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George had admired this view countless times, yet Cordelia’s wonder made him feel as though he were seeing it anew. She stood at the railing, the last sunlight catching her auburn curls and bathing her pale gown in gold, her lovely face lifted toward the horizon.

For a while, neither spoke.

“You come here to enjoy your after-dinner brandy?” she asked eventually.

“Usually.”

She glanced at him. “Why here? I know it is beautiful, but is there another reason?”

He might ordinarily have offered some jest about escaping society, but the earnestness of her question made him reluctant to hide behind humor. “Because up here, the world seems less complicated. Whatever troubles me during the day loses its importance among these branches. There are no expectations, no demands.” He looked across the valley. “I have listened to rain upon the roof while thunder rolled over the hills and watched snow gather until the woodland lay white and silent. I am content simply to be alive and witness something so beautiful.”

Cordelia regarded him thoughtfully. “You speak as though the rest of the world requires you to be someone other than yourself.”

“Does it not require something of us all?” His smile held little amusement. “Society expects a gentleman to excel at respectable pursuits, indulge his vices discreetly, and never care too deeply for anything others might ridicule. Even my father disapproved of my love of music and my affection for animals.” He glanced toward the great branches surrounding them. “The first time I climbed this oak, long before I built this refuge, I felt a peace I had never known. Everything else simply fell away.”

She considered his words, her fingers resting upon the railing. “I understand that better than you might suppose. People are so certain they know what a woman with a limp can or cannot accomplish that they seldom trouble themselves to ask. Eventually, one grows weary of proving them wrong. I became rather adept at avoiding visitors, even family friends. I would retreat to the library and hide behind a chaise, concealed by its heavy draperies, with a book to keep me company.” A wistful smile touched her lips. “It was my own little sanctuary, and I always felt at peace there.”

Tenderness stirred within him.

“Of course, I did not abandon climbing merely because others thought I ought to. My leg hurt, and for years I could not trust it as I once had. Then time passed, and remembering the pleasure became easier than discovering whether I might still enjoy it. I had not realized how much I missed climbing until you asked whether I wished to try.”

George took her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “You required very little assistance. Indeed, I was in some danger of being left behind.”

She smiled faintly and peered up at him from beneath her long lashes. “You were, though I must confess I found your assistance remarkably agreeable whenever the branches grew difficult.”

He brushed an auburn curl from her cheek and allowed his fingers to linger along her jaw, taking pleasure in the way she instinctively turned toward his touch.

“Tonight you have brought me here,” she murmured, searching his eyes. “Does that mean I am permitted to share your peace?”

“Yes. For as long as you wish.”

She regarded him with an expression so tender that his chest tightened. Then she stepped into his embrace, resting her palm against his heart. “I am glad you brought me.”

He drew her closer, his hand settling at the small of her back. The warmth of her body against his awakened an immediate, fierce hunger, and he wanted to kiss her until she was breathless, until her fingers tangled in his hair and she begged him to take her to his bed. He could almost feel her beneath him, her soft curves yielding to his weight, her legs wrapped around his hips as he drove into her pussy slowly, savoring every shudder of pleasure he coaxed from her.

The force of his desire made him close his eyes. He had promised her restraint, and he would keep that promise, however desperately his body protested. Resting his forehead against hers, he drew a steadying breath.

“Come,” he murmured, his voice uncommonly husky. “Sit with me before the loveliest part of the evening passes us by.”

He led her to the wider reclining bench and settled among its cushions, stretching his legs along the gently sloping seat. Cordelia sat beside him, and he arranged a bolster beneath her arm before she nestled comfortably against his side.

Then he remembered the decanter. “I appear to have forgotten my brandy below.”

“A most grievous oversight,” she replied, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Do you suppose you shall survive the evening without it?”

He looked down at her, at the affectionate mischief in her expression and the fading sunlight upon her face. “I believe I shall manage very well.”

Her light laughter subsided into a comfortable silence. Cordelia shifted closer and rested her head against his shoulder with a contented sigh. He pressed a lingering kiss to her hair, breathing in its familiar fragrance, and when her fingers sought his, he folded his hand around them. Before them, the sky deepened from gold to apricot, the clouds blushing rose and crimson as the sun descended toward the hills. A final blaze of light swept across the lake before the woodland surrendered to dusky shadows, and the first evening star appeared above the eastern trees.

George had watched the sunset from this refuge countless times, usually with a book or a glass of brandy, always content in his solitude. Yet with Cordelia nestled against him, he found himself wishing the evening would never end. He wanted to know her thoughts when she fell quiet, to hear her laughter when rain drummed upon the roof, to see her delight at the first snowfall. He wanted her beside him through every changing season of this place he loved.

His arm tightened gently around her, and she responded by drawing his hand closer against her waist. For years, he had guarded the peace of this sanctuary, believing its solitude one of his greatest pleasures. Yet as Cordelia rested against his shoulder and the last sunlight faded beyond the hills, he understood that her presence had not diminished that peace. It had made it infinitely more precious.

The sun was finally slipping beyond the horizon, and the gathering darkness seemed to enfold them in a world of their own, lending their solitude an intimacy that made Cordelia reluctant to leave.

“Do you also watch the sunrise?” she murmured, already dreading the thought of returning to the manor.

“Yes, and it is every bit as breathtaking. Would you like to see it in the morning?”