A wide bench ran the length of the windows, piled with velvet bolsters, faded to ivory and plum and indigo in the half-light. It was a comfortable spot; she could rest a little, until Nathaniel came. He had plans for her. And she had plans for him, too--they presented themselves in bright, disjointed images. Her own appetites still surprised and unsettled her, although they had been together for more than a year now.

The splash of oars brought her up out of a half-doze, heart pounding. A bateau or a whaleboat, for a canoe would not make so much noise. She heard men's voices, but could not make out the language and so she put her face closer to the glass. The boat had already moved on out of sight. On the other shore cook fires sputtered like random coals in a cold hearth.

Behind her a door opened. There was a murmuring of voices: Moncrieff, and Nathaniel. Elizabeth stilled, tucking her bare feet up under herself; she had no wish to entertain Angus Moncrieff in her nightdress. After a moment the door opened and closed again.

She waited, and heard nothing. Just when she thought it might be safe to slip out, Nathaniel's voice came to her, not five inches away.

"Boots," he said. "You'd make a godawful spy."

Elizabeth yelped in surprise and tried to rise from the cushions, only to find it was suddenly impossible to negotiate her feet out from underneath herself. But it was too late: Nathaniel had already come inside, the draperies falling to a close. They were almost eye to eye, for she was kneeling on the high bench in front of him. The gentle twitching at the corner of his mouth pleased her not at all.

"Why would I make such a terrible spy?" she demanded.

"Because your shawl was hanging out there for all the world to see. That's why Moncrieff took off so quick."

She pulled the end of the offending garment free of the drapery and wrapped it more securely around herself. "It is just as well, Nathaniel. I am not dressed to receive visitors."

"So I see." He lowered his voice and leaned forward as if to tell her a secret. "I dinna think he wad ha' minded, ava. He's got a verra keen e'e for the lasses, does oor Angus. And ye're lookin' aye fine this evenin', Mrs. Bonner, wi' yer hair aa soft an' curled aboot yer bonnie face."

Elizabeth let out a high hoot of laughter. "I had no idea you were such a good mimic."

One brow shot up. "Ah larned guid Scots at ma mither's knee, woman, an' Ah'll thank ye no' tae forgit it."

She choked back a laugh. "Is that so? And what other talents have you been hiding from me, then?"

He blinked at her thoughtfully as one finger began to skate down the front of her nightdress. "Talents?" His own voice now, as strong and purposeful as the flick of a finger that opened first one button, and then another. "I can't think of any, offhand. Except maybe this knack I've got for making you blush." Three more buttons, and the white linen gaped open from neck to waist.

"See?"

He was tugging at her shawl. She tugged back, but without effect. "Nathaniel! Perhaps this demonstration should wait--"

But he cut her off neatly, catching her up against him, his arm like a vise at her waist so that she could feel him from knee to shoulder. A flush started in the pit of her stomach and curled up like smoke. Oh yes, he had that knack. If she let him start, she would not be able to stop him--or herself.

She turned her head so that his mouth caught her cheek. "It grieves me to say this, Nathaniel, but this is not the time nor the place."

"And why not?" His fingers were tangled in her hair where it fell to the small of her back, jerking every nerve into near painful wakefulness.

"Your father and Robbie--"

"Hip-deep in Pickering's gun collection and not about to come back here, Boots. I'll have to fetch them when Bears shows up."

"Yes, exactly. Runs-from-Bears and Will should be back any moment."

"If that's all you're worried about," Nathaniel said hoarsely, "then don't. We'll be the first to see the canoe from here."

She struggled harder. "Yes, and they will see us! The whole river can see us here." With a wiggle she was out of his arms. She turned, putting her hands against the casement to steady herself. "Look!"

The river was empty. Ships rocked gently at docks for as far as they could see, and not a light burned in any of them.

"Aye, Boots. I'm looking."

His hands were everywhere. She tried to turn back to him but he held her still with his body, his mouth at her ear. "Tell me you don't want me."

"I don't want you."

"Liar." His hand slipped inside her nightdress, fingers moving restlessly.

"Yes, yes, yes. I am a liar," she said, struggling against him in vain. "But oh, Nathaniel, the windows--"

"Damn the windows," he muttered. In one motion he pulled the open nightdress down over her shoulders, pressing her forward, bare breasts to the cold glass so that she jerked with the shock of it. Then he let her go and stripped before she could gather her thoughts--did she want this? Dear God, yes, but the windows!--and then he was there again.

He crowded up behind her and put his mouth to her neck, breathing a slow litany of promises into her ear while his hands moved over her, folding the hem of her nightdress up around her waist. The words held her in a trance, startling, powerful words. He could coax water from stone with this voice of his, but she was not stone, nothing like stone. Against the cleft of her buttocks his cock was proof enough of that. His hands insistent on her thighs; all was lost.