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the night before, but there she was, playing with it.
    Taunting a man like Cole Thune surely qualified. The expression on his face said he clearly remembered that audacious kiss in the river.
    So did she. It had awakened something inside her.
    In those distant ballrooms back in London, she had, during her brief season before her world crumbled to pieces, learned something about the art of flirtation. Of course, this uncivilized country and her rescuers were nothing like the sophisticated haut ton dandies in England, but the basic concept was the same. Man and woman. A dance as old as time.
    Only there were three of them and only one of her. She’d deliberately turned enough a few moments ago they could see her bared breast, and the ploy had a predictable effect. Was she a harlot for wanting to give them something back for all they’d done for her?
    No. But perhaps she was for being so attracted to three different men.
    The wind whistled past on a lonely sigh, reminding her no one would ever know—or care—if Lady Victoria Mead took a lover without the benefit of marriage. Or if she took more than one lover, for that matter. In this lawless place, what rules applied? There was no one to care if she lived or died.
    Except they cared.
    Cole stared at her, his dark eyes unreadable, his lean, rangy body still by the side of his horse, the saddlebag half-packed. Robert also, wide-shouldered, with his hazel eyes, seemed at a loss for speech.
    To tease them, she explained, “A rake is a man who seduces women and—”
    “I’ve heard the term,” Cole interrupted in a silky voice, holding her gaze. “And no, I don’t think I qualify. Seduction implies a certain finesse I doubt I have. When I want a woman, she damn well knows it.”
    That look singed her very soul. He wanted her , it said.
    “I see,” she murmured, with effort not averting her eyes.
    “Do you?”
    Robert also had a singular intent expression on his handsome face. “I think we’d better ride on.”
    “I agree.” Jace approached, his spurs giving a slow musical jingle. “We’re two days out from the ranch, if that. Let’s move on if Lady Victoria isn’t too tired.”
    She was tired. She was dirty and smelled like smoke, and her thighs, bottom and the spot on her back hurt, but the idea of a roof over her head again appealed so much she stood and nodded. “I’m quite fine.”
    “You sure?” Robert was no doubt the most thoughtful one. Jace was wild, and Cole, well, Cole was dangerous .
    “I’m sure,” she said, though she barely managed to stifle a moan of discomfort when she was helped back into the saddle.
    By the time the sun had started to lower, born horsewoman or not, she was definitely ready to be off her horse, whom they had all christened Lucky. It was obvious they were more familiar with this terrain, for they chose a spot near a river they called the Big Sandy, with willows dipping trailing fingers into the water and stately cottonwoods.
    Water. Washing. Both she and her clothes needed it badly. It was the prettiest camp they’d had yet, and all of them had been exotically pretty, at least to her. Victoria slid stiffly to the ground before any of them could help her, and announced, “I am going to bathe.”
    “Not alone,” Cole said in clipped tones as he heaved his saddle off his horse. “We’ve had some trouble with the Utes around here. One of us needs to stand guard.”
    “You can all watch for all I care,” she said with more bravado than she actually felt, but truthfully, she was too sticky and uncomfortable to care. She’d endured a lot lately from the horrible scandal, to the turbulent sea voyage, to a country she’d never seen, to vengeful Indians, then to wild sweeping fires. There was a sense of adventure inside her she never knew existed. Here she was, dressed in boy’s clothes, in the care of three men who were not precisely on the correct side of the law. “All I know is I need to wash away the stench of the