What we do and say isn’t necessarily a reflection of what we’re thinking, and part of the fun of writing is to let readers into the thoughts our characters are not willing to share with those around them. This week, I’d love to see any excerpt you care to share where a character’s actions are being driven by thoughts they’d rather keep to themselves. Mine is from To Tame a Rake. Charlotte has sought Aldridge’s help to rescue a boy who has been kidnapped. The boy has already escaped, but Aldridge rescues two prostitutes.

Aldridge sent his footmen home. “Get some food into you then sleep,” he told them. Tell Richards I’ve given you the rest of the day off.”

Lady Charlotte was glaring at him. “I will do myself the honour of escorting you to Winderfield House, my lady,” he told her.

She put her chin up, her nostrils flaring as she took in a deep breath to wither him.

“It is my duty, as I’m sure my mother would insist.”

“I need no other escort but Yahzak and his men,” Lady Charlotte said, looking to her fierce guard captain for his support. Yahzak backed his horse a step, his face impassive, saying nothing. Her statement was undoubtedly true from the point of view of her physical safety.

“Nonetheless…” Aldridge replied, not wanting explain—barely wanting to acknowledge to himself—his burning need see her safe inside her own home before he surrendered to the fatigue that was his reaction to the night they’d spent.

Especially that moment when he had stood by the mouth of that alley expecting Wharton’s hirelings, only to see Charlotte emerge, putting herself right in the path of danger when he had thought her safely out of the way observing from the rooftops.

That moment of heart-stopping fear had given way to anger when they’d ridden beyond the reach of the slum boss, and he’d been fighting ever since to contain his temper, to speak with her and the others with calm and civility.

Her obstinacy over the prostitutes had nearly defeated his control. Didn’t she understand how her own reputation could be tainted by association?

His civilised self knew that Saint Charlotte was nearly as well known for her virtue as for her works of charity, and that wouldn’t be changed by housing a pair of refugees from a brothel, especially two witnesses who could help bring down a dangerous criminal.

Actually, the value of the investigation was a good point to make if anyone dared criticise his ladyship in his hearing. Not that it soothed his irritation in the slightest. He was being irrational and he knew it. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

On the ride back through the steadily brightening streets, she ignored him, though he rode beside her. Probably as well. He didn’t trust himself to speak without disclosing more of his feelings than was consistent with dignity.

She had clearly been stewing, however. In the forecourt of the Winshire mansion, when he dismounted and reached her stirrup ahead of Yahzak, ready to help her down, she allowed the privilege, but stepped out of his reach while his body still hardened from her touch, turned both barrels of her ire on him and let fly.

“You take too much on yourself, Lord Aldridge. I am grateful for your help this past night,” (she didn’t sound grateful), “but that does not give you the right to dictate my behaviour or comment on my decisions.”

Aldridge managed to keep his reply courteous, even pleasant, despite his pathetic emotional state. “I want only to protect you, my lady.”

“Because I am not capable of protecting myself?” she demanded, with heavy irony. “Because I don’t have a family of my own to support me?”

“No!” He clamped his mouth shut on the next words on his tongue. Because you are mine. She would kill him. Or castrate him.