in the world was a defenceless creature. She had had to learn to stand up for herself when she discovered the full measure of her father’s perfidy.
    She had always known her father cared not one jot for her. She’d had years of ‘If only I’d had a son, Juliana. He would have been my partner in my search for antiquities. Alas, your mother bore only you.’ And he would shake his head at the unfairness of life.
    In spite of that, she had presumed he would provide for her in some way. Juliana imagined he would leave her a few of his less valuable figurines so she could sell them to a collector, or to one of the universities or museums. That way she would have had an income while she sought a position in Portugal or England. But he had left her nothing at all.
    On the day she left Coimbra she vowed that never again would she expect anything from anyone. So, although she longed to be reunited with her family, she was prepared to support herself.
    And she would never give her heart to any man the way her poor mother had given hers to Philip Colebrook – generously, extravagantly.
    She rolled over onto her stomach, remembering that dreadful trip between Coimbra and Porto. When the sisters at the convent advised her of the desperate need for assistants in the Porto hospitals, she had packed her bags immediately. She’d had no desire to impose on her
father’s friend one minute longer than necessary. Accompanied by a frightened maid and two decrepit