Rachel was awake and watching him. "Good morning, Madam Tremayne." He gave her a lazy smile, letting his hand run from her bare shoulder to her buttocks. It rested there lightly in a possessive gesture that both charmed and slightly bothered her. She didn't need to be reminded first thing of how he'd won the battle to make her his wife. "Might have warned me you awaken with the chickens. Habit you developed in the Colonies on that farm, I expect." Oh, but he looked smug, a conqueror gloating over the vanquished. She never should have let him see her vulnerability the night before. "My country has been an independent nation for nearly a century. It's populated with much heartier souls than yours, yet you persist in referring to it as some minor extension of the Realm." "Heartier souls? You'd be an expert judge, naturally, having endured this lovely bundle of flesh being dragged over the dust in a...what is that charming term? Prairie schooner?" The wolfish grin widened as he laughed. She shot past him and out of the bunk.
