He was everything she’d vowed to herself that she would avoid. If she took a husband, she wanted him to be safe, steady, and secure. A mild-tempered gentleman who enjoyed his paper with a cup of tea and never rode his horse faster than a leisurely trot. But instead ofthatman, that predictable, quiet, kind man, she was strolling beside the Duke of Southwick... the same fingers she’d used to pleasure herself while envisioning his face clinging to the rich fabric of his burgundy tailcoat.
“What hobbies do you like, Your Grace?” she mustered the courage to ask again as they followed a trail that wound along the hedgerow. Tiny brown sparrows sang amidst the woven branches and from the other side she could hear the humming trickle of the stream that Ambrose had told her about, although it was not yet visible through the towering wall of laurel.
“I’ve excellent aim with a pistol, a steady seat in the saddle, and, at last count, am fluent in six languages.”
Her mouth curled in a bemused half-smile. “I did not inquire what hobbies you were good at, Your Grace. I asked what ones youenjoyed.”
“Is there a difference?”
“I believe so.” She stepped nimbly over a fallen branch. “I’m sure you received excellent tutelage in any manner of subjects. But what ones do you actually like doing now that you’re an adult?”
The duke frowned. “Does drinking count?”
“I’m not sure. Do you enjoy it?”
“Depending on the vintage.”
“Then yes, I suppose it does.” The trail veered to the left and an opening appeared in the hedgerow just wide enough for one person to fit through at a time. Mara went first and Ambrose followed right after, his hand resting on the small of her back where it remained even after the path broadened out again along a babbling brook.
Heat blooming in her cheeks, she flicked a belated glance behind them. “I—I think we’ve accidentally left Kitty behind.”
“I’m sure she’ll find her way,” Ambrose said, unconcerned. Bending, he picked up a small, flat rock and with a turn of his wrist sent it across the water where it skipped once, twice, three times before sinking to the bottom.
Mara’s eyes widened. “How did you do that?”
“Here, I’ll show you.” Scouring the ground for another rock, he found one that met his specifications and then went behind Mara. Looping an arm around her waist, he pulled her in snug against the hard wall of his chest and bent his head so that his chin rested on her shoulder. “Take the rock,” he murmured, pressing the stone into her palm. “Then lift your arm like this.”
She moved her body accordingly, feeling for all the world as if she were a puppet... and Ambrose was controlling her strings. Despite their difference in height, she was amazed to find how remarkably well they fit together. Two pieces from very different puzzles clicking firmly into place. What picture did they make, a handsome duke and the shy daughter of a viscount, standing so close together on the bank of a stream? She tried to imagine it from an outsider’s perspective, but she couldn’t. It was far too implausible.
Implausible, but apparently not impossible, for here they stood.
He circled his fingers around her wrist, his thumb pressing on the delicate web of green and blue veins where her pulse fluttered madly. “It’s in the throwing motion,” he said. “You want to spin the rock sideways, so it hits the water on the flat side.”
“Like this?” Focused more of the warmth radiating from his body than the slight weight in her hand, she gave an inept toss and with a little disappointingplop, the rock sank, well, like a rock.
Ambrose chuckled. “Here, try again.”
He moved away to retrieve a replacement, this one slightly larger and smoother than the last. This time he held her elbow, guiding it out and then in as she practiced a few throwing motions. When she was satisfied that she had the hang of it, she threw the flat rock as he’d instructed and gave a gasp of audible delight when it managed a single wobbly skip across the top of the water before disappearing.
“I did it!” she said, spinning around to Ambrose.
Spinning aroundintoAmbrose. He caught her easily, as if she were a feather floating in the air. One second she was blissfully weightless. The next, held in arms of iron.
Then the iron softened... and he kissed her.
It wasn’t the hot, heady kiss she’d received on her doorstep when he’d placed his tongue inside her mouth and she’d feared that she’d be engulfed by flame. If that kiss—her first kiss—had been a blistering August day in the height of summer, then this kiss was a cozy morning in the middle of September.
It was tea perfectly warmed with a side of cinnamon biscuits and a splash of cream. It was sweetness, and it was comfort, and it was... it wassafety. Something she’d sadly known far too little of.
With her chin perched on Ambrose’s finger, her lashes fanning across her cheeks and her lips pressed against his, she feltsafe. Protected. Shielded from all of the considerable ills that awaited her at home. And how ironic that up until now neither his handsomeness, nor his title, nor his obscene wealth had convinced her he might be a wise choice for a husband... but this, this kiss that was infinitely more than a kiss, did.
Exhaling, he drew his head back, but when she opened her eyes she found him staring at her with an emotion she’d secretly wondered if the notoriously hard-hearted Duke of Southwick was even capable of swirling in the depths of his startlingly blue irises.
Tenderness.
He was gazing at her with such tenderness that her eyes pricked with tears, and she had to quickly glance away lest he think her foolish or given to fits of flamboyance.
“We should... we should search for Kitty,” she said, shifting her weight from side to side. “I wouldn’t want her to become lost.”
