“A scratch, almost healed now.”
“Nevertheless, I shall examine it.”
“Later. Let’s just sit here awhile.” He studied her face, taking in every feature.
In the long silence Verity listened to the chirp of crickets and swifts darting overhead. She yearned to lean into him and rest within his arms and was tense waiting for him to speak. Her deep anxious breaths drew in the sweet-smelling air: poppies, lavender and roses, the vegetable garden, and the pungent aroma of tilled earth.
“I still can’t believe you two rescued us,” he said at last. “I can’t find the words to express the depth of my gratitude.”
She looked away. “There’s no need.”
He turned her face toward him. “Of course, there is. It would be extremely ungrateful for me to say I’d rather you hadn’t. But none of us may come out of this alive. And I would prefer it wasn’t you and Henrietta at risk.”
She colored up under the scrutiny of his handsome brown eyes. “You blame me for bringing Henrietta to France.”
“That’s what I’m wondering. Did you bring her? Or did she bring you?”
She gave a soft smile of relief. “You know your daughter. She threatened to follow me. I thought it best to keep her with me.”
“That sounds like Hetta.” He frowned. “Now we must find a safe means to get her back to England.”
“Henrietta won’t go without you.” She studied her hands, the skin rough and her nails broken. Heaven knew how bad she must look. And she probably stank of the river.
“You can’t stay in France after this. You two can get through the way you came. You must convince her. I’ll follow when Philippe is well enough to travel.”
“We had luck on our side. Going back will not be so easy. And I cannot leave now, my lord.”
He took her chin in his large hand and tilted it to gaze into her eyes. “My lord?”
She flushed. “Anthony. I have urgent business in Paris.” Suddenly, the thought of what she had to do on the morrow brought tears to her eyes.
Anthony slipped an arm around her and drew her against him. She sighed with relief. But it was foolish to think anything had changed.
“Henrietta told me your father is in prison.” He rested his cheek against her hair. “What will you do?”
“I must find out where he is. If he still lives.”
“And if he does? What then?”
She trembled as a sob escaped her throat. “I don’t know.”
He raised her chin and kissed her. The touch of his lips banished the distasteful memory of Ramsbotham’s kisses. A long soft kiss, if not of passion, then compassion, and caring. She pushed away her anxieties and snuggled against his big reassuring body. There was passion and raw need in his eyes. “Can we go somewhere?” she whispered. She wanted him too, to make her feel alive.
“I’m in sore need of a bath and a shave,” he said regretfully.
“As am I.” She giggled. “Apart from the shave.” She stood and held out her hand to him. They walked through the kitchen garden. The scent of lavender and sage crushed beneath their feet rose to permeate the air. A goose honked and waddled out of their way, and a cloud of insects swirled around them and was gone. Once hidden from the house, she pulled him down. Grass tickled her neck. He flicked away an inquisitive insect. “Let me look at you.” His eyes were warm and appreciative. “You’re tired; there’s dirt on your cheek. Your hair is coming down, and you’ve never looked more beautiful.”
She laughed. “Oh, that’s not true.”
A brief grin lightened the savage planes of his face. “And I? I am a shadow of the man you knew.”
She shook her head. “No. You are still that man.” She stroked his bristly cheek. “You need a barber. You look tired too, your cheeks are thinner.” She drew in a ragged breath and let it out slowly. “I’ve never desired you more.”
In answer, Anthony’s mouth crushed hers. She knew him now: the familiar taste of his mouth; the feel of his soft lips claiming hers, the strength and weight of him, his chest against hers and the fast beat of his heart. She held him as if afraid someone would come and part them. His hand stroked her thigh under her petticoat. He kissed her again, moaning against her lips. Then he moved to settle between her legs. She whimpered, hot, burning with desire. The thought of discovery, or the possibility that death stalked close behind them, made life and love all the sweeter. She cried out with pleasure at the exquisite sense of completion when he pushed into her. Holding him close they rushed toward an explosive release, drowning in the pleasure of it.
Anthony groaned, pulled her hair from its combs, and tangled his fingers in the strands. He thrust hard and fast and then withdrew with a cry. A startled a bird took flight from an overhanging bough. They lay together breathing fast, with no need of words.
“Papa?”
