Glancing at Celia, now stretched on the opposite bench like a cat lounging in the sun, made matters much easier to bear. She mumbled in utter contentment, her body curved into a fetal position and head pillowed by an outstretched arm. Her opposite hand curled under her chin, and the traveling gloves she’d held in her lap for the last hour drifted to the floor in a small heap of blush pink kid leather.

Gabriel decided he would retrieve them in a few minutes. Right now, he found enjoyment in watching Celia sleep. Her expressions, from pensive to relaxed, proved endlessly fascinating. Enough that he could almost ignore his increasing nausea.

The coach hit a rather nasty rut in the road, and Gabriel bit back a groan while at the same time reaching out to steady Celia on her solitary bench. He did not wish to see her go flying off the cushion. Using his hand, he braced it upon her hip and held her in place.

Another hole and Gabriel felt sweat bead up along the edge of his hairline. A grunt slipped from his throat as the coach lurched sideways.

Damn it to hell.

With a deep breath, he leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. Concentrating on Celia’s features might help steady his constitution. He took another deep breath, dropping his head in an effort to quell the sickness.

When his head lifted, it was to find Celia’s eyes wide open, watching him.

“Why are you over there, Gabriel?”

Her question was softly asked. Concern glinted in the chocolate depths of her gaze.

“Watching you.” His reply was just as soft.

“But your aversion—"

“Doesn’t matter.”

He reached out, brushing back an ebony curl that had fallen over her brow. Celia moved as if to sit up but Gabriel stopped her. His hand lightly gripped her shoulder, keeping her in a prone position.

“Stay as you are,” he murmured, swallowing hard when the coach lurched in the opposite direction.

“No,” Celia said. “This is silly. And I’ll not have it.” She brushed away his hand and pushed herself up. “Come here.”

Grasping a handful of Gabriel’s coat lapel, Celia tugged him back onto the bench beside her. Then, in a surprising move, she hitched up her skirts and straddled him as though he were a new pony.

“There,” she breathed through a smile. “That’s much better, don’t you think?”

“Just what do you think you are doing, Celia?” Gabriel gritted through his teeth.

“Making you forget about being sick,” she whispered, running a hand through the thickness of his hair. Her fingers lightly traced the pale white scar tracking diagonally through his eyebrow. “How did you get this, Gabriel? I’ve always wondered and now… now, I’ve the courage to ask.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

She frowned but her fingers remained gentle, ghosting over the old wound until Gabriel wanted to close his eyes and muzzle into the palm of her hand. “To me it does.”

A bump in the road sent Celia’s lower body colliding with his in the best way possible. It was like a lightning bolt striking between his legs. He tensed, trying to stave off the urge to grind his growing erection against her softness.