“That makes two of us... But I can tell you that... what happened in the trees... was precipitated only by worry. My deep worry—for you. Your mother is ghastly. Please know, by the way, that I’ll always be available after she’s come and gone. We can pour a drink and toast her... undeniable ghastliness.”
“Oh,” said Drew. “Thank you. I felt unable to face you after you’d... experienced her. We... I—”
She closed her eyes. “I fled. I’m sorry.”
“You are not a prisoner in Pollen Street,” he said. “Let us all come and go as we please. Greenly told me where you’d gone. I saddled my horse and came after you. Thankfully, I found the girls easily enough. And Imogene was particularly eager to point out your little sanctuary. I was so relieved to find you. And then, when I saw you, I was—well,excitementis perhaps the best word for it.”
“Excitement?” She opened her eyes.
He nodded. “Worry drove me here, but within moments of clapping eyes on you, it was overshadowed by desire. For you.”
“Oh,” she said, the anxiety dissolving from her face. Shewas so very pretty. Pale skin, teal eyes, hair the color of the low embers of a fire. Remarkably, he began to feel the hot glow of need again. Even now. Less than an hour after their coupling. Desire for her had become his constant companion, licking and burning at his body and mind.
“Did you know I’ve never made love out of doors?” he asked softly, dipping to whisper in her ear.
She shook her head.
He kissed the whirl of her ear, lingering for a moment to nuzzle her neck.
“Lachlan,” Drew whispered, “the girls.”
He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her hair.
“Lachlan?” she prompted. “Your Grace?”
“Hmmm?” His eyes were closed. He was moments away from trailing his lips from her ear to her mouth.
“I do believe they’ve spotted us,” Drew said. “And they are running this way. But where is your sister?”
“What?” He pulled his mouth away and looked up.
“Have they unpinned their hair?” Drew asked. “But why? Oh, there is the baroness. But... is she hurt? Is she lying prone on the ground?”
“It would not be the first time,” he grumbled, squinting into the sun.
Imogene and Ivy were suddenly upon them, their loose hair flying and bare feet flashing beneath raised hems. “Hello, Uncle! Hello, Miss Trelayne!” Ivy shouted.
“What’s become of your mother, girls? Is she unwell?” Drew asked. She became caught up in the duet of ebullient girls. She slipped free of Ian’s grasp and ran ahead with the twins.
Timothea was, in fact, lying on the ground, her arms and legs spread wide like the points of a star. Ian stomped behind his wife and nieces and stared down at her.
Behind Timothea’s head, her unbound hair had been fanned out like a spilled pail of black paint. Woven into her hair were a magpie’s collection of natural treasures: the stiff blossom of a chrysanthemum, autumn leaves in variousshapes and sizes, a twig in the shape of a T, a length of twine, a feather.
She looked not unlike a witch, albeit a good, not-unpleasant-to-look-upon witch, laid out for a ritual. Beside her in the grass, her daughters had collapsed, legs huddled beneath skirts, chins resting on knees. They held up additional hair ornamentation for Drew to peruse. Now that Ian looked closer, he saw that similar specimens from the natural world hung from their own unbound hair. The twins looked less like witches and more like proper girls who may have taken a tumble from their pony into a field.
Ivy smiled down at her mother, clearly proud of their diversion. Imogene dropped her treasures and considered Ian and Drew with shrewd, speculative eyes.
“She is not unwell,” Ivy told Drew. “We areadorningher.”
“How... creative,” Drew said diplomatically, crinkling up her nose.
Obligingly, Timothea opened one eye.
Ivy carefully tucked a long blade of grass behind her mother’s ear.
“Where were you?” asked Imogene, looking back and forth between Ian and Drew.
“We were bird-watching,” Ian said. “Where were you?”
