Blinking, Jake complied.

"Oh, you must call me Gabby," Gabrielle said, taking his hands in a warm clasp. "All my English friends do."

"Go up to the schoolroom, Jake," Nathaniel directed. "It may be Sunday, but I'm sure you have "our collect to learn."

"Or some other improving work," Gabrielle murmured as the child turned and mounted the steps with obvious reluctance.

"It is not appropriate for him to call you Gabby," Nathaniel said in a fierce undertone. "It shows marked lack of respect."

"Stuff!" Gabrielle declared as quietly as he, watching until the child was safely out of earshot. "What's he to call me that wouldn't he a dreadful mouthful for such a babe?"

"In the first place, he's no longer a baby. And in the second, 'madame' will do very well and is far from a mouthful."

Gabrielle's nose wrinkled. "If he has my permission, I can't see why you should object. There's no disrespect in that."

"It's overly familiar." Nathaniel glared at her. "You said yourself it's what your friends call you. A six-year-old child doesn't come into that category."

"I sincerely hope he will," Gabrielle averred.

"If all your English friends call you Gabby and I do not, where does that place me?" Nathaniel switched the angle of the discussion to himself without knowing why. The issue of Jake was far from settled.

"Wherever you wish." Her eyelids drooped with a seductive indolence as she squinted against the sun, her eyebrows quirked, lips curved in mischievous invitation. "Lovers have a special position, one that transcends mere friendship."

"Transcends, perhaps," he said slowly, his eyes locked with hers. "But it can encompass it, presumably?"

"One would hope so," she replied. But not inthis case. Not with the man responsible for Guillaume's death.

The bleak thought came nowhere near her expression. The years of loving in the shadows with Guillaume had taught Gabrielle well how to conceal true feelings from a watchful world.

Now she shook her head, still smiling, and said, "Let's not quarrel about something as simple and unimportant as what Jake calls me while I'm here. If Gabby really makes you uncomfortable, then tell him to call me madame. I shan't like it, but…" She shrugged. "He's your son."

"Isuppose it isn't that important," Nathaniel, to his astonishment, heard himself saying. "You won't be seeing much of him in any case."

"Why not?"

"Because his place is in the schoolroom and the nursery. And as soon as I've found him a suitable tutor, then he'll be too occupied to hang around outside, playing silly games with sticks. Come inside now."

He cupped her elbow and ushered her up the steps to the open front door, where the housekeeper stood waiting to greet them.

Gabrielle kept her own counsel on this flat, uncompromising statement. It really wasn't her business, but Miles had not been exaggerating. Matters certainly seemed awry between Nathaniel and his small son.

Mrs. Bailey did her best to hide her shock and amazement when Lord Praed introduced his guest and announced that the countess would be paying an extended visit and should be accommodated in the Queen's Suite adjacent to his own.

Covertly, the housekeeper examined the French countess and, apart from the fact that she was hatless. could find nothing at fault in either appearance or demeanor. Lord Praed's guest was affable but composed, showing no sign of embarrassment and no lack of familiarity with a gentleman's establishment. She responded to the staff's greetings with a quiet ease. And for all the French name, she spoke the King's English without any trace of accent.

The presence of a lone female in a bachelor household could only have one construction, but Mrs. Bailey decided that any presumption of familiarity on the part of Lord Praed's staff would receive a more than frosty reception from the countess, who was undoubtedly a lady. His lordship, of course, would have the offender's guts for garters, she thought with private vulgarity.

"If your ladyship would follow me, I'll show you to your apartments." She offered a friendly but deferential smile. "Bartram will bring up your luggage."

"Thank you, Mrs. Bailey."

Gabrielle followed the housekeeper upstairs, reflecting with inner amusement that the meager belongings contained in the cloakbag would add fuel to the inevitable fire of speculation in the servants' hall. But Georgie would send on the rest of her belongings as soon as she received a message.

Nathaniel went into the library intending to look over the correspondence that had accumulated in his absence. He'd have to send for his bailiff shortly, also, and pick up the threads of the estate management again. And he'd need a report on Jake's progress from his governess. He'd have to tell Miss Primmer he wouldn't be needing her services once he'd employed a tutor. Was the boy doing any better with his riding lessons? He'd go down to the stables and talk with Milner about that as soon as he'd seen the bailiff.

"Mrs. Bailey said I'd find you here." Gabrielle's cheerful tones interrupted this reverie, and Nathaniel turned to the door, frowning.

"I beg your pardon," Gabrielle said, taken aback by the ferocity of his expression. "Should I not have come in without knocking? I didn't think it was a private room."

His whole house was private, Nathaniel thought with an irritation that he couldn't master. At least, since Helen's death it was. He wasn't used to people barging in on him unexpectedly, disturbing his thoughts. What on earth had possessed him to yield to Gabrielle de Beaucaire's outrageous impulses? He had a host of matters to deal with and couldn't possibly dance attendance on some woman who'd thrust herself unasked into his life.

"Oh, dear," Gabrielle said with instant comprehension. "You're regretting inviting me."

"I didn't invite you," he snapped. "You invited yourself."

"But you agreed." She closed the door softly behind her and came toward him. "Perhaps I should remind you why you agreed. We were rather rushed this morning. That inn was not exactly conducive to a leisurely waking, was it?"

Smiling, she touched his mouth with a fingertip. "I wish I knew what it was about you I find irresistible, Lord Praed, because you really are the most ill-tempered man. And when you frown like this, you're not even attractive. You just look hard and surly."

Nathaniel caught her wrist, his fingers circling the fragile bones, feeling the steady throb of her pulse. "You're a believer in home truths, I take it, madame."

"On occasion a person needs to hear the plain unvarnished truth," she said, only half teasing.

"Mmm. Well, I can administer it too. You're a shamelessly manipulative baggage, Gabrielle de Beaucaire, and I don't know what devil has possessed me since I met you."

She put her head on one side, observing with due consideration, "Lust, I think it's called."

Nathaniel gave in. His mouth curved beneath her caressing finger. Somehow, Gabrielle managed to circumvent his usual responses. She seemed to have no fear of his limits… indeed, seemed to want to find them. For both of them, he thought reading the message in the charcoal eyes. She was not a woman who would be satisfied with ordinary experiences. She always wanting to climb the next peak, test the waters of the next river, jump the highest fence.

A dangerous woman-trouble ran in her veins. But she was the most exciting woman he'd ever met, and he could no more resist her than he could have held back an avalanche with his fingertip.

Catching both her wrists in one hand, he clipped her hands behind her back as he jerked her hard against his body. She laughed beneath his mouth, her breath mingling with his, her teeth nipping his lower lip. The sensual sting sent the blood racing through his veins, pounding in his head, filling him with lascivious greed. Releasing her wrists, he gripped her buttocks, pressing her against his rising flesh, pushing one knee between her legs in a rough gesture of intemperate hunger.