Spending the night with Mary Rose was just as dangerous for him as treading over slick stones would be for the horses.

He would, of course, behave like the gentleman he had been trained to be. He had given Adam his word, and he meant to keep it. He would have acted honorably regardless of his promise, however. Behaving wasn't the issue. Frustration was going to be the problem, but there didn't seem to be any way to avoid it. He was going to have to suffer through the unnecessary test of endurance, no matter what. He gritted his teeth in anticipation of the miserable night ahead of him.

"Hurry up, Harrison," she called after him. "It's only a fine mist now, but in a few more minutes it's going to become a downpour. I don't want to get soaked if I don't have to."

Harrison thought she was exaggerating. A short time later, when he was soaked through to the bone and freezing, he had to admit she'd been right.

The cave they found was little more than a long, narrow overhang of rocks. There were two reasons they went inside. One, it wasn't occupied, which was a problem to be considered given the nightly habits of some of the animals in the area, and two, the floor was dry. The air was as damp and welcoming as sleet, but not too drafty, and so it would have to do.

MacHugh refused to go to the back with Millie. Harrison stripped the stallion of his gear and let him stand near the mouth of the cave. The horse changed his mind and moved to the back as soon as Mary Rose got a fire going with the twigs and branches Harrison had collected. He'd tried for ten minutes to get the damp wood to ignite. She was more experienced than he was, however, and knew how to stack the wood just right with dried leaves she'd gathered from the floor of the cave.

Harrison dried off the horses as best he could, then caught water in a makeshift bucket he fashioned out of the canvas he'd been intelligent enough to bring along, and gave the water to Millie. When she'd had her fill, he let MacHugh quench his thirst.

Mary Rose worked on drying the damp bedrolls and then made up beds for the night. She placed the blankets side by side.

He wanted his on the opposite side of the fire, but he didn't complain because he knew she was only using good sense. They would need to stay close together to share their warmth during the night.

She took off her boots, moved them away from the fire, then pulled out the gun he hadn't noticed until now tucked into the waistband of her skirt, and put it under the fold in her bedding.

Harrison went to the other side of the fire and stood there, trying to warm himself.

"Have you camped outside much?" he asked.

"No."

"You act like you have."

She knelt down and added a few more twigs to the fire. "I prefer my own bed, but one does what one has to do to stay warm out here. Isn't that right?"

"You aren't at all squeamish."

"Heavens, I hope I'm not squeamish. Did you think I would be?"

He shook his head. She didn't understand the world he had come from, where gently bred women fainted over the slightest suggestion of impropriety. So fragile was society, reputations could be ruined by inconsequential whispers. Queen Victoria set the standards for the day, of course, and she rigidly emphasized prudence in every undertaking, sobriety, and caution. Yet while she also showed the world what an independent thinker she was, the women in England Harrison associated with still didn't educate themselves to emulate her.

He and his best friend, Nicholas, were running with the wrong crowd. The women they associated with depended on others for their every need, including amusement. If any of them became bored, it was someone else's fault.

God, what a miserable, restrictive life he had known. It was too damned bleak to think about.

Mary Rose Clayborne. What a breath of fresh air she was. He hadn't believed she could take care of herself. Now that he had time to think about it, he realized he had made several erroneous conclusions about her, based on his own narrow-minded knowledge of the women from his past.

She certainly proved him wrong. He was impressed with her no-nonsense approach to their situation. He was beginning to think she had more common sense than he had believed.

Then she took her clothes off. His knees almost buckled under him when he realized what she was doing. His opinion changed in the blink of an eye. The naive woman didn't have any sense at all.

"What in God's name do you think you're doing?" His roar of outrage echoed around the stone walls.

"Undressing. Why?"

"Put your blouse back on."

She ignored his command. She finished removing the garment and then bent down to take off her socks. She stood on her blankets so she wouldn't get her feet dirty.

She straightened up again, her wet socks in her hands, and smiled at him.

He was staring at her. She thought he might be looking at her locket.

"It's a pretty locket, isn't it?"

"What?"

"My locket. I thought you were looking at it."

"I was," he lied. "Where'd you get it?"

"My mother sent it to me. It was a gift for my sixteenth birthday.

The locket doesn't open, but I don't mind. Can you see the engraved rose on the front?"

She started to walk to him so he could get a closer look. He put his hand up.

"I can see it."

"She said she chose the heart-shaped locket because our hearts are entwined. Isn't that sweet? One day I shall pass it down to my daughter."

"It's very nice," he remarked.

She nodded. "When I wear it, I feel closer to her, so of course I wear it all the time," she explained.

She patted the locket, let out a little sigh, and returned to the business of getting warm.

She handed her socks to Harrison across the fire. "Hold these for me please. They're just a little bit damp. Don't let them hang too close to the flames."

He was happy to help her because he thought she wanted her hands free so she could put her blouse back on.

"Don't stand too close, Harrison. Travis will be furious if I ruin them."

"You wear your brother's socks?"

He didn't know whether to laugh or shake his head. She smiled at him while she worked on undoing the ribbon at the back of her neck. He tried to stare at the ledge behind her right ear and not think about the white lacy underthing that was plastered against her skin. Every single time she moved, the swell of her breasts caught his attention. He could feel himself breaking into a cold sweat.

"Only when I can sneak them off the line before he notices."

What in thunder was she talking about? "Sneak what off the line?"

"His socks."

"Why don't you wear your own? Don't you have any?"

"Of course I have socks. I prefer wearing my brothers' though. They're thicker. I don't care what they look like. I only wear them with my boots, so no one ever sees them. Besides, they keep my feet warm. Isn't that all that should matter?"

She was only being practical, but he still didn't want her wearing any man's socks, not even her brothers'. That thought immediately led to another one. He wouldn't mind if she wanted to wear his socks. Fact was, he'd like it.

God help him, his mind had snapped. Happy now? he wanted to ask her. It was all her doing, driving him to distraction with every little movement she made.

"Put your blouse back on," he snapped.

She ignored him again. She spread her hair out behind her shoulders so the curls wouldn't clump together and take forever to dry, dropped the pink ribbon on the blanket, and only then gave him her full attention.

"Why would I want to put my blouse back on? I only just took it off. It's wet," she reminded him. "Oh, for heaven's sake. Quit looking like you want to strangle me. I'm only being practical. Do you want me to catch my death? You'd better get over your embarrassment and take your clothes off too. You'll get consumption, and then I'll have to take care of you. Do you think I want that duty? No, I don't, thank you. You would do nothing but complain the entire time."

Her hands had settled on the tilt of her hips while she argued her case, but once she'd made her position clear, she started fiddling with the back of her waistband.

His mind was simply too befuddled to realize what she was doing. He was occupied trying not to look at the front of her and turned his gaze to the fire a scant second after her skirt dropped to the ground. He should have kept staring at the wall, because the path his gaze took gave him an ample view of her legs. They were incredible. Long, shapely, perfect.

Exactly how much was he supposed to endure before this godawful night was over? Harrison didn't know, but he was certain his situation couldn't get any worse. This hope was all he had, he decided, and so he grasped it with the desperate determination of a drowning man clinging to a rope.

He stomped over to his saddlebag to see if he could find something for her to put on. He muttered obscenities about his lack of discipline all the while he searched.

He tried to get angry so he wouldn't think about anything else. Like her legs… her tiny waist… her creamy skin…

"Embarrassment has nothing to do with the problem of your undressing," he gritted out, just to set the record straight.

He tossed her a dark flannel shirt and barked out the order for her to put it on.

"Won't you need this to keep warm?"

"Put it on."

His tone of voice didn't suggest she argue with him. She put the shirt on. She had to roll the cuffs back twice, and after she'd secured all the buttons, she felt warm again. The shirt was gigantic on her, of course, and covered most of her thighs.

"Thank you."

He ignored her gratitude. He sat down across from her with the fire between them and stared into her eyes. She sat down, folded her legs just the way he had, covered them with her blanket, and then picked up her blouse to hold it close to the fire so it would dry.

"I cannot help but notice you're glaring at me. Your voice was downright surly too. Have I done something to offend you?"

The look he gave her made her toes curl. Scorching didn't adequately describe it.

"I am not one of your brothers."

"I didn't think you were." She thought she sounded reasonable.

He thought she was as dense as a rock. "I'm not going to be able to take much more."

"Much more what? For heaven's sake, haven't you ever had to sleep outside? Haven't you ever been caught in a storm before? I can't help it if you're feeling uncomfortable."

He unbuttoned his shirt, took it off, and then held it up by the fire.

"I'm extremely comfortable."

"Are you going to take your pants off?"

"Hell, no."

"You don't have to get angry. Aren't they wet?"

"Not wet enough."

"I don't believe it's necessary for me to put up with your bad mood."

"You really don't understand, do you? No, I don't believe that, not for one second. You know damned well I want you, and you're deliberately tempting me. Stop it immediately, and I'll get over my bad mood."

The light was slow to dawn, but once it had, she found she wasn't embarrassed about her stupidity.

He wanted her. And she'd been wearing her brother's socks. Her face turned pink with mortification. Oh, God, she was dressed like a lumber lug. She just bet Catherine Morrison never wore her father's socks. No respectable, eligible woman with marriage on her mind would.

"Are we agreed?" he demanded.

"Yes, we are agreed."

Silence followed the truce. Mary Rose waited several minutes so he would have time to get over his anger.

"I usually wear silk stockings with lace around the tops," she blurted out.

He couldn't imagine why she wanted him to know that. She wasn't quite finished discussing her clothes, however.

"I rarely wear my brother's socks. I certainly wouldn't want you to get the idea I like wearing men's clothing. I don't."

"The thought never crossed my mind."

"Good, because I don't."

"This shirt is never going to dry."

Harrison turned the shirt over and only then looked at her face. Her complexion was as red as the flames.

"Are you feeling all right?"

"Yes, of course."

"Move away from the fire. Your face looks like it's getting burned."

The man was an idiot. And thank God for that, she thought to herself. She scooted back from the fire, hoped her blush would eventually fade, and tried to think about something inane to talk about. She wanted him to forget all about socks.