"Maybe that was your original aim, but I don't think it's true any longer."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I think you really do want me naked." Ryder stared at her.

Her bold words were at odds with her flushed face, a flush, he could see now, that started just below the edge of the blanket cutting across her breasts.

"I'm trying to give you your clothes," he said.

"So that argument doesn't-" Mary stamped her foot. Her toes caught the hem of the blanket and it was tugged lower. She managed to catch it before the tips of her breasts were exposed, but it was a narrow save.

Though her flush deepened, she held her ground.

"I'm tired of suffering alone, Ryder McKay." He regarded her curiously, his head tilted to one side. Still holding the habit, he sat down slowly on the trunk lid.

"Perhaps you'd better explain. I wasn't aware you were suffering."

Some of Mary's bravado faded at his calm request for an explanation.

Was the man as stoic as he would have her believe? Or merely bluffing?

Hands down Mary Francis was the best poker player in her family and her edge had always been the serenity of her expression. Now watching Ryder McKay's carefully guarded features, Mary considered she might finally have met her match. And wasn't that just the point?

"Perhaps suffering is overstating it a bit," she admitted slowly. She bit her lower lip, thinking.

"Uncomfortable would be more accurate.

It isn't right that I'm the only one who has to be uncomfortable with this arrangement." Ryder glanced around.

"Not what you're used to certainly, but--" He was deliberately misunderstanding her.

"That's not what I'm talking about," she said.

"I'm talking about sleeping next to you, your arm around me, your lips against my hair, your-"

"Mary." The caution was back in his voice. She ignored it.

"And none of it seeming to matter to you while it cannot help but unsettle me." She pointed to the habit he still held.

"Do you think that makes me less of a woman, that somehow I have no woman's needs or desires? Do you think you can touch me with no consequence to my mind or my body?" Mary saw that she had engaged his complete attention.

"And you," she added, scoffing, "now, you hide behind it, thinking yourself quite safe because there will be no response from me. You believe nothing can come of it so you find it all very easy to torment me. Well, I'm not going to make this easy for you. I'm not wearing that habit any longer."

Ryder's gaze dropped from Mary's face to the habit. He stared at it, thinking about her last words, wondering that derision and triumph both edged her tone. He got to his feet and came to stand in front of her.

He held the habit out to her again.

"Last night it was you who forced closeness on us," he reminded her.

"Take this. I wouldn't have you break your vows on my account."

"You think too highly of yourself," Mary said. He understood little about her vows and nothing about her. She took the habit and promptly tossed it aside.

"You don't mean so much to me. It's not my heart you've engaged" Her green eyes flashed, and her stance was challenging. She could hardly speak any plainer. Ryder's hand went to the bridge of his nose. He closed his eyes a moment as he massaged away the beginning of a headache and tried to remember how the argument had begun. He could hear her saying "I won't wear it" when he handed her the habit. Why hadn't he said, Suit yourself? Why had he let her draw him in? All Ryder had to do was open his eyes. The answer was there in the bare curve of her shoulder, in the length of calf opened by a split in the blanket, and in the eyes that seared him with their brilliance.

The habit protected her. She was right about that. It protected her from him, and it protected her from herself.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked quietly. A strand of red-gold hair had fallen across Mary's cheek. She brushed it back impatiently.

"Because you can no longer depend on me to be the conscience for both of us." She tugged at the blanket again, raising it a notch and trying to secure it better; then she turned her attention back to him.

"I just thought you should know."

"I.

wasn't aware I had asked you to be my conscience."

"You didn't."

She pointed to the discarded habit.

"You expected that to stand for something. It doesn't. Not anymore."

Ryder glanced at the habit, then back at Mary, his dark brows drawn.

"What do you mean?" Mary raised her chin and faced him squarely.

Against her will she felt her breathing quicken.

"I left the order in September," she said.

"I'm no longer a nun. I haven't been one for months." The silence was powerful. For long moments Ryder only stared at her. The word "liar"

lay on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't like the taste of it. As far as he could see there was nothing for her to gain by lying to him and perhaps a great deal to lose.

"You deceived me," he said deeply. She tried to shrug it off, but her cheeks were warmer than they had been a moment ago.

"For the second time," he added. Now Mary's eyes dropped away.

"I remember," she said.

"Did you think I wouldn't mention it?" he asked.

"You took some pleasure in pretending to be something other than you were the first time we met."

"I took some pleasure in being mistaken for being me," she corrected softly. Mary glanced at him.

"I don't expect you to understand, but it's the truth." Honesty compelled her to add, "And yes, I did enjoy your discomfort when you found out what I was." Ryder remembered that quite clearly. If he closed his eyes he could see her sitting on the warm rock by the watering hole, clutching her knees to her chest, her posture protective but her smile completely smug. Uncertain of his reaction, she was not looking quite so confident now. Her bright eyes were faintly anxious, and there was no smile. Only the way her arms were crossed in front of her was familiar.

"Find something to wear," he said finally.

"I don't care what." He turned, picked up a lantern, and left the chamber.

Mary stared after him, unable to call him back, uncertain if she wanted to. When his light vanished in the corridor, Mary bent slowly and picked up her habit. She folded it carefully and placed it in the trunk. Her clothing options were limited. She had the cotton shift and undergarments she had worn beneath her habit and she had his extra shirts and pants. Mary slipped the shift over her head and pulled on the drawers. She used one of Ryder's heavier shirts as a jacket, rolling up the sleeves until the cuffs rested partway between her wrist and elbow. Her stockings and shoes were not as warm on her feet as Ryder's socks, but Mary decided the less she wore of his, the better.

His curt order that she should get dressed hadn't precisely been an invitation to share his belongings. Mary shook out the blanket she had worn and laid it over the other blankets on the bed. She smoothed the edges and pressed out the wrinkles with her hand. She wondered if he would make her wear it when they slept again. Her hand trembled slightly. Perhaps this would be the night he would tell her to sleep in nothing at all. Mary yawned widely. Belatedly she raised her hand to cover her mouth. The book she had been pretending to read slipped from her other hand and fell closed in her lap.