Chapter Six

L eonard could not tell what befell him to issue such an invitation. But the twisted truth was that he'd been reminiscing about the explosive night in his wife's bed and did not wish her to leave the study just yet. And abstained from asking his addled mind the reason for that.

To distract from the unsettling thought, he observed his wife as she neared the desk in what he interpreted as cautious steps. Then took the lead not to allow her to choose a seat all too far from him. He heaved a guest chair lingering by his side and plonked it right beside his at the back.

"Here," he invited, pointing at the place he made for her. "You can relate what has been going on during my disappearing act, as you call it."

In a show of defiance, she did not move. More, she crossed her delicate arms and fixed him with a stare. "And what would you call it, pray tell?"

He faked a self-questioning expression, his brows crumpling. "I have not given it any consideration, I must admit." Then he motioned to the seat he'd arranged for her. "Now take a seat and let us work."

Those hazel eyes directed him with a suspicious look and, after a moment of hesitation, she as he bade. He waited for her to take her place before he did the same. Their chairs almost touched each other, and he could detect the scent of her, wildflowers and woman. It shot him with an instant memory of last night and the need to repeat it as soon as she gave him permission for such.

For the next hour, they went through several aspects of the estate's management, doing notations and corrections. A productive afternoon if there ever was one. Still unwilling to end this meeting of sorts, he called for tea, though he had the urge for something stronger.

When a footman left the tray on the desk, his wife proceeded to pour the tea before she resumed her seat next to his. That she did not change it for one far from his should count as a minor—if significant—victory.

"Have you read all those books in Sanskrit?" Her question wrenched him from his musings.

He followed the direction of her gaze to look at the wall of books in that elaborate alphabet covering the wall to their left. "Most of them, yes." That his answer came an octave lower did nothing to dispel his mesmerised state.

She took a sip of her tea. This close, he could track the amber beverage reaching her delicious lips like a tide moving into the shore. It left a moist hue so sensuous that he wanted to kiss it dry. Her delicate hand lowered the porcelain piece on the saucer just as her throat moved to swallow the liquid. Given half a chance, he would kiss it all the way from her lips to her toes and back.

"How did you become interested in it?" He detected a drop of awe in her voice, silkier than before. Her cheeks also went pink, if with the hot beverage or something else, he dared not ask.

"My uncle served in India," he revealed. "In our family gatherings, he would tell fantastic stories about the people and their culture." As a second son, Uncle Henry held two options: the pulpit, or the sword. He'd chosen the latter to go on a successful career that saw him retire as a brilliant strategist.

"So, you decided to study the glorious land's language." She took another deadly sip of tea.

"And graduated with distinction, I shall brag." But his grin contained a pinch of self-effacement. His years at Oxford had been peppered with youthful stupidity and carousing, despite his immaculate grades.

"You have been there a few times, I heard." She made it sound like casual conversation, but he had the distinct impression that her intention was to pry. He did not blame her for wishing to understand, even if he did do what she labelled his disappearing act.

"Yes," he replied, determined to satisfy her curiosity as far as he could. "My grand tour did not take me to Southern Europe, but to the remarkable sub-continent."

"How was it?" He read genuine interest in her eyes.

His mouth released a scoff. "Like landing on another planet." Not in a bad or good way, but in the sense that every single detail proved to be so different from his culture that its newness slapped him in the face every hour of his trip.

"I might give it a try one of these days." A dreamy smile pulled at her rosy lips.

"Only if you promise to take me as a guide." His seriousness caught her attention.

Her brows pleated. "Why, anyone can be my guide."

"It is no place for a woman without a knowledgeable man to protect her." His tone left no doubt of its finality.

His wife had the temerity to roll her eyes without even trying to hide it. "The old trope of the na?ve woman in a wild world."

"Exactly," he said with a firmness that bordered on the overbearing.

"You clearly never heard of Lady Hester Stanhope," she challenged.

"The archaeologist who disguised as a man to excavate in the Holy Land?" he looked surprised at her so attuned to her time.

"The one and the same," she quipped with a dry nod. "Using brilliant new techniques on top of that."

"You pick strange role models." His comment came with a certain conformity. If even Byron mentioned the remarkable traveller—albeit with a disgusting male-superiority fastidiousness at that—who was he to contradict his wife?

She gave no answer as she finished her tea. "Shall we continue with the paperwork? We need to make a list of the repairs in the tenants' houses."

With no room for other more pleasurable pursuits, he agreed.

Someone rapped on the door. Upon answering, Jones entered with a silver tray. "A letter has just arrived for you, my lady." And bent for her to take it as she thanked him.

Ophelia opened the parchment, pretending that her husband's proximity did not make her light-headed. She'd spent the entire afternoon locking her muscles not to pounce on the specimen sitting by her side. The effort was causing weariness, and she stood on the brink of running to hide in her chambers or indulging in the alternative: the pouncing in question.

She had no way of denying that sitting here with him made her see that they worked well together, almost like a team. They'd discussed the problems, agreed on solutions, and set aside the action points in that direction. They did not have the same position about every issue at hand, but they talked it through and reached a middle ground. The worst of it was that she discovered she'd quite enjoyed herself. Which impelled her to go on and try to syphon some clues about his time away. While she marvelled at his travels, she also realised that he avoided touching on his eight years away. Even if he'd already warned that he would not produce answers at this point. Now that they were close to finishing, however, she regretted that the afternoon did not have more hours to stretch it.

"It is from Mrs Darroch," she said to dispel her yearning mood. "She and Mr Darroch are in her uncle's second estate." Not far from Ramsgate's lands, in fact. "They are here with their cousins from Scotland and are inviting us for dinner tomorrow."

Edwina had told her that Mr Darroch had abdicated from being a laird up in the Highlands in favour of his cousin by marriage. Lachlan McKendrick had married Moira Darroch if memory served, and they managed the estate that had once belonged to Mr Harris Darroch.

"We should go." His rasp coated her ears and clouded her mind.

Her head whipped to him, glad to see he had a sociable disposition. "Fine." She did not hide her eagerness to attend. "I will write back accepting, in that case."

Their eyes clasped to each other, saying everything that words did not. Ophelia felt imprisoned in his brand of masculinity; the one that got in the way of her clear thinking.

Her instincts told her to detach her all-too-hungry eyes from him. She succeeded, yes, but with a healthy dose of strong will. "Well," she started, rising from her seat. "I suppose it is time to prepare for dinner."

He also stood in deference to her. "Of course." He gave a slight bow.

With no more to say or do, she exited the study to take refuge in her chambers.

The next evening, Ophelia checked the result of what Ann helped her with minutes before she sucked in her tension to go down to meet her husband and head to the Darrochs.

She chose a concoction in satin and lace of sky-blue that moulded her breasts with tenderness and draped around her hips as she moved. As she pulled her gloves on, she descended the stairs to the foyer. Unlike that first time in London, she did not chafe at the sight of the Earl awaiting at the bottom, a large hand resting on the newel, with a dashing nonchalance. His pewter-grey finery made her notice the little tanned skin on show. Too little for her taste, after she'd seen it all. The memory bloomed a blush in her cheeks as their eyes met.

When she reached the landing, his gloved palm held hers, his eyes caressing her entire form. "My lady," he rasped. "You look stunning."

Even though her insides melted with his compliment, she managed to keep her composure as she inclined her head. "You too, my lord." Her sincere response brought a drop of mirth to his eyes. If for her daring or her uncommon compliment, she could not tell.

Outside, the sun almost reached the horizon as he helped her into the carriage. He took a seat across from her. As the carriage jerked into movement, oblique sunrays entered the carriage, lighting his eyes into a dark copper hue that had not left her since they met in the foyer.

Unable to sustain the weight of his stare, she lowered hers in what she labelled as a blushing debutante's.

"I did not see you the whole day." His silky comment had her snapping her gaze to him.

Her day had been rather busy even if husband and wife missed each other at breakfast. By the time she reached the morning room, she heard from the footmen that the Earl had ridden off to meet the man of business. "I spent hours with Mrs Jones planning the chores." She set on the longest one to avoid babbling. "How was Mr Barret?" she asked about the meeting.

One broad shoulder lifted and fell. "I gave John a piece of my mind."

"Is he not doing a good job?" Up until the earl reappeared, she'd had no complaint about the man's management of the estate, even if he'd opposed her innovations at every step of the way.

A sardonic side smile spread on his lips. "He clearly was not until you interceded on behalf of my assets." He paused and buffeted her with an admired look. "I told him in no uncertain terms that I did not see his dismissal of your input with kind eyes."

Her head tilted. "You are here now. He will have to walk the line." Even though the man had had to swallow her interference in the past eight years. She hoped he'd learned a lesson from it, regardless.

"Hm," was his sceptic answer.

The carriage lurched to a stop at the front of a well-appointed country house. As Ophelia took her husband's hand to get down, four people came to meet them. Two of them wore Scottish attire; the tall brawny man boasted a full kilt in red and green. The brown-haired woman by his side was clad in a dress very similar to the man's kilt in pattern.

"Here are my cousins," Mr Darroch introduced. "Lachlan and Moira McKendrick."

"Laird and Lady Ramsgate," they greeted in their soft brogue.

"Mr Darroch holds you in high esteem," Ophelia volunteered.

"No wonder," Moira said with an impish grin. "We freed him to take London by storm."

"And he did exactly that," Edwina laughed. Her husband had been a libertine back in the day. "Until I reformed him, of course." Harris and Edwina exchanged a glance charged with love and intimacy.

"Just like I had to reform this one," Moira joined the banter, pointing at her husband.

"And I was yer willing subject." The handsome Highlander sent a tender smile to his wife.

Things had not been easy for the Highlanders, though. Moira, alone to care for her clan, had faced an overambitious uncle who sabotaged her lands and killed her brother, planning to usurp the position as Darroch's clan's laird. Lachlan had intervened with the weight of his powerful clan to put the uncle in jail. After Harris Darroch abdicated in favour of his cousin by marriage, Moira and her husband led the clan together.

Ophelia had to stifle a sigh at the obvious love that both couples shared between them. She'd lost her romantic dreams along the way and would not get them back by any stretch of the imagination. Then ditched the forlorn feeling as fast as it came, telling herself that she would make her dream of becoming a mother come true, and that was enough. She shut down the small voice saying that a woman deserved even more in her life. Deserved everything she wished for.

Lachlan McKendrick offered her his arm as they followed their hosts inside. "I hope you have had the chance to see my country." The Scotsman started.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Leonard accompanying Moira.

"Alas." Ophelia gave a regretful grin. "I have not; even if everyone says it is a beautiful place."

"A trifle wild as yet," Lachlan admitted. "But if you have an adventurous soul, it is just the thing."

"Yes." A thoughtful expression floated over her face. "Travelling is something I would have tried, given the opportunity."

"You and the Laird are welcome to visit at any time." His perfect smile made an appearance.

"I might call you on that." She jested.

"Please, do." The good-natured reply had her beaming at him.

Everyone reached the drawing room for some refreshments.

As soon as she reached a settee, her husband neared her to take a seat by her side. Ophelia turned a quizzical look at him, but he had no chance of producing an answer as the footmen came offering Champaign.

Leonard took two glasses and passed one to her. As her eyes met his, he lifted the glass. "My lady," he rasped before he brought it to his mouth.

Mesmerised, she took a sip, causing his molten stare to fall to her lips. She had to take special care not to choke on her drink as her lungs stopped working and her skin flushed all over. The sudden memory of his warm body glued to hers in the night rose her yearning a thousandfold. Her lashes dropped over her eyes in a bid to overcome her reaction.

The butler came to announce dinner. Mr Darroch approached the countess and was in the act of extending his hand to invite her to go with him when her husband unfurled from the too-delicate settee for his large frame and beat the Scot to it.

"Allow me, my lady wife."

Ophelia's eyes bulged on him with furious reproach, but she had no option other than to take his hand. "Forgive us," she said to the shipping magnate. "Such a long absence made my husband forget his manners." A placating grin drew her lips.

"Never mind." Harris soothed her concerns with a white-teethed smile. "I miss my wife when I travel, too." With a tilt of his jet-black head, he neared Moira.

Travel was a way of putting it, she thought with a pinch of scorn.

The three couples filed towards the sumptuous dining room. "What has come over you?" She hissed at him.

"You need no rough Scot when you can have me in your bed," he answered between his teeth.

The man's gal knew no limits! "You must be delusional," she murmured as she followed the butler to her assigned seat.

If he imagined that she wanted any other man, he did not understand the first thing about her. And how could he when they had still to have the measure of each other? It occurred to her they gained the perfect opportunity to do just that, only she did not want to have anything to do with him now—or ever. She either kept this in mind or she would be in for another disappointment.

"Mrs McKendrick," Ophelia started. "Have you visited England before?"

Moira turned to her with a smile. "We stand in no formality," Moira answered with her graceful lilt. "And no, only now did we have the chance to leave our wee hamlet."

According to Edwina, Mr Darroch's former lands stood very far from being ‘wee', but Ophelia abstained from remarking on it.

"I, for one," Lachlan interjected, "find it all too civilised for my taste."

"Oh, you brute!" Moira chided. "The farmland here stretches for miles. We do not have so much flat terrain up north."

"Which makes it seem rugged for the Sassenachs," Lachlan added, as he sent a mischievous look at his wife. He used the Scottish Gaelic to refer to the English.

"Lord Ramsgate," Edwina called as the footmen finished serving the second course. "We understand you have been on a long trip yourself." By the rather eager expression on her face, the question did not come devoid of a certain irony. She must have been on the shelf by the time she married, but she had not a shred of naivete about her. In all fairness, she did not needle him rather just voiced the question that everyone asked themselves, including his wife.

Leonard's gaze pierced Ophelia before it found their hostess. "You could say." Was his unapologetic and noncommittal reply.

His silence stretched to the point it became evident he would not elaborate. Ophelia sensed a wave of unease pass around the table as she gave the Earl a pummelling-like glare. "Edwina, your cook is marvellous. This pheasant tastes nothing short of heavenly." Her comment aimed at dissipating the murky atmosphere left by her dear husband's refusal to discuss his long trip. She wondered if she would go about life patching up the man's stubbornness and made a mental note to refrain from that in the future.

"My grandma likes to hire the best." Unfazed, Edwina answered with a smile, meaning the dowager Marchioness of Mandeville. Her son, the marquess, inherited the properties, but as the matriarch, the elderly lady claimed her place in managing them.

By the time the delicious dessert rested on her plate, Ophelia had been engaged in the lively conversation around the table, the pleasant atmosphere overcoming the earlier malaise.

Her distracted hand lifted the wine to her lips as her eyes wandered yet again to her husband. To find his dead on her. The delicate fingers gripped the stem in a bid not to tremble. The blasted man had a half-grin on his expertise of a mouth as he gave a slight lift to his glass yet again before returning his attention to Harris. Her brain scattered all over the place, and it took ages until she got a hold of it and remembered to take a sip of the excellent claret. She felt thankful that she did not choke on the beverage.

The ladies retired to the drawing room to partake in the exclusive tea that Mr Darroch imported. But Ophelia could not say she heard much of the agreeable chatter Mrs Darroch and Mrs McKendrick weaved. Her every nerve, however, stood to attention when the door opened. And every muscle froze, not to follow the impulse to look at the husband who'd fairly consumed her in the dark. She sensed his taut body coming to stand by her side as she sat on the settee with the delicate cup in hand.

"It gladdens me to see you enjoying yourself, my lady." His rasp washed over her ears while the other ladies made room for their husbands, which distracted them for a few minutes.

She looked up at him, his head bent to her. "And I am, I must say." Then offered him a bland grin.

"You can count on me should you wish to enjoy yourself. Thoroughly." The suggestive drawl washed over her, scorching and tempting.

"I would be honoured if you brought Lady Ramsgate to visit, my lord," Moira said, interrupting their little private talk.

Leonard gave her one of his rare, charming smiles. "We will, as soon as we have sorted some pressing," the briefest pause detained him, "matters."

Ophelia's cheeks caught fire with his meaning. The man impaired her ability to focus on the conversation once more.

The Earl and the Countess took their leave as the hour grew late.

As they sat in the lurching carriage, Ophelia peered at her husband through her lashes. His colossal frame had slouched on the seat as though he had not a care in the world. But as she studied him with more closeness, she detected an absent air to him, head bent, eyes on his hands joined on his thighs.

"What is it?" she dared question, even if unsure about the wisdom in that.

His dark eyes darted to her. "Nothing of import. Why do you ask?"

"You seem a little distracted." He'd behaved like the lofty guest he proved to be with his impeccable manners, well, apart from a few exceptions. But the varnish melted away as they took their leave.

He exhibited a dismissive lifting and falling of a solid shoulder. "Did you suffer such a veritable inquisition every time you were in company?"

Her brief scoff decorated the air. "In words and deeds, yes." And eyed him as though he complained without reason. "Everyone can pry things from a woman as much as they wish, silly ninnies that we are."

Understanding coated his expression. "I feel guilty for causing this." His deep tones indicated the honesty of his words.

Her head tilted in the faint lamp. "I got used to it."

His nostrils flared as he raked his overlong hair. She interpreted his disquiet as further aggravation for the fact she had to endure that, even with the stoicism evidenced in her words.

They said no more while their home came into view with the lanterns siding at the front entrance.

In common accord, they climbed the stairs together to their adjoined chambers. Ophelia's midriff gave a slight flip with the possibility that the man would see fit to visit her tonight. As she reached her door, she could barely look at him, the heat on her cheeks reaching unimaginable temperatures. She peered at him from the corner of her eyes and murmured a faint good night before disappearing through the opening her unsteady hand had pulled. Once walled up inside, she sucked air to full capacity in a bid to rid herself of all temptation and, worse, expectation.

Her husband, though, did not show up to bed her, the notion blooming conflicting feelings in her. It vexed her that the most prominent was disappointment. She decided to go with the relief, even if it came in a weaker form. And strived to put the whole thing out of her head. After Ann helped her prepare for bed, she lay down and allowed her mind to drift over the last few hours, the memories of the pleasant evening drawing a smile from her as she fell asleep.

The sunny dawn encouraged an early rise, and she entered an empty morning room only for Jones to convey the Earl's message that he required further grooming from Collins and for her not to wait for him. Glad for the reprieve, Ophelia enjoyed her breakfast, intent on going about her chores for the day.

By mid-morning, she reached the orchard, eager for the cool shade of the trees heavy with fruit. She was checking the branches for any sign of parasites when the scuffing of small feet reached her ears. Her head turned to see Jessie running in her direction.

"Jessie!" The lady smiled at the girl. "I have not seen you around." And knelt to hug the sprite child.

Sadness morphed the little face. "Me mum grounded me."

Ophelia's forehead pleated. "Why ever for?"

"Because I got lost during the night." The wee waif had a bashful look at her.

"That sounds dangerous." The Countess commented.

"But mum told the Earl, and he rushed in search of me." A broad grin graced Jessie's front. "He found me, and we rode his big horse."

Ophelia worried her lower lip, remembering the morning the Earl had all but disappeared and how she judged him in a harsh light. "How lucky for you." Came her absent comment.

"Yes, my lady. He is a hero!" The girl's hero, more like if the admiration on her face was anything to go by.

"You are too kind, sweetie." The deep baritone had her head swirling to where her husband stood leaning against an apple tree trunk, crossed arms with a casualness that told on his position in life. In Hessians, navy breeches, rolled shirtsleeves, and a waistcoat, he was the very epitome of the lord-of-all-you-survey.

"My lord!" Jessie cried and ran to him as he flew her in the air with his sinewy arms. Jessie held him tight, and he let her.

"Jessie Hodge, what are you doing here?" Mrs Hodge's grim voice as she walked from the direction of the kitchen, not a hundred yards away. Jessie's exaggerated flush told she'd been caught red-handed. "You were supposed to be doing your schoolwork." Ophelia had set up a school for the manor's children as part of her improvements for the people.

The sprite girl jumped from the Earl's arms and neared her mother. "I just came to say hello to Lord and Lady Ramsgate."

"Not pestering you, I hope?" the cook asked the other adults.

"Far from it," Ophelia answered in a congenial tone. "She was telling me about her latest adventures."

"Gave me a fright, that is what she did." The mother sent a fond look at the daughter. "If it were not for his lordship, I do not know what would happen." Her grateful eyes found said lord.

"Right place and right time, just that." The earl's modest reply reverberated among the foliage.

"Back to your lessons now, Jessie." Mrs Hodge reiterated as she and her daughter started back to the kitchen.

A sudden stillness fell in the orchard as it sheltered only the two of them.

She heard his feet move as he gave one step ahead. Her eyes fell to the ground at a momentary loss for what to say. The next minute, she forced her gaze to meet his. "I owe you an apology."

"I can't fathom why." He halted a mere three feet from where she stood, towering over her, those focused eyes boring into hers.

"I misjudged your absence that-that morning." The memory of the night that preceded it still had the power to cause a shiver to run through her nerves.

"You need not apologise." Those intent eyes found hers with a singular focus. "I gave you no reason to think better of me."

"That is no excuse for me to jump to conclusions without proof." It took a large piece of the proverbial humble pie for her to admit it. More than that, to realise that she did not hold the higher ground. In a marriage, no one did because people made mistakes and that was how they learned to become better individuals.

"But makes it easier, no doubt." He stood so close that her entire view became filled with him, his broad shoulders, the wall of his chest, the rugged features. His spice scent mingled with the one released by the moist soil beneath their feet in a unique combination.

She peered past his broad frame to the orchard as they stood right in the middle of it, the trees enclosing them among the foliage.

Her attention returned to him, even if her mind scattered all over the place with his proximity. "It is generous of you to think that." Breathy, her answer died off, making the air fill up with the birds' songs. She felt her cheeks burn as her gaze widened on him.

"Ophelia." His drawl filled the air between them. "I will kiss you now."

If her mind had been scattered before, it went into a complete shut-down at the notion of him doing that again to her. The verb he used did not begin to encompass the feast he set upon her lips when his warning registered in her slow mind. The only thing these very lips managed to do was say, "Yes," with a sigh of anticipation.

He allowed no room for even another breath before his mouth covered hers in a feather touch that only gnawed on her hunger for more. A little yearning sound got caught in her throat as she pressed herself further into the kiss. Without interrupting his ministrations, he chuckled low as he laced her to bring them flush together. She responded with her arms twining about his shoulders, caring not a bit that she acted like a miserable ninny.

And then he plunged into her in a whirlwind of sensation tenfold as intense as on that fateful night. Her fervour caused her to open for him without a shred of reservation. He needed no other cue to take the kiss onto a level of its own. And he did, their bodies glued, albeit with too many layers of fabric in between. The heat of him, the scent of him, enveloped her in a haze of delights. Their tongues went on a sensual dance, seeking each other as though to clamp down on the voracity, but doing the exact opposite. Her skin awoke from head to toe and caused her to feel even more confined in the swaths of fabric constraining her.

They could not avoid coming up for air, their mouths separating with utter reluctance. "I regret that we did not have the chance for a spot of dallying in the beginning." His gaze was as heated as she felt. "It would have made a whole lot of difference."

He must mean little trysts in dark gardens off ballrooms and the like. Their betrothal had been short and their life together even shorter. They did not afford the time to go through the stages every couple does in courtship and marriage. "I do, too," she confessed, only now realising how much she'd missed it.

Those falcon eyes studied her for long moments and kept her hanging between the possibility of another kiss and the reality of continuing with their chores. When his arms fell in a slow skimming over her skirts, she obtained her answer.

"The tenants want to show me the improvements you made," he said by way of giving her the reason he would not keep up with what they'd been doing in that orchard.

"Of course," she blurted while bereavement threatened to dominate her with his increasing distance.

Planted on the moist ground, she watched as he strode away as the trees swished around her with the balmy breeze.

"Repaired all the roofs, she did," the tenant who seemed to be the leader among them said. "Even those that were not in dire conditions."

"Mrs Duff, is it?" Leonard asked the determined-looking woman.

"Yes, my lord, Kathy Duff." Her neighbours did not even blink at the fact she took the front to talk to him.

"And Barret did not oppose her," he dug as he took off his hat.

"Oh, aye. He did not want to spend a shilling more than the necessary." A smug grin appeared on her weather-baked face. She could not be more than forty, her hard work showing all over. "But her ladyship made changes that fattened the books, my lord. Gave the man no quarter."

The information did not surprise him. If anything, it made him admire her more for it. "What about the crops?" he asked, only to resume the conversation. The books had given him the measure of the land's increased productivity.

"With more abundance, Lady Ramsgate also enlarged our share of it." The entire group of tenants standing with him in the village's central lane grinned with stars in their eyes."

No wonder the production went up. Earning more, the people would no doubt work more as well. "No complaints, I gather." His eyes passed over the cluster of tenants in their simple clothes, the sun drenching their faces with dignity.

"Not a one, my lord." Mrs Duff answered as everyone nodded in agreement.

"Good," he said. "Send word if you do." Then turned as he replaced his hat on his head.

"In fact, my lord." Mrs Duff caused him to look back at her. "There will be a mid-summer dance and we would be happy if you and her ladyship came." The invitation brought a rather shy smile to her proactive stance as she eyed the others as though asking permission to extend the invite to the nobs.

Leonard inclined his head in appreciation. "Thank you. I will talk to my wife." In a fluid movement, he hefted himself on his stallion and waved to the others as he galloped away.

During the visit to the village, he'd forced himself to focus on the matter at hand. But with the green fields rushing past him, he allowed his mind to go free. And the first thing that it conjured was the kiss under the apple tree.

He'd spent the early morning with the stable hands cleaning the stalls to give off some pent-up energy. He imagined visiting his wife after they returned from the Darrochs. But her demeanour gave nothing away. Not to mention their conversation on the ride back. Being among others gave him much food for thought. The occasion afforded him a glimpse of the social pressures she'd been under during his absence. People did not trifle with lords, which put it in the open that she, as a woman, went through more than met the eyes.

Her dismissal of the whole thing caused him even more discomfort because it gave the impression that the dinner at the Darrochs felt like a stroll in the park compared with her experience on the matter. That she did not cherish the memory might be an understatement. That had set the mood for their return home. He read in her the farthest possible of a cosy evening.

That, however, did nothing to dampen his enthusiasm. He'd lain in his bed with the memories from the other night, his body primed for an endless bout of the marriage bed. Who would have guessed that he would feel this way, for his lady wife, no less? But he refrained from following on his urges, cautious as he became of overstepping and ruining the little advancement he'd managed so far. So, he endured the never-ending night and used the heavy work at the stables to regain a drop of composure.

Which he lost the second he set eyes on her in the orchard. Her beauty, enhanced by the surrounding green, stunned him. Those hazel eyes glinted like jewels in the sun filtering through the branches. He'd leaned against the scratchy bark drinking her in with not a shred of guilt. Or shame, for that matter.

Sweet Jessie had offered all her unconditional hero worship. But when she and her mother left the orchard, there sat nothing between him and his wife. Except for his brutal desire.

It was all he could do not to ravish her against a fragrant fruit tree. She sank into his kiss with an avidity and sensuality that he had yet to see in a lady of the ton . It condemned him to the torture of knowing he could not go any further. The realisation forced him to interrupt that veritable idyl in favour of meeting with the tenants. Even so, her lips felt like a mark on him, his senses still re-living her softness, perfume, and eagerness.

He steered his mount towards the open fields and gave it free rein. The wind mussed him but failed to cool his blood.