She glanced at him at the end and said, "I trust that will do for you, my lord."

"I trust so, cousin." He offered a mock bow. "I shall know who's responsible if it doesn't, won't I?"

Was he accusing her of deliberately misordering, just to spite him? Her eyes widened in indignation and the earl laughed.

"I'm truly grateful for your assistance," he said, setting his glass on the table.

Theo closed her lips tight on a retort and turned back to Greg. "Now, I need a separate order for the dower house…"

"That's somewhat modest," the earl observed when she finally nodded her satisfaction and rose from the bench.

"A modest household has modest needs, sir," she said coldly. "Greg, that account should be sent to Lady Belmont at the dower house."

She gathered up her gloves and whip. "I'll send Alfred with the gig to collect the supplies in the morning____________________Lord Stoneridge, I give you good day." She walked out of the taproom toward the kitchen.

Sylvester blinked, realizing that she was wearing a most unusual riding habit – it seemed to have a divided skirt. Surely she wasn't riding astride?

"Make sure both accounts come to me at the manor, Greg," he commanded. "I have an arrangement with Lady Belmont"

"Ah," Greg said, nodding wisely. "One that Lady Theo doesn't know about, I daresay."

Sylvester agreed. It was an outright lie, but he had it in mind to present Lady Belmont with a housewarming gift – a tactful, graceful gesture, but one he suspected would be lost on his fiery young cousin, who, if he'd confided in her, would probably have contrived to insult him in front of the inn-keeper. He strode out of the inn and round to the stables, where he assumed Theo's horse was waiting for her.

She emerged from the kitchen, slipping the parcel of apple tartlets carefully into the deep pocket of her jacket. She saw the earl leaning against the stable wall, idly chewing a straw, and ignored him.

"Ted, my horse, please."

The lad brought the neat dapple-gray mare, and Theo swung astride her without assistance.

"An unusual choice of saddle," Sylvester commented, crossing the cobbles. "But perhaps not for a gypsy."

"It's convenient," she said shortly, gathering up the reins. "I have always ridden astride round here. No one remarks it. Good day, Lord Stoneridge."

Something else that would have to be discouraged in his countess. Shaking his head, he mounted his own horse and rode out after her. It was just his luck that the only possible Belmont daughter had to be this intransigent romp who clearly detested him… Perhaps he could persuade Lady Belmont to reconsider an offer for Clarissa.

But no… the pursuit might be harder with Theo, but winning over such a passionate nature would be worth the effort. Besides, Theo's knowledge and expertise in estate management made her an invaluable resource.

He urged his horse into a gallop, coming up with her as she turned out of the village toward the cliff top above Lulworth Cove.

"A word with you, cousin."

"Why can't you leave me alone!" she exclaimed in a low voice.

His lips tightened. "It would be so much easier for everyone if you'd accept the inevitable with good grace," he said with calculated severity. "We are going to be neighbors whether you like it or not. You are behaving like a spoiled hoyden who should have had some manners whipped into her years ago."

"I do accept the inevitable," she said, flushing. "But I don't have to cultivate you. You seem to be deliberately trying to annoy me, following me around, pestering me, making me sound horrible… and I'm not."

She sounded so desperately aggrieved that he couldn't help being amused. Leaning over, he placed a hand over hers and said, smilingly persuasive, "I believe you, Theo, and I don't intend to make you sound horrible. But I do wish to get to know you, and you're making it very difficult for me."

Shark! Theo snatched her hand away and nudged Dulcie's flanks, turning her aside onto a ribbon track descending the cliff to the cove. The mare stepped surefooted down the steep path, clearly familiar with the terrain. Sylvester set his black to follow, holding him on a tight rein as he picked his way cautiously through the loose sand and scree.

Theo heard the horse behind her and began to feel as if she were truly hunted quarry. It was time that odious Gilbraith tasted her mettle. It was time to stand and fight.

The mare reached the smooth, flat sand of the beach, and Theo dismounted, knotting the reins on the horse's neck, waiting until the black had touched solid ground.

She tossed her hat aside and unbuttoned her jacket with slow deliberation. "Very well, my lord. Since you won't leave me alone for the asking, then I challenge you to combat. The best of three falls." She slipped out of her jacket and regarded him steadily.

Sylvester's eyes were unreadable as he met her gaze for a long minute. Then in silence he swung off his mount.

Theo placed her jacket on the sand and stood facing him, a lithe, slender figure in her white shirt, her feet braced, her legs unhampered by the divided skirt. She raised her arms and tightened the pins that held her plaits in a knot at the nape of her neck. Her breasts lifted with the movement, their crowns dark for an instant against the fine cambric shirt.

"The best of three falls, my lord. And if I win, you keep your distance from now on. Is it agreed?"

Sylvester shrugged out of his own coat and rolled up his sleeves. "Certainly," he said calmly. "And if / win, gypsy, I'll have some courtesies from you that might make you redefine the meaning of the word."

He could mean only one thing. Theo stared at him; her lips tingled abruptly with the memory of his kisses, and there were strange vibrations deep in her belly as her body of its own accord responded to the memory of his hardness pressed against her.

She swallowed, unconsciously absorbing his physique properly for the first time – the wide belt outlining the slender waist, slim hips, powerful thighs straining against the soft buckskin of his riding britches. He was so large! The power in those broad shoulders, the muscles rippling in his bared arms, were downright intimidating. Only a fool would be convinced she could win a combat with such a figure… She might… but it was no certainty.

And if she lost…? If she lost, he'd put his hands on her again in the way that set her body on fire; he'd put his mouth to hers… Dear God, how could her body not know what her mind knew – that she loathed the man and everything he represented?

"Damn you to hell, Stoneridge!" She turned and leaped into the mare's saddle.

Sylvester watched as she rode the animal straight into the waves lapping the curving shoreline. He shook his head, half in amusement, half in annoyance. What kind of marriage was he letting himself in for, with a wife who chose unarmed combat to settle a disagreement?

He bent to pick up her jacket and his own coat, shaking the sand off them and laying them on a flat rock. Then he sat down on another rocky outcrop, stretching his legs along the sand, squinting into the sun as he watched his combative young cousin ride her mare in a mad gallop through the waves breaking gently on the shoreline.

When she turned the horse out toward the curious horseshoe-shaped rock formation at the entrance to the cove, he drew breath sharply. Surely she wasn't going to swim the animal out to sea. He half rose from his rock about to yell at her and then saw that she'd reached a sandbar about twenty feet from the shore and was cantering along it in a fine mist of spray from Dulcie's hooves.

Hotheaded gypsy! He sat back on his rock, lifting his face to the sun, closing his eyes, waiting for her to return.

Theo rode until some of her frustration had dissipated, become a part of the sea air and the salt spray. Dulcie moved beneath her with obvious enjoyment, kicking up her heels as the little waves slurped over the hard-packed ridged sand. Waves crashed with monotonous rhythm against the rocks protecting the entrance to the cove, but within their shelter the water was smooth as glass, and the sun was hot on her head and the back of her neck.

She glanced toward the beach. Sylvester Gilbraith was still there, and there was something about his posture that told her he wasn't going anywhere in a hurry. She couldn't stay in the middle of the cove indefinitely.

Turning Dulcie, she rode back to shore. Her habit was soaked to her knees, her boots sodden, her shirt sticking sweatily to her back. Her hairpins had loosened, and the two thick braids now looped on her shoulders.

She rode up the beach to where the Earl of Stoneridge in his shirtsleeves leaned back on his rock, hands linked behind his head.

"You are detestable," she stated. "I loathe you."

"Do you?" He opened his eyes and squinted indolently up at her through narrowed lids.

"Perhaps you'd be good enough to pass me my jacket," she said with icy restraint.

He shook his head. "Come and get it, gypsy."

"Damn you!" she threw at him, swung Dulcie round, and cantered off along the beach.

"This damning is becoming repetitious," Sylvester murmured, mounting his horse and setting off after her. The black ate up the distance between them, even when Theo leaned low over Dulcie's neck, urging her to increase her pace. The dapple stretched her neck in a gallant effort, but she hadn't the chest of her pursuer, and Theo drew back on the reins, allowing her to find her own pace.

The black drew up alongside. Theo cast a sidelong glance at the earl. To her infuriated astonishment she saw that he was laughing. And then she saw the gleam in his eye, the purposeful set of his mouth, and with a desperate kick at her flanks, urged Dulcie to renewed effort.

Sylvester caught his own reins between his teeth, leaned over, and lifted Theo bodily off the mare. Interestingly, it was much easier to do with someone riding astride than sidesaddle, he thought with a flicker of amusement, snatching the mare's reins and hauling her to a halt as he adjusted the rigid figure of his captive on the saddle in front of him.

"Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best,"

he quoted, eyes alight with laughter at her stunned expression. "And don't damn me again, cousin, or I'll be obliged to take reprisals."

Shifting his hold, he drew her tight against his chest, the black coming to a panting halt beneath them as the riderless mare snorted and kicked up sand.

Theo was still so astonished that for the moment she was dumbstruck. His fingers were on her face, tracing the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw, the shape of her mouth.

"You have such an appealing countenance, gypsy. But I can't appreciate it when you're forever hissing and spitting at me and wanting to throw me all over the beach." Smiling, he cupped her chin and slowly lowered his head.

She tried to resist, to fight off this insidiously sweet assault, but it was a lost cause. Her body was no longer under the sway of her mind. She lay against him, feeling his supporting hand flattened and warm, pressing her damp shirt to her back, his breath on her face, the honeyed mingling of tongues. Her blood flew through her veins, her pulse beating fast in her throat, and the sun was hot and red against her closed eyelids.

His hand slid round her body, feeling for the swell of her breasts beneath the thin shirt. She was wearing nothing beneath the cambric, and her nipples pressed small and hard into his palm. His fingers slid between the buttons, tracing the satin curve, and she shuddered against him with a soft moan, one arm lifting to come round his neck, pulling him closer to her, her mouth opening hungrily beneath his, her tongue now urgently pursuing its own exploration.

He raised his head, leaving her mouth slowly, reluctantly, and looked down into her face, lying against his chest. His hand was still against her right breast, and the sweat-dampened material of her shirt clung translucently to the other, outlining the swelling curve as clearly as if it were uncovered.

Her eyes opened and passion swirled in the midnight depths… passion and confusion.

"You really should wear a chemise," he observed, still smiling. "You invite the most scandalous attentions, gypsy." He cupped her breast beneath the shirt, flicking at the nipple with his forefinger in example.