Ian drew back with playful regret and offered her his arm after gathering Colleen’s reins and those of his gelding Gideon, looping them over a low branch. Hero took his arm, though she felt a more youthful urge to skip merrily instead of walking sedately across the few yards that separated them from the tree the duke was studying. It was a tangled old thing, the trunk several feet in diameter, twisting this way and that, with branches that did the same. She had always wondered about it but by the time she reached the castle once more, she always forgot to ask Jennings about it.
“It’s a cedar of Lebanon,” Ian said, as Beaumont began an assault on the lowest branches that drew a gasp from her.
Thankfully, with his thick build, the duke was unable to lift a leg as far as the lowest branch, and she cast a sigh of relief before raising a brow to Ian. “Is that what it’s called? I’ve always wondered. It must be very old.”
“Over a hundred years easily,” he answered as he retrieved the duke’s wandering horse and secured it as well. Then he reached for Beaumont, who was now swinging from the branch. “Come now, Harry. Down from there.”
“Brilliant, isn’t it?” Beaumont said to Hero. “I must remember to tell your mother about it when we get home.”
“Papa, Mama died several years back, don’t you recall?” she said, feeling the tug of sadness that always accompanied such reminders. The feeling was at odds with the joy of the day.
Beaumont’s expression clouded for a moment. “Died? Of course, of course. I remember.”
Ian cut in jovially, “I see an odd little building through the trees over there, Harry. What say you? Should we see what it is?”
“It’s the pagoda I told you about,” Hero told him as they turned in that direction.
Ian slipped his hand down to take hers, and they walked along and studied the building on their approach. The wooden structure consisted of three consecutively smaller tiers in the traditional Chinese style. The eaves on each arcing roofline curled upward at the ends of each point of the hexagonal roofs. There was a stone terrace around it that cantilevered out over the wide creek she’d mentioned. Shaded by the surrounding trees and low-hanging willows, it was a marvelous location for a romantic midnight rendezvous.
“Our pagoda?” he murmured suggestively as they crossed a low bridge that carried them to the other side of the creek, driving the momentary sadness away. They stepped onto the terrace while Beaumont disappeared into the small structure. Dark eyes warmed her until she felt the arousal that always lingered on the fringes of her time with him spark and flare within her.
“Now you know how to get here,” she whispered, squeezing his hand as he lifted hers to his lips, pressing an ardent kiss there. He brushed her hand back and forth across them before kissing her hand once more.
“You should not tease,” he warned in a low tone, resting his hips back against the iron railing of the terrace.
With a surge of confidence, she leaned toward him and whispered as if imparting a secret, “I do not.”
His brows rose in surprise and his eyes gleamed. He flashed that half smile that never failed to twist at her heart. “Tonight?”
Hero’s heart thudded heavily inside her chest at the thought of meeting him here in this romantic setting alone with only the darkness surrounding them. He would hold her in his arms, perhaps press her back against the railing as he was now. They could pick up where they had left off in the music room. Hero quivered with burgeoning desire and exhaled with a shaky sigh, “Oh, yes.”
Ian looked down into her sparkling eyes, seeing the warmth dancing there as well as anticipation that matched his own, and felt lust stab through his heart. He wanted nothing more than to strip off her snug riding habit, fling her dainty hat to the winds, and bury himself in her sweet body.
It had been days since he’d seen her in private, days since he had touched her, and he was overcome by the need to feel her soft skin beneath his fingers once again. To feel her tremble with desire. Her pulse was fluttering in her neck and Ian gave in to his impulses. Tracing a finger down her neck, he felt her tense. Her breathing quickened and her cheeks grew flushed, arousing him even more. Charming him more than ever.
Glancing down, he watched her breasts strain against her tight bodice with each rapid breath she took and knew she wanted him as well. He brushed his knuckles over the silky slope of her breast, feeling her pert nipple beneath the thin, summery lawn. Hero inhaled sharply and swayed forward, and he couldn’t stop himself from capturing her lips in a searing kiss.
There was no reticence left in her kisses. She met his lips eagerly, parting hers to welcome him deeper. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she pulled him closer. His hand uncurled as if by its own free will until he was cupping her breast in his palm, and he felt her softly moan against his lips.
His body surged to life, and his blood boiled. Her hands slipped inside his coat and under the edge of his waistcoat. Even with the linen barrier of his shirt, the heat of her flesh there warmed him. Her nipple hardened and Ian rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, earning a gasp of delight against his lips. She rocked her hips against his, and with a groan of surrender he dropped his free hand to cup her bottom and pull her closer, letting her feel the turgid length their passion had inspired.
God, but he could take her right here.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Sir, you will unhand my daughter!”
Hero leapt away like a cat on fire at Beaumont’s thunderous words, and Ian shifted as guiltily as a schoolboy caught with his hand in the cookie jar and felt an unfamiliar flush creep along his cheeks. In the heat of their lust, he’d completely forgotten about the duke.
And as far as interruptions went, this was by far the most direct one they had received. Hero was blushing mightily herself, though she began to natter breezily as if nothing had even happened.
Though the duke often acted similarly, today he uncharacteristically stayed on topic. He glared at Ian with his arms clasped over his chest, looking every bit a duke of the realm. In years past, he must have been an intimidating man. Years past? Ian shook his head. Bugger it, but Beaumont was bloody menacing right now.
“Explain yourself, sir.” The duke’s resonant voice broke the awkward silence once more, and Ian didn’t know whether to laugh or cower. What did one say to a father when he’d been caught red-handed with his hand on a daughter’s breast?
“I demand satisfaction.” Beaumont yanked off his riding glove.
Hero hurried to place herself between them and put a hand on her father’s chest. “Now, Papa, be sensible. You don’t want to hurt Ian, do you?”
