To either sideof Jamie and Hortense stood high, uneven hills, green and purple with grasses and late-summer heather, as they lay on the bank of the river that ran through the glen. A blanket beneath them, they stared up at an impossibly blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds floating along in their own slow time.
“This is heaven” fell from her mouth.
A lazy, low rumble of a laugh escaped him. “Rafe and Sir Bacon certainly think so.”
“When did we last see them?”
“An hour or so ago.”
“Should we form a search party?”
“Oh, Sir Bacon is likely on the trail of a fox. They’ll return when they’re hungry.”
What a splendid father Jamie was to Rafe. Every day of the last few months, Hortense’s heart had found new ways to open wider. It was as if once she’d given it permission, it couldn’t stop expanding. And it was down to the man lying by her side.
He shifted to his hip and propped his head on his hand, so he now stared down at her. Her gaze fixated on his mouth. That talented, generous mouth of his. How she wished he would lean down and kiss her.
“I have something for you,” he said.
“Haven’t you already given me everything?”
He pushed to a seat and reached for the basket containing their packed tea. “My marchioness should have something special for her name day.”
She gave a tiny gasp, even as a smile tugged about her mouth. “Who told you?”
“Who do you think?”
“Mariana.”
“With strict instructions that I make a big fuss over it.”
“Please tell me you haven’t. I have everything my heart never knew to wish for.”
Oh, the way she spoke these days. She supposed love did that to a person.
“Close your eyes.”
“Please, Jamie, don’t—”
“Eyes. Closed.”
On a laugh, she squeezed them shut. Her ears picked up a shuffle, then the rustling sound of cloth. Anticipation ribboned through her, even as she felt silly for it.
“You may open them now.”
She peeked one eye open, then the other. A true gasp escaped her this time. Perched upon his open palm was a sapphire and diamond tiara. Her hand flew to her mouth to control the giggle that wanted release. She wasn’t at all successful.
“I seem to remember you going on and on about a deep yearning for a tiara of your very own.”
“Jamie,” she said, no small bit awe-struck, “this tiara has twice as many diamonds and sapphires as that other one.” She wouldn’t pollute the pristine Highland air with Rothesbury’s name.
“Naturally.”
“I cannot fathom the expense. Please tell me it’s paste.”
“Of course not.” He shrugged. “It’s only money.”
She still hadn’t adjusted to this part of her new life, the aristocrat’s cavalier attitude toward coin. It boggled the mind.
