Bryony found it hard to enjoy her meal. All she could think of was Stefan’s kisses, his mouth evoking amazing sensations deep within her, his arms holding her as if he would never let her go. And she had gloried in it, would have been content to stay in his embrace the rest of the night. He had loved the portrait she had done of him. The knowledge pleased her beyond words. She was supposed to hate him because he refused to let her go home, but it was impossible to hate him now, though she didn’t know why. All she knew was that his loneliness called to her. She had the bizarre feeling that no one else could ease the ache he felt inside. Only her. She chided herself for her foolishness but deep inside, she was certain it was true.
He sat across from her, a glass of dark red wine in his hand. She felt the weight of his gaze, wondered if he reading her mind again.
A faint smile touched his lips.What is it you wish, fair Bryony?
She glared at him. “I knew it!” she exclaimed. But there was no anger in her voice or her expression. “It isn’t fair, you know.”
He shrugged. “I cannot help it. You are so open, so honest. Most of the time, I do not need to read your mind at all. Your face reveals everything you are thinking, feeling.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“‘Tis true, nevertheless.”
That wasreallytroubling, she thought, laying her fork aside. How was she ever to have any secrets from him? “Are you ever going to take me home?”
“Do you really want to go?”
“Of course I do,” she replied, only then realizing she didn’t really want to leave him.
“You can lie to yourself,” he said, his dark gaze holding hers, “but you cannot lie to me.”
“What have you done to me?” she asked, a tremor in her voice. How could she care so deeply for him when they hardly knew each other? Had he worked some kind of witchcraft on her, some magical spell to make her want to stay?
“I have done nothing.”
“I don’t believe you! You’re a witch. You’ve…you’ve bespelled me.”
Stefan shook his head. He had been born a witch but he had rarely practiced the Dark Arts once be became a vampire. “Tell yourself whatever you have to. But I have done nothing except love you.”
She stared at him. How could he claim to love her when they were still strangers? She blinked back her tears. She wanted to go home and see her family again.
He felt a stab of guilt when he saw the tears in her eyes. But he was not ready to let her go. Not yet. “A few more days,” he said. “Grant me a few more days.”
She hated the loneliness in his voice. It tore at the depths of her heart. Nodding curtly, she said, “A few more days, but no more.”
With a nod, he rose and vanished from the room.
Staring at his empty chair, she let the tears fall. Tears that had nothing to do with missing her home or her family.
The next morning after breakfast, Bryony went out to the barn and asked Hawkins, the groom, to saddle Daisy for her. She had much on her mind and a ride seemed just the thing to help clear her head. She wasn’t surprised when one of the other grooms insisted on going with her.
When she objected, he said, “Lord Stefan insisted. You do not know the area and he fears you might get lost.”
She snorted in a very unladylike way. Lost. Hah! He was afraid she would run away. Knowing there was no point in arguing, she climbed into the saddle and rode out of the yard with no idea where she was going. The sound of hoofbeats coming up behind her told her the groom was following.
It was a beautiful morning, bright and clear, the sky a brilliant blue, the hillsides and trees green with new growth. They rode past a meadow filled with sheep and Bryony reined Daisy to a halt, anoohof delight issuing from her lips at the sight of a dozen baby lambs frolicking in the field. The air was filled with birdsong, the buzzing of bees, and the fragrant scent of wildflowers.
Bryony touched her heels to Daisy’s flanks and the mare broke into a lope. Was there anything more exhilarating than riding across open fields on a beautiful spring morning? She couldn’t think of anything until she recalled the tempting touch of Stefan’s lips on hers the night before, the feeling ofhis strong arms holding her close, the crush of her breasts against the solid wall of his chest as his fingers gently threaded through her hair. Heaven help her, what was she going to do about Stefan?
She had asked Cook to pack her a lunch. The groom, James, found a shady place for her to rest and eat. James was a quiet man, tall and spare, with light brown hair and pale brown eyes.
He shook his head when she offered him a piece of fried chicken.
“Please have some,” Bryony said. “Cook has made far more than I can eat.”
He hesitated.
“I won’t tell anyone,” Bryony said.
