"Not of you," he declared.

"Good." Smiling, she leaned back against the squabs again. "I'm famished. Must we wait till Horsham before we stop for breakfast?”

Nathaniel's eyes narrowed. "You," he said with soft deliberation, "are a brigand, Gabrielle de Beaucaire."

He sat down opposite her as the coachman's whip cracked and the chaise lurched forward again.

Gabrielle chose to take the characterization as a compliment and smiled her crooked smile again.

Nathaniel leaned forward, hooking a finger into the clasp of her cloak, pulling her toward him. "I do not intend breakfasting with a brigand." His mouth met hers in a hard kiss. Then he unclasped the cloak and pushed it off her shoulders. His hands cupped the swell of her breasts under the white lawn shirt and her nipples sprang upright in instant gratifying response.

"A shameless, wanton brigand," he murmured. "Take those damn clothes off."

"But it's cold," she protested with a mischievous chuckle.

"Serves you right." He leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. "I refuse to be seen in public with a shameless hussy, so if you want breakfast, you must change your clothes."

"Oh, well, if it's that serious," she said amiably, unbuttoning her shirt, pulling it out of the waist of her britches.

Nathaniel stretched and jerked the pistol loose at the same moment. "You won't need this either." He examined it with an expert's eye. It was no toy for all its small size and delicate mounting. He cracked the barrel. It was primed.

"Why do you carry a pistol?"

"One never knows when one might need protection," she said, unfastening her britches, lifting her hips to push them down. The full swell of her breasts shifted sensuously with the motion of the coach and her own actions. Then she was naked on the seat of a swaying carriage on the road to Horsham. The dark red hair tumbled over her shoulders and her long legs stretched across the narrow space between them.

A monk couldn't have resisted. Nathaniel reached for her, pulling her between his knees. Her skin was warm despite the winter morning and the unheated vehicle.

"You've a mind to play again?" Her black eyebrows rose. "It could prove something of a challenge in these circumstances."

"I've never been afraid of challenges," he replied, unfastening his britches with one hand. "And I know full well how you view them."

His roused body sprang free from constraint. Smiling, Gabrielle touched him and then, obeying the pressure of his hands on her hips, slowly lowered herself astride his lap, guiding his body within her own.

"Ahh," she whispered. "Why do you feel so good… so right?"

"Why do you?" he whispered back, closing his eyes.

The carriage jolted in a rut and his grip tightened, his fingers pressing into the flesh of her hips. The movement of the carriage slowly insinuated itself into the rhythm of their joined bodies as Gabrielle moved herself over and around him and he lifted his hips to meet her.

"I read somewhere that cossacks make love galloping on horseback," Gabrielle murmured, lowering her head to brush his lips with her own in a fleeting caress. "Maybe we should try it later."

Nathaniel groaned. "How much stamina do you think I have, woman?"

"Limitless," she replied with a smile of utter confidence.

"Your faith is touching." Smiling, he gripped her more tightly as he felt the internal movements of her body, the little ripples that told him she was nearing her pinnacle.

Gabrielle drew breath sharply, her head falling back, the pure white column of her throat arched. He thrust upward, his fingers biting into her flesh as she convulsed around him. She fell forward with a moan of joy, her forehead resting on the top of his head, and he held her as he fell slowly from his own peak and the carriage swayed and rocked beneath them.

"MonDieu, I think we're going through a village," Gabrielle gasped with a weak chuckle as she raised her head, glancing toward the window. "Do you think anyone can see in?"

"Don't tell me you're worried about appearances!" Laughter, wonderful and carefree, bubbled in his chest. He couldn't remember when he'd last felt so light-hearted, so unrestrained, so much in charity with his fellow man. Distantly, it occurred to him that the true seductive power of Gabrielle de Beaucaire lay in her ability to create this feeling.

"Get off, you wicked creature." He lifted her off his lap and deposited her on the seat opposite. He shook his head, taking in the wonderful untidy sprawl of her naked limbs, the unruly tangle of that dark red hair as she smiled her crooked smile, her eves languorous with satiation.

"For God's sake, put some clothes on," he directed, his voice a husky rasp. "You'll catch your death."

"And whose fault would that be?" She made no move to obey, just continued smiling at him.

Nathaniel pulled the cloakbag toward him and opened it. "You're not, I trust, going to have the unmitigated gall to imply that I have any say in your actions." He riffled through the contents of the bag.

"Only to the extent that you're the cause of them," she responded. "I seem to find you irresistible. My riding habit's in there somewhere."

Nathaniel looked up, his eyes sharply appraising. Then he shook his head in resignation. "The feeling is reciprocal, it seems. Are there undergarments in here, or do you always go without them?"

"Only when they might be a hindrance," she said with a serene smile. "I couldn't see much point wearing them last night, and your departure was so precipitate, I didn't have time to change my clothes this morning."

There was a hint of reproof in her voice as she said this.

Nathaniel pulled out a silk chemise and a pair of pantalettes. "Put these on." He held them out to her. Then he said with some constraint, "I felt I'd yielded sufficiently to temptation. Perhaps I should have said something-"

"Running off like that was distinctly ungentlemanly… not to put too fine a point on it," Gabrielle interrupted as her head emerged from the neck of the chemise.

"Perhaps so." Nathaniel leaned forward and began to do up the buttons at her throat. "But you made it very clear that you were responsible for your actions. I didn't feel it necessary to tell you of my plans. They were made well before you arrived in my bed.”

She took the drawers he handed her and slipped them over her feet, raising her hips to pull them up. "Well, have you agreed to amend them?" She pulled on the stockings he held out.

Nathaniel lifted her right leg and slipped a lace-trimmed garter up to her thigh, and then served the left leg similarly, his hands smoothing over the muscled roundness of her calves, the satin softness of her inner thighs.

"It would seem so," he said with a wry smile, handing her a clean shirt and the skirt of her habit.

"Good," Gabrielle declared with a nod of satisfaction. She fastened the buttons of the shirt and slipped into the skirt, buttoning the waistband. "We shall have a game of passion… an interlude. No promises."

"And where will people think you are?"

She shrugged into her jacket. "Georgie knows. She's the only person who needs to know. And she's no prude. I'm no virginal innocent, Lord Praed. And I rule my own life."

"I don't question it," Nathaniel said. "My neighbors will look askance, however, at a woman sharing my roof so flagrantly."

Gabrielle grinned. "Somehow, Lord Praed, I don't believe you give a tinker's damn what your neighbors think. And I certainly don't. They don't know me from Eve and never will."

It was perfectly true. Since Helen's death, Nathaniel had as little to do with his county neighbors as possible. He didn't encourage callers, and paid no calls himself. He had a reputation for being a somewhat surly recluse. There would be gossip, of course, but it wouldn't worry him.