Stephen considered putting the tip of Abigail’s third finger in his mouth—and discarded the notion. Sex in a moving coach was enjoyable enough, but Abigail didn’t need that from him now.

“Fleming is in expectation of a title,” Stephen said. “He’s not given to deep play, drunkenness, wild wagers, or scandal. The only thing Stapleton has that Fleming might want is influence with Lady Champlain. Harmonia is pretty, very sociable, and a devoted mother. She’s had plenty of time to be a merry widow, if that’s what she wants, and managing Stapleton must have grown tedious by now.”

The more Stephen considered the idea that Fleming sought to impress Lady Champlain, the more it seemed to fit the available facts—almost.

Abigail took off her other glove and clasped Stephen’s hand between both of hers in her lap. “You think her ladyship might look favorably on a fellow who destroyed evidence of her late husband’s infidelity? What if it’s Lady Champlain whom Fleming seeks to blackmail with the letters?”

The knuckles of Stephen’s right hand rested perilously close to the juncture of Abigail’s thighs. That three or four layers of fabric lay between his flesh and hers interfered with his imagination not one bit. That he’d made love to Abigail twice in the past several hours was also of no moment.

He wanted her again, while she wanted to plant Stapleton a facer.

Stephen longed to plant the marquess a facer as well, but only after locking himself and Abigail into a commodious bedroom for a month or two.

Stephen rapped on the roof twice, directing John Coachman to pick up the pace. “I don’t know as Champlain’s widow would bother buying his old love letters. Not to speak ill of the dead, but I doubt you were his only inamorata.”

Champlain had doubtless had a lover in literally every port, and Harmonia hadn’t been exactly parsimonious with her favors either.

“Champlain tried to tell me that his wife had a very understanding nature,” Abigail said, stroking her fingers over Stephen’s knuckles. “He said they had a modern marriage.”

“You take a dim view of modern unions?”

“I most assuredly do. The mischief I have seen between people who vowed to love and cherish each other beggars description. Hurt feelings, drama, children caught in the middle, family members taking sides or not speaking to each other, vast sums spent in retaliation for minor slights. You and your brother might not have the warmest affection for each other, but your family at least treats its members with loyalty and good faith.”

Abigail was so fierce, sensible, and passionate. How dare Stapleton or Fleming or whoever disturb her peace?

“Whatever is afoot with your letters, Abigail, we will get to the bottom of it. Berkeley Square approaches. Have you considered sharing an ice with me?”