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through him. He thought he saw a similar response in her. The coach straightened and hurtled on.
    “That could have crushed Coquette,” she yelled.
    He opened the food hamper on the floor and tugged out a wicker-wrapped wine jug. Then he grabbed the bundle of dog and tucked it into the spot, making sure Coquette could breathe. He closed the hamper, considered the jug, uncorked it, and took a long swallow. Then he offered it to his nun. His nun with shapely legs and deliciously trim ankles.
    She shook her head, clutching the strap on her door but still being tossed around, her eyes white edged with terror.
    He put down the wine jug. “Come here.”
    She shook her head, so he grabbed her and pulled. “I can brace my legs to keep in place. Yours are too short. Let go.”
    She surrendered. He held her close with one arm. She clutched his coat for purchase. The chaise hurtled wildly now, with an orchestral accompaniment of cracks, rolls, and rumbles. A dazzling flash was followed by an explosion that felt right on top of them. The coach lurched wildly toward his side, and Sister Immaculata rolled completely on top of him. He cinched her close.
    He was ensuring her safety, but he’d have to be dead not to notice full breasts pressed against him with no hint of stays to spoil the fun. A firm bottom was almost under his hand, with no hoops or quilted petticoats to muffle it.
    He couldn’t resist sliding his hand farther south. If heaven’s wrath incinerated him now, at least he’d be doing something to justify it. If only she were another sort of wench. Her sheath was mere inches from his blade, and a love joust in a storm could be magnificent.
    At his touch she stiffened, bracing her hands to push away. He tightened his hold, lowering his lips close to her ear. “Apologies to your heavenly bridegroom, Sister, but I think he’d prefer me to keep you safe.”
    She squirmed, and a lurch in the other direction slid her astride him. She cried, “Stop it!”
    “I have many talents,” he laughed, “but controlling the weather isn’t one of them.”
    “You know what I mean—”
    Another blinding light and roar ended her protests. She sealed herself to him with hands and legs, head tucked down as if to make a smaller target. Robin grinned, reveling in the wild power of the storm and the lightning energy between their bouncing bodies.
    Just how close was he to her secret delights? Did nuns go naked underneath? Or did chastity demand confinement? He’d read that some monks wore tight drawers day and night to guard against self-pleasure. Sometimes they were of leather or even sheepskin. He’d need plate metal to guard against the pleasure of his nun bouncing around his hard cock.
    He laughed again. He couldn’t help it.
    She looked up at him, wild-eyed, headwear askew. “You’re mad!”
    He kissed her. How could he not?
    Her parted lips pressed shut, but not immediately.
    She pushed away again, but not desperately.
    She was half-willing. He coaxed her lips open, explored her mouth, and began to inch up her skirts. She began to kiss him back….
    But then she wrenched her mouth away, stiffening, preparing to thrust away entirely.
    “My apologies, Sister,” he murmured. “The storm…”
    She stared at him, eyes dark and huge, and then licked those lips.
    Oh, don’t.
    “You’re afraid, too?” she asked.
    “Very.”
    “It’s silly, I know….”
    “Are you calling me silly?”
    “No, but I don’t like storms.”
    “I do. They excite me. But I’ll be good.”
    He kissed her temple, hoping it felt soothing. It didn’t soothe him. Nothing could soothe him as long as they were locked together like this, but he’d fight armies not to separate.
    “It’s not foolish to fear danger,” he said. “My own heart is galloping. See, feel.”
    He pressed her left hand to his chest. With his waistcoat undone, only his shirt lay between his skin and the heat of her palm. She remained like that, numbly trusting—until she