A lazy chuckle rumbled in his chest.
As funny as she was intelligent. How many people knew that about Miss Juliet Windermere?
He did.
That was all that mattered.
“Aye,” he said in answer to her observation.
He knew this about himself. He cared for the pleasure of his partner, unlike most men, apparently. He’d been told so on more than one occasion.
She went utterly serious. “You’re more than that, you know.”
“More than what?” Was he was missing something?
“You’re more than your ability to deliver anexcellent tup.”
His laugh this time took on a note of discomfort.
“And those words you spoke?” she asked.
“Which ones?”
“Near the end.”
Juliet, my love.
Those words, neither needed to say.
“Aye?”
“Were they simply words spoken in the heat of lovemaking?” she asked, direct. “Words that won’t be felt as strongly in an hour or so?”
She was tossing his words from yesterday back at him.
Good.
He’d spoken them to provoke a response from her, and here it was, at last.
The time had arrived to give them a good airing out—and one word in particular.
He rolled off her completely. “I think we should be sitting upright—and bits tucked away—for this conversation,” he said, doing precisely that as he folded himself into his trousers and buttoned the fall.
She sat up, tucking her breasts into her bodice. “I think you’re right.” She’d begun securing her flower crown.
What was it about a woman messing about with her hair that was so transfixing to a man?
He pushed to a stand and held out a hand for her. She grabbed hold, and he had her on her feet the next instant. Their hands held onto each other for a heartbeat of time, long enough for them both to notice. Neither wanted to break the contact, but each understood they must. He released her, and she retreated to a nearby outcropping of rock, balancing her hip against it for support.
He found his own boulder and waited. Juliet had something to say to him. Which was as well. He had something to say to her.
“Miss Dalhousie returns tomorrow for the performance.”
“Oh?” Rory could groan with frustration. In truth, he’d forgottenabout the woman’s return. It didn’t concern him. Nothing about Miss Dalhousie did, or ever would. But…
The woman before him didn’t know that.
Right.
