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He was about to pull out his watch for the third time when he heard faint commotion around the corner, voices only just audible, in a hushed dispute.

“I don’t care.” Isabella’s voice, and the sound of swift footsteps.

She marched into the courtyard. Luke’s eyes widened.

“Isa bella !” several of the nuns exclaimed. Exasperation rather than surprise, he noted distantly. But he wasn’t interested in the nuns; only Isabella.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Dressed in a pair of men’s buckskin breeches, she strode toward him on long, long legs, the heels of her high leather boots ringing on the flagstones.

He’d never seen anything like it. A white lawn shirt, a leather jerkin, and a belt completed the outfit.

She held a cloth bag in one hand and carried a short, dark blue coat slung over her shoulder.

She crossed the courtyard with a loose, open stride. The breeches fitted her like a glove. The soft buckskin hugged the length of her thighs, caressing her hips and outlining every slender curve. She seemed not the least bit self-conscious.

His throat thickened.

How had he ever thought she lacked femininecurves?They were slender and subtle and they made his mouth water.

A bevy of nuns fluttered in her wake, remonstrating.

“Isa bella ! You cannot leave the convent dressed like that!” Reverend Mother appeared in another doorway. “It is indecent.”

“It’s practical,” Isabella argued. “We’re riding.”

“I don’t care if you’re flying! You will not leave this place dressed like that.”

She met Reverend Mother’s gaze and raised her chin. “I am no longer a ward of this convent.” Gasps from the schoolgirls at her temerity.

“You are still my niece,” snapped the nun, “and you will obey me. Go back inside and put on a skirt, at once.”

The two women’s gazes clashed. Isabella made no move.

“If I have to ride astride in a skirt my thighs will chafe,” she said. At the brazen mention of thighs, there was a murmuring among the nuns and much pursing of lips.

Luke finally got his tongue to work. “You won’t be riding astride.”

She whirled around and stared at him. “What? I thought you had a horse.” Her frown darkened. “I won’t travel in a litter!”

“Of course not. I told you I’d found a suitable mount. I’ve brought a sidesaddle.”

“A sidesaddle?” Her eyes narrowed, and Luke gestured outside to where Miguel was waiting with two horses and a donkey.

Reverend Mother swept forward. “Of course he brought a sidesaddle for you to ride. What else would a gentleman expect from a lady ?” Her eyes bored into Isabella in silent imperative. “Now, go and remove those masculine abominations and put on a skirt at once.”

Isabella looked mutinous for a moment, then with a muffled exclamation she turned on her heel and marched back the way she’d come.

Lord, but the sight of her striding away from him in those breeches, the superb curve of her backside…

Luke could only stare. And hope his glazed look wasn’t visible to his companions.

His body began to harden… He gritted his teeth and willed it to stop.

What a time and place to battle with arousal, standing in a convent surrounded by nuns.

Isabella disappeared, and a buzz of conversation followed her departure.

Reverend Mother swished forward. “Isabella can be a little… willful, but she is a good girl at heart. I hope you won’t hold this against her. I have perhaps allowed her a little more leeway than I should have—”

“I’m not angry,” he said. It came out as a husky croak.

She seemed not to hear, but went on, “During the war, things came to such a state, you see, and without Isabella’s skills—” She broke off and took a deep breath.

“Even if she were not my last living relative I would still say this—take good care of her, Lord Ripton. Isabella is a treasure. I know it is not immediately obvious, but—”

“I will take good care of her,” Luke promised.

Reverend Mother stepped forward and put her thin, careworn hands over his. “She has a heart made for loving, that girl, and—”

He pulled his hands out of her grasp. “I said I will takegood care of her. I am not in the habit of breaking my promises.”

She raised one questioning brow, a mute reminder of wedding vows that he’d tried to have annulled.

He knew what she was doing—trying to do—but dammit, he was the last person to be entrusted with a young girl’s heart. That kind of thing—no, never again.

He would take good care of Isabella and make sure she was safe and warm and well fed and in all material respects well cared for.

Her heart was not his concern.

He snapped the crop against his boot. Where the hell was she? How long did it take to put on a skirt, dammit? He wished to be gone from this place.

Reverend Mother gave him a searching look. “I hope I’ve done the right thing,” she murmured.

Dammit, what did the woman expect? She knew damned well this marriage was not what either of them had intended eight years ago.

That he’d honored those original promises and come to fetch Isabella, that he was willing to make a life with her, provide for her, and get an heir on her, that should be enough. It was all he was prepared to give—all he could promise.

Whatever she had thought of Lieutenant Ripton all those years ago, he was no longer that boy. He could barely remember that boy.

Had he not—well, it was no use going down that path. What was done was done. No point in looking backward and bewailing what couldn’t be changed.

He would protect and provide for her niece, honor and respect her, and that would have to be enough.

There was nothing else left in him now.

And the sooner they left this benighted country, the happier he’d be.

Finally Isabella returned dressed in a long gray skirt, the short, dark blue coat she’d been carrying now buttoned to her throat.

A blue hat dangled from a string on her wrist. She handed Luke her bag, but before he could ask her about the rest of her luggage, she turned away, saying, “I’ll just say good-bye to everyone. ”

One of the girls uttered a loud sob, and in seconds they were all at it, sobbing and embracing and uttering promises to write, to stay in touch. Even some of the nuns were weeping.

Luke busied himself strapping her bag to the back of her horse. He hated this female emotional sensibility. It made him feel helpless and at sea.

Isabella embraced each girl, one by one, and then each nun—they were all here now to see her off. He supposed eight years was a long time. He couldn’t see if Isabella was weeping or not. No doubt she was.

Luke, having made his farewells to Reverend Mother and the others, waited outside the convent gate with the horses. His riding crop snapped rhythmically against the side of his boot. He hated seeing women weep, had no idea what to do.

Lastly Reverend Mother embraced Isabella and kissed her on both cheeks. She slipped a thin gold chain over Isabella’s head and blessed her solemnly. Nuns and schoolgirls crossed themselves.

With a choked sob, Isabella flung her arms around Reverend Mother’s waist and hugged her convulsively. She turned, crammed the hat on her head, and marched resolutely through the gate to where Luke waited with Miguel and the animals.

“Where’s your luggage?” Luke asked brusquely. Her eyes were red and her skin blotchy and wet with tears.

She scrubbed her hand across her wet cheeks and pointed to the bag tied behind her saddle. “There.”

He blinked. “That’s your luggage? All of it?”

She nodded and took the mare’s reins.

“But I bought a donkey,” Luke said, and immediately felt stupid.

She glanced at the donkey, standing patiently with Miguel. “So I see. What for?”

“For your luggage.”

“But I only have this.” She gestured to the bag.

“So I see.” The conversation was getting ridiculous. Luke cupped his hands to give her a boost up. She placed a booted foot in his linked hands and sprang into the saddle. A slender featherweight.

She seemed comfortable in the sidesaddle, hooking her leg around the pommel and draping her skirts as naturally as if she’d ridden only the day before instead of eight years ago.

Luke handed her the riding crop and adjusted her stirrup.

As he did, he noticed something that made his mouth twitch.

Under the skirt she still wore her breeches.

The docile and obedient bride of his imaginings was fading fast.

“What are you going to do with the donkey?” she asked.

Luke mounted his own horse. “Miguel can take him.”

The boy, hearing his name, looked up. “Take him where, senor ?”

“Wherever you like. I don’t need the donkey after all.”

The boy’s eyes widened. He clutched the donkey’s lead in his grubby fist and glanced from Luke to Isabella and back at Luke. “How much?”

“Nothing. It’s a gift,” Luke told him.

“A gift?” The boy’s eyes gleamed, then the excitement faded. “ Senor , my mother would not allow such a gift. You paid her already, most generously.”

“They may be poor, but they have their pride,” Isabella said softly to Luke. She said something in the boy’s language, and Miguel turned to Luke in surprise. “Is true, senor ?”

“Tell him it’s true, Lord Ripton,” Isabella said with a hint of a smile.

“It’s true,” Luke said, hoping it was. He had no idea what she’d said.

Miguel’s face split in a brilliant grin.

“What a place England must be! Thank you, senor , may you have many fine sons, many fine sons!” he told Luke enthusiastically.

“My mother will be so happy. With a donkey I can collect more wood for winter. With a donkey we can carry goods to market. With a donkey I can—”

“Become the man of the village,” Luke said dryly. “I have no doubt of it.” He glanced at Isabella. “Ready?”

She nodded, and they set off, the convent community clustered in the gateway calling last good-byes and waving.