Eva, startled, shot him a poisonous look of warning, but he only smiled and kept it there as the child settled herself on his lap and, giggling, began pulling at his stock. Eva moved her leg away from Blackheath's, clamping her thighs together, swinging the both of them off to the side; Blackheath's followed, its considerable length pressing against her own, the child still giggling in his lap as she happily began to undo his necktie.

  "I'm going to be your valet for the rest of the day," she announced importantly, then laughed as she set to retying the once-impeccable length of silk.

  "What, not my groom?"

  "Oh, no, that was yesterday. Today, I am your valet. You have made quite the mess of this cravat, Uncle Lucien!"

  He chuckled, the very picture of innocence, but only he and Eva knew that beneath the tablecloth, quite a different drama was being played out. His thigh still pressed against her own. She was almost angled in half trying to escape it. She directed her gaze, now a glare, straight across the table into the fireplace, determined not to let him know how much he was unsettling her. And unsettling her, he was. Her stays were suddenly too tight. Her clothes were too warm. Her pulse was starting to pound.

  Damn him!

  "All right, Charlotte, that's enough for now," the duke finally said, grinning as he removed the child's hands from his hopelessly spoiled stock. "I will take you to the dungeon this afternoon. First, the comtesse and I are going for a ride around the estate."

  "Can I go too, Uncle Lucien? Can I?"

  "Next time, sweeting. The lady and I have matters to discuss. Now off with you!" He rose, tossed the little girl high, and handed her, squealing with delight, back to her mother. And then he extended a hand to Eva . . . who, with everyone in the room observing her closely, had no choice but to accept it and rise.

  Bowing to the ladies, Blackheath led Eva from the dining room, hailed a groom, and called for their horses to be saddled.

  "Really, Blackheath, I am not in the mood to go riding with you," Eva snapped, damning her body for responding in a most carnal way to his nearness.

  "Then what are you in the mood for, hmm?"

  "Don't use that suggestive tone with me. What happened between us in Paris is most assuredly not going to happen again."

  "What a pity. And here I had such high hopes . . ."

  "Quell them, then, and put yourself out of your misery."

  He laughed. "Misery? Oh, no, madam. I am quite enjoying the thought of future . . . encounters." He walked along beside her, tall, arrogant, and amused, totally in control of the world that surrounded him. "Surely you will agree that anticipation of the dessert always makes it sweeter."

  She could feel that black, simmering gaze upon her. Could feel it warming every inch of her body from head to toe. "Really, Blackheath, you are the most pompous man I have ever met. Just when I start to think that maybe I could like you, you have to say something stupidly, totally . . . male. Let me tell you something. I have no interest in going to bed with you, not now, not ever, so you might as well put the thought right out of your mind."

  "You sound very sure of yourself, madam."

  She slanted him a look of amusement. "Having lived with myself for nearly three decades, I am more than sure of myself. Besides, you're nothing but a typical man, Blackheath, thinking of one thing, and one thing only."

  "Ah, so you would have me believe that you're not thinking of the same thing?"

  "I am most assuredly not thinking of the same thing," she scoffed, but her color was high and she dared not meet his eyes. She could feel that knowing gaze of his searching her face, then moving downward, lingering on the column of her neck, the swell of her bosom. Her blood flushed with answering heat. Desire tingled in her breasts, between her thighs, and she felt a sense of rising panic at her inability to control her body's response to him. "Oh, no, that is the last thing on my mind."

  "So what are you thinking of, madam?"

  "Leaving," she said abruptly. "In fact, this is my last morning at Rosebriar. My maid is packing my trunk as we speak. By this afternoon, I will be on my way south to the coast, and then back to America."

  "I will escort you, then."

  "What?"

  "As far as the coast, at least. I assume you wish to leave from Southampton or Plymouth?"

  She eyed him suspiciously. "Yes . . ."

  "Ah, good. I have an estate in Dorset that I would like to show you before you depart. I had thought to give it to you, but . . ."

  "Give it to me?"

  They were almost out to the stables. Lucien kept his expression perfectly affable, his manner inscrutable as he waited for her to take the bait. "Well, yes. You see, I have been thinking about our . . . impasse. You have no wish to marry for fear of losing your freedom. And to be quite truthful, I am not inclined to take a wife, though circumstances now necessitate a reappraisal of our mutual wishes. In any case, I think the best solution to our dilemma is to marry but live separate lives. I thought you might like to make Gingermere your permanent residence."

  She narrowed her eyes. "You would give it to me?"

  "Yes. I have been in contact with my solicitor, who went through hell and high water to find a way to deed it to you. It is yours, if you want it. Yours to run as you see fit."

  She was staring at him, blinking — but he could see the excitement building in her eyes, could tell that he had hooked her, and hooked her soundly.

  "You'll never have to worry about your independence again," he added, reeling her in further. "All you'll have to do is collect and live off the rents, which will be yours to keep, to spend, to invest. Raise cattle, grow corn, do whatever you wish to do with the place — it will be your nest egg for the future, your means of independence."

  "And you would not interfere?"

  I won't be alive to interfere. "No."

  "What are the terms, Blackheath?"

  "Marriage, of course. As well as unlimited access to the child, a promise that you will cease your political activities — which, after we are wed, could get you hanged for treason — and" — he smiled — "an agreement to share a bed."

  She flushed. "Is that all?"

  "Yes."

  But even as he uttered the word, he knew he owed her the full truth. She deserved to know the one stipulation of his will that would sour her on the idea: that in return for Gingermere, she could never take the child out of England, or she would lose everything. But surely that issue would never even come up. After all, why would she want to leave, once he was gone? The condition to keep the child here in Britain, where he could protect it even from beyond the grave, where his family would ensure that it would never lack for anything, was a mere formality. He was simply protecting his heir — and the duchy.

  Simply carrying out the responsibilities of his birthright.

  She looked at him flatly. "In exchange for marrying you, you'll give me Gingermere and my freedom."

  "Yes."

  She took a deep, bracing breath, and slowly let it out. Her gaze was fastened on a distant hill. "In that case, Blackheath, I'll be your wife."

  Chapter 16

  They left for Dorset several days later.

  Lucien had used that time wisely. He had sent for Fox and ensured that his will — and the transfer of Gingermere's ownership upon his death — was in order. He had taken pains to ensure that his siblings didn't learn of Eva's acceptance of his hand, for he was not yet willing to concede that particular victory to them.

  And he had sent more queries off to France regarding Perry.

  For Eva, the days had passed in a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Was she doing the right thing? She looked forward to seeing Gingermere. To investigating its possibilities. How ironic it was that in marrying Blackheath, she would obtain the very freedom she'd feared she would lose.

  As for the stipulation that she must share his bed —

  No. She would not think about how she would deal with that. Not yet, anyhow.

  Now Rosebriar was far behind them, the night pressing in as they headed steadily south. Blackheath rode just outside, Armageddon's head appearing occasionally at the window. The coach was well sprung, its gentle rocking motion so comfortable that Eva was having trouble keeping her eyes open. But sleep wouldn't come. Every so often, she parted the curtain and stared out into the frosty night, searching the darkness until she saw the duke out there on Armageddon, his black greatcoat and round hat making him and the stallion as one with the night that surrounded them. She was glad that he was out there and she was in here, because the distance between them guaranteed a certain amount of safety.

  And the way she was feeling these days, she knew she would not refuse him when he came seeking her bed.

  Funny, what pregnancy does to a woman, she thought.

  They stopped for supper at a coaching inn some miles from the coast, where the owner, upon learning from the servants who had traveled ahead that the mighty Duke of Blackheath was to be his overnight guest, fell all over himself to make them comfortable. When they arrived, ostlers were already stationed to take the horses, a meal was being laid on the table in a private room, the finest port in the cellars was being brought up for His Grace's inspection, and Eva thought rather wryly that the king himself would not have received better treatment. Despite all, she could not help but be impressed. In fact, as she and the duke settled down to a hearty meal of gammon, roast potatoes, and boiled vegetables, she began to think that maybe traveling with him had its advantages, after all.

  "Shall we stay the night or press on?" he asked as they finished their meal.

  "Press on. I'm eager to see Gingermere."

  Besides, if we stay the night, you will seek my bed — and I have not the will nor the wish to resist you.

  He nodded. But her relief was cut short when he announced that he would leave Armageddon overnight at the coaching inn in the care of one of his own grooms, who would continue on his way with the horse on the morrow.

  "So — how will you travel, then?" Dread and anticipation filled her, for she already knew the answer.

  "Why, I shall join you inside the coach, my dear." He smiled at the look on her face. "After all, it must get rather lonely in there, with no one to talk to."

  "Really, Blackheath, I don't know why you must persist in irritating me so," she muttered, trying to cover her sudden nervousness. And excitement. Just the idea of being so near to him made her flushed, hot, and prickly — feelings that were amplified as his gloved hand took hers and he handed her up into the waiting coach. "But I suppose I shall have to put up with it, since you take such obvious delight in vexing me."

  "On the contrary, madam. There are other things we could do that would bring me far more delight than vexing you."

  "I am not in the mood to thwart your innuendoes, Blackheath. Join me if you will, but for your own health and well-being, you'd best keep your distance."

  "Ah, but you agreed that we would share a bed."

  "After we're married."

  He merely smiled. It was obvious he had other ideas.

  He climbed up into the coach after her. His presence filled it, made it seem smaller than it really was. Eva felt suffocated, trapped, fretful, wary. Blackheath, of course, seemed indifferent to the effect he was having on her. He pulled the shade partway down, and moments later they were on their way, Eva wrapped in a wool blanket, a hot brick at her feet.

  And now what? Blackheath was in the opposite seat, but he was still so close she could smell his shaving soap, the damp wool of his greatcoat, the mingled scents of leather and horse and cold outside air. His long, booted legs were thrust toward her. In the gloom, she could just make out his face, the inscrutable eyes that idly watched her.

  Her skin prickled. That scrutiny was more than idle. She moved her feet farther away from his, yanked the blanket up to her chin, and turned her cheek against the leather squab so she wouldn't have to look at him. So he could see as little of her as possible. So she could, with any luck, lose herself in sleep, where she wouldn't feel the weight of that heavy-lidded stare.

  "I am going to take a nap," she announced, her voice muffled by the blanket. "Why don't you do the same, Blackheath?"

  "It is not my bedtime."

  "Surely you must be fatigued."

  "I rarely sleep more than four hours per night, madam. I can assure you I'd prefer to remain awake."

  "So you can stare at me while I sleep, is that it?"

  "I must confess, you make a most delectable sight. You will forgive me if I indulge myself by looking."

  "You are despicable and rude, Blackheath."

  He chuckled. "So I am. Let's not argue the point. I want you to rest, Eva. After all, you're sleeping for two, now."

  She merely shot him an irritated glare and shut her eyes. Of course, sleeping with him only inches away would be impossible — especially since her traitorous body was sending all sorts of thoughts to her tired brain about how the darkened privacy of the coach would make the perfect setting for a bit of lovemaking. Wouldn't it be nice to just throw off all barriers for once and give in to animal instinct? Wouldn't it be nice to be curled up on Blackheath's lap instead of this lonely seat, while his hand sought her breast and lazily pleasured her until all anger, all inhibitions were pushed aside?

  No!

  Inwardly cursing, Eva tried to make herself more comfortable against the squab. Blackheath's leg was still too close to her own — he must have moved it, damn him, probably just to annoy her. Peeved, she drew her legs up beneath herself and the blanket, and tried not to think about those enigmatic black eyes silently watching her. Tried not to hear the measured sound of his breathing, tried not to examine the sudden, out-of-nowhere wish that he'd get up, join her, and provide a better pillow than her own folded hands . . . and more warmth, far more warmth, than this scratchy wool blanket . . .

  She must have fallen asleep, because only his hand prevented her from tumbling to the floor when the coach jerked to a sudden stop.

  "Stand and deliver!"

  Eva was instantly awake and sitting up, even as Blackheath opened the shade and, with a sigh, gazed out into the darkness.

  "Highwaymen. How damnably inconvenient," he murmured, reaching calmly into his pocket for a small pistol.

  "Yes, and just when I finally got comfortable enough to sleep," muttered Eva as she, too, reached calmly into her pocket for her own gun.

  They both happened to look up at the same time, each seeing the other's weapon. Eva raised a brow, waiting for Blackheath to do something unforgivably, insultingly, male — such as demand that she put the pistol away so he could deal with this nuisance himself.

  But he didn't.

  He only cocked the gun and settled back, casually laying the weapon across his knee so that it was pointed out the window. His gaze met her own. "So, madam. It appears we must make a decision."

  "Shall I deal with this, or would you prefer to?"

  "Though I would very much like to deal with it, I must confess that my curiosity is aroused. Therefore, I should be most intrigued to see how you deal with it."

  Nothing he could have said might have surprised her more. Eva narrowed her eyes. "Are you serious, Blackheath, or merely indulging me?"

  "My dear Eva, I am more than serious."

  "Even though I'm a woman?"

  "You are a clever, capable, dangerous woman." He smiled. "I have utter faith in you. Just mind you have a care for the child as well as yourself."

  Eva, stunned by this show of respect, could only blink in surprise. Shaking her head, she cleared the hair from her eyes and let a helpless smile curve her lips. She felt more like a partner than his enemy, and her blood was already beginning to race at the prospect of danger — and yes, of impressing the man who sat across from her.

  "Ah, yes," she murmured, checking her pistol. "I'd almost forgotten. You love dangerous women."

  Footsteps were now approaching from out of the darkness, headed toward the open window. "I love them as long as they manage to stay alive. If you wish to handle it, my dear, you are fast running out of time. Now go to it — as long as you do so without minding the fact that I will be, shall we say, monitoring" — he raised his pistol — "events most closely indeed."

  "Suit yourself."

  He inclined his head. "Then I relinquish control of this situation to you."

  "Relinquish control of it?" Eva lifted a brow in high amusement. "Careful, Blackheath. Don't go ruining things just when I'm starting to like you."

  A pistol appeared at the window; without even glancing at it, Eva yanked the shade down on the robber. "Right. I'll deal with these slugs, and you can cover me."

  He put the shade back up and, also without even looking, shoved his own pistol in the robber's face, holding the surprised highwayman at bay as he gazed calmly at Eva. "Consider it done."

  Throwing off the rug, Eva got up, opened the coach door, and, keeping her gun concealed in a fold of her cloak, stepped outside. The rutted ground was partly frozen, and her heel sank through a crust of ice and into the mud; in the frigid night air, her breath was white and ghostly. She could see the first robber still standing beside the window, too terrified of Blackheath's pistol to challenge its owner's temper by moving; his unsuspecting partner, on the other hand, was busy relieving the driver of his watch and coins. Smiling, Eva walked up to the man even as the driver, seeing her, went white as the moon above.

  "I beg your pardon," she said sweetly, as the robber whipped around only to find himself staring into the apparently guileless face of a beautiful but harmless noblewoman, "but I really wish you'd leave poor Roberts alone. He has a wife and family to support, and I"m sure they need the money more than you do."

  The robber stared at her in amazement.

  Eva smiled prettily and jerked her head toward the stricken Roberts. "Don't just stand there like an imbecile, give my poor driver back his watch and money."

  The thief grinned; and then his face seemed to change as he took in Eva's priceless emerald choker, her rings, her emerald-tipped hairpins — and her wickedly curvaceous body.

  "The hell with Roberts," he muttered, eyeing Eva with undisguised menace. He pointed the pistol at her face. "I'll have those pretty baubles round your neck, ma'am, as well as that pocket at your waist — and then I'll have you."