latest champion. Dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred. She'd never known Luc to be devious — he was too damned arrogant to bother.
Should she speak? They hadn't mentioned her dowry since those early days, yet in truth, there was nothing to say. When it came to money, to how he managed their now-combined fortunes, she trusted him implicitly. Luc was definitely not his father; his devotion to the Chase, to his family, was beyond question.
Indeed, it was that devotion that had allowed her to get this far — to be here, walking the grounds of the Chase, now her home, with him, now her husband.
She could feel his gaze on her face, could feel the heat of him, the sleekly muscled length of him, all down her side. Not a touch but the promise of a touch, and more.
Glancing up, she smiled, and tightened her hold on his arm. 'It's too early to go inside. Come and show me around the gardens. Is the folly on the rise still there?'
'Of course — it's one of the stated attractions. We couldn't let it fall into disrepair.' Luc turned toward the path leading up the rise. 'It's one of the best spots in the district from which to view the sunset.' He glanced at Amelia. 'If you want to indulge, we could go up there.'
Her smile deepened; she met his gaze. 'What an excellent idea.'
Chapter 15
The idea inhabiting her mind had not been the same as the one inhabiting his; he'd actually imagined they'd watch the sun set.
The next morning, while he paced in the hall waiting for her to join him to ride about the estate — infinitely safer than walking the gardens or anywhere else with her — Luc was still mentally shaking his head, trying, largely unsuccessfully, to rattle his disordered wits back into place.
What with their visit to the folly — folly indeed! — it hadn't been his idea to risk being caught
What with that, and their subsequent late return, then the unexpected challenge of dinner and the fight to resist behaving as he had the night before and dragging her straight off to their room — only to succumb before they'd been in the drawing room for more than ten minutes — let alone the consequent events of the night, and the dawn, he felt thoroughly disoriented.
He was — had been — the gazetted rake, yet it seemed it was she who was set on corrupting him.
Not that he was complaining, at least not about the outcome, not even at the folly — he felt desire lance through him simply at the memory — yet it was all… so different from what he'd expected.
He'd assumed — been sure — he was marrying a stubborn but delicate flower, yet she was turning out to be a tigress. She certainly had claws — he had good cause to know.
The clack of her heels on the stairs had him turning. Looking up, he watched as she came gliding down. She wore an apple green riding habit; the color turned her curls a deeper gold. She looked up and saw him; her face lit with eagerness, and — or so he told himself — something else. An expectation that had nothing to do with their projected ride.
She stepped down from the stairs and came toward him; she halted, looking down, fiddling with the buttons on her glove. The morning sun shone through the fanlight behind him and poured over her.
For one instant, he couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The same feeling that had flooded him yesterday when he'd seen her cradling the puppy rushed over him again. A longing, deep-seated and absolute, a need to give her something even more precious of his to hold and croon over.
She grumbled about the buttons. The feeling ebbed, but didn't completely leave him. He hauled in a deep breath, glad she was distracted, then reached for her wrist. As he had before, he deftly slid the tiny buttons home. His eyes met hers; briefly, he raised her wrist to his lips, then closed his hand about hers. 'Come — the horses are waiting.'
In the forecourt, he lifted her to her saddle, watched critically as she settled her feet and gathered the reins. He'd ridden with her years ago. Her seat had improved since that time; she grasped the reins more confidently. Satisfied, he strode to his hunter and mounted, then with a nod, directed her down the drive.
Side by side, they cantered through the morning, through the landscape of wide green fields liberally splotched with the darker greens of copses and coverts. They headed south, occasionally jumping drystone walls; he knew every field, every dip, every wall for miles — he avoided any route he deemed too challenging.
If Amelia guessed, she gave no sign, but took each jump easily, with a confidence he found both reassuring and yet distracting. Another sign of difference, of the maturity the years had wrought in her — and changed her to woman, no longer girl.
The summer sky wheeled above them, a wide and perfect blue, with only a hazy wisp of cloud to veil the beaming sun. The chirp of insects, the flight of startled game as they passed a covert, were the only sounds they heard above the steady drum of their horses' hooves.
They went as far as the lip of the Welland Valley, drawing rein on the ridge to look down on the rich green land threaded by the river, a silver ribbon winking here and there.
'Where do your lands end?'
'At the river. The house lies in the northern part of the estate.'
'So those' — Amelia pointed to a cluster of slate roofs visible through trees—'are yours?'
Luc nodded; he wheeled his dappled hunter in that direction. 'We're doing repairs to one of the cottages. I should look in on the work.'
Amelia set her bay mare to follow him along the ridge, then down the gentle slope to the cottages.
They were sturdy dwellings built of the local pink-brown stone. The central cottage of the three was being reroofed — it was presently roofless. Men were perched on the wooden skeleton, adding new struts; the sound of hammering filled the air.
The foreman saw them, waved, and started to climb down. Luc dismounted, tied his reins to a branch, then lifted Amelia to the ground.
'A huge branch went through the roof during the gales last winter. The house has been uninhabitable since.' With a nod, he directed her attention to one of the other cottages from which a tribe of small children spilled to stand gawking at them. 'The three families have lived squeezed into the two cottages for nearly six months.'
Luc turned as the foreman came up; he introduced Amelia. The foreman nodded, tugging his cap, then gave his attention to Luc.
Who'd been scanning the work through narrowed eyes. 'You're further on than I expected.'
'Aye.' The foreman joined him in surveying the work.
Amelia decided to leave them to it. She started toward the children; no sense wasting an opportunity to get to know the estate families.
'Mind you, if we hadn't been able to get that order in afore June, we'd have been nobbled. The timber merchant had just enough to see us through, but with all the repairs 'round about starting as soon as the weather turned, he was cleaned out in a week.'
'But you've made good progress nonetheless. How long before the slates go back on?'
Amelia let the voices fade behind her; reaching the nearest of the children, she smiled and bent down. 'Hello. I live up at the big house — the Chase. Is your mother in?'
The younger children stared, curious, bright-eyed. One of their elders, hanging back by the door, turned, and shouted, 'Ma! Her new ladyship's here!'
The information caused a minor panic. By the time Amelia had reassured the three young mothers that she wasn't expecting to be specially entertained, and had accepted a glass of lemonade and spoken to two old crones huddled by the hearth, a half hour had passed. Surprised Luc hadn't summoned her, she went back out to the stoop and looked around. The horses were under the tree, placidly grazing, but there was no sign of Luc. Then she heard his voice and looked up.
