A laugh burst out of her.
“This time, however,” he went on, “I thought I would try following it up with a proposal, because I’m not just asking for a future. I’m asking for you. All of you. Forever.”
Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Just a little puff of air that misted in the cold. Then, slowly, delight dawned on her face, her mouth curving into that familiar smile that undid him every time.
“Are you proposing marriage to a poacher, sir?”
“I am.” He grinned. “To the woman who trespassed onto my land and made off with my heart.”
“Then my answer,” she said, voice light with joy, “is yes.”
Chapter 32
Six months later, May 1821
Juliet paused just below the rise, silent as the beech trunk she hid behind. Overhead, brilliant green leaves, fresh from their buds, shushed in the morning breeze. She lifted her nose, sniffing the air. Hawthorn blossoms, sweet but musky, almost almondlike, blended with the earthy scent of moist dirt beneath her feet. Both lovely, but not what she wished to inhale. Had she been wrong?
Crouching, she studied the ground. Ahead, a branch lay snapped in half. A yard in front of that was a flattened patch of wood anemones, their white petals crushed by a heel. Her lips quirked. Perhaps she wasn’t as far off as she thought.
She pressed onwards, upwards, landing each step as quiet as a fox on the hunt. Stopping at the next tree, she pressed a hand to her belly, pushing back a sudden grumble. This time, on this quest, the hunger pang was of her own making, so unlike last year. Bother! She should have at least grabbed a piece of toast on her way out of the manor. Maybe she should turn back. It wasn’t as if this pursuit was of life-or-death importance or—
She jerked up her head, inhaling sharply. There. A hint of bay leaf. The musty tang of old leather and aged paper. Faint, yet unmistakable.
Appetite forgotten, she crept up the remaining stretch of ridge, then hesitated as she spied her prey.
Henry stood with his back towards her, surveying the vast fields in front of him, looking every bit the lord of the manor as he had that night she’d first encountered him in the woods. Strong. Steady. So handsome it ached deep in her ribs.
And completely unaware.
Grinning, she left behind the trees, easing each step soundlessly into the soft spring growth. The thrill of catching him off guard sent a charge through her.
Then died a quick death as his low voice carried on the next waft of breeze.
“Juliet,” he said simply.
Dash it all!
She stomped up to him, a pout to her lips. “How did you know I was there?”
He turned to her, chuckling. “I always know when my wife is nearby.”
She huffed. Saucy bounder. But even so, she shoved down a smile. “What are you doing out here brooding so early in the day?”
He shook his head, wind tousling his hair. Which was completely unfair. She ought to be the one running her fingers through it.
“I am not brooding but rather counting my blessings.”
She arched a brow. “And you cannot do that inside the house?”
“No. I am far too distracted when you are within arm’s reach.” A sultry gleam glittered in his eyes, one that never failed to inspire a twinge low in her belly.
She wagged her finger. “I know exactly what is on your mind, sir, and do not think to—”
He lunged.
She shrieked.
Then was instantly quieted by the press of his mouth against hers.
