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“You do that often, you know.” Graeme reached for her hair and smoothed it behind her ear.

They had stopped to give the horses a rest, and she’d sought out a thicket of trees so she could relieve herself. After attending to nature’s call, she righted herself and began to walk back to the clearing. He must have followed her to keep watch because he was leaning against a massive oak tree along her path, his arms crossed and casual, exuding confidence and sensuality. Knowing him now as she did, both of those traits were as obvious as the age of the tree he pushed away from to approach her.

She hadn’t even realized she’d swept her hair forward until he reached out to right it.

“What are you trying to hide, my queen?”

The endearment filled her heart with joy. In fact, these past two days of travel had been two of the happiest of her life. She would finally see her sister today, and it heartened her to think that she had a plan to save her.

Granted, it was not the best of plans.

If her father could not be talked out of the betrothal, Gillian would simply convince Allie to come to Highgate with them. She could not be allowed to marry Covington. Aye, Gillian had been prepared to sacrifice herself for her family. To appease her father. Earn his respect. But the earl was a bad man. Though she understood his motivations, her father was cruel to contemplate giving her, and now her sister, up as a sacrifice.

After this past week with her husband, she had a new understanding of what he was asking of them. Of what her sister would be giving up if she were to wed herself to Covington. There could be more.

Sara and Geoffrey . . . Emma and Garrick . . . these were not rare instances of married couples who loved each other. Her parents were the anomaly.

Love was possible between husband and wife. Gillian knew it because she was falling in love with her husband. Why else would her heart thud out of its chest every time he was near? Or why would she crave his presence, seeking him out for all manner of reasons throughout the day?

Why would a simple touch move her so deeply, making her wish to know everything about this man? So that she could understand him, help him, love him.

“Hide. You’ve made it quite clear, my lord, there should be nothing hidden between us.”

“In the bedchamber,” he replied, taking another step toward her.

Though the day was just perfect—not too cold or too hot—and the sun had already begun its descent, Gillian’s cheeks reddened.

“But not outside of it?”

She could have bitten her tongue. What could she be thinking, taunting him in such a way? There were secrets between them outside of the bedroom—hers. Gillian had not yet told him about her father’s troubles or even Allie’s betrothal. Though she knew it needed to be done, she couldn’t stand the thought of further burdening him. Hadn’t her father already done enough? If there was a chance, however small, she could convince her parents out of their hasty actions, it behooved her to try. She wasn’t deluded enough to think it would work. But at least she could tell Graeme she’d done her part.

One thing she knew for sure—she would not leave Allie to her fate. Surely he would agree with her on that. Would he not?

He cleared his throat and retreated back into himself. When they were alone together, he gave all of himself to her. Pleased her beyond anything she could have imagined possible. At other times, he remained very much a stranger, as if he were purposefully holding himself back. The suspicion that her father was at fault was another reason she’d stayed silent.

“I believe we were discussing you,” he said. He reached for her again, this time pulling her toward him. “Do not hide your face, or any other part of you.”

“I wasn’t hiding my face. I—”

Her words were cut off by a kiss. Not a gentle wooing one but a hard, insistent kiss that demanded an immediate response.

Which she gave him.

Gillian met his tongue with her own, clutching his tunic to keep her knees from buckling. How could she so quickly be pulled under his spell?

“My lord?”

When one of his men called to him from behind, Gillian attempted to pull away.

“Nay,” he said, though he did take a moment to call back, “A moment.”

They listened, heard nothing, and then Graeme laid his hand ever so gently on her cheek.

“So lovely . . .”

Gillian didn’t know what to say. No one had ever spoken to her in such a way before. Sure, people had called her beautiful before. Allie and Sara and Morgan and even her mother. But they all adored her, and so she’d shrugged off their praise as the bias of loved ones.