She laughed, the sound hollow. “Trust me, no one here sees me as that. They see me as a strange creature, likely raised by wolves in some remote, vulgar corner of the world, whom the gallant and brave Duke of Embry doubtless rescued from a ghastly life.”

“Well, at least they got the ‘gallant and brave’ part right,” he teased. “You did forget handsome though. The gallant, brave, and dashingly handsome Duke of Embry.”

“One day, your head will explode with all that vanity, and that will be the end of you.”

“Will you mourn me?”

She grinned. “I’ll dance on your remains like the Goddess Kali did with her lover, Lord Shiva.”

“I expect no less from you, my bloodthirsty princess.” He reached over and grabbed her reins, enjoying the snap of temper in those brilliant eyes. “Though we are not lovers. Yet.”

Her gorgeous skin bloomed. “Never, if I have anything to say about it.”

“Never is a long time,” he said, tracing a gloved finger over her delicate wrist. “You might change your mind.”

Sarani snatched her hand away. “The sun will rise in the west before I come to your bed, Your Grace.”

“Not even if I beg you for hours on my knees?”

He let the erotic slant of his thoughts show, his gaze sweeping her body with scorching intent. She gaped at him, chest rising and falling beneath the hunter-green bodice that brought out the emerald fleck in her eyes. “We are in public. You are unspeakable!”

“In public or in bed.” His smile was wicked. “I am the robber of all speech.”

“You’re obsessed with the bedchamber,” she shot back, her voice husky and her expression wild. Damn but he loved teasing her. He wanted to watch that becoming blush spill down into her décolletage, then distill even lower, and he wanted to trace its path with his tongue. His groin ached with pure, self-inflicted torment.

“Aren’t all men?”

She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched as she fought to keep her natural inclination to spar battened. “Only the clearly deprived ones.”

His smile was slow. “Are you offering to rescue me?”

“No!” She steered the mare away in a huff toward the start of Rotten Row. “Are we racing or is it only your tongue you intend to put to use?” She froze, her face as bright as a summer strawberry. “Don’t you dare answer that!”

Rhystan had to laugh at her chagrined look as the sounds of a few choice foul oaths reached him. God, he’d missed their banter and her fire. Even on the ship, he’d look forward to the wordplay. She made him think, she made him laugh, and she made him forget that he was anything but a man. It was grounding.

“We need to decide on a prize for the winner,” he said. “Something of value, otherwise neither of us will make any effort.”