gripping the arms of his chair, he surreptitiously edged it back.
'I've been looking through the names — is there any reason they're all 'of Lyddington' or some such?'
She glanced at him; he met her gaze — which meant looking up. Standing as she was, leaning on the desk, her breasts, mounding tantalizingly above her low neckline, were at eye level. 'It's customary to give them such a tag to denote where they were whelped, usually the nearest town.'
His tone was even, commendably cool yet the temperature was steadily rising.
'Is it necessary?' She faced him, propped her hip against the desk's edge. 'I mean that the second half has to be the nearest town. Can't it be… well, 'Calverton Chase'?'
He blinked; it took a moment to get his brain to work — to follow her argument. 'The naming rules don't specify, not to that level. I can't see why, if you wished…' He focused on her. 'What name have you chosen?'
She smiled. 'Galahad of Calverton Chase.'
He half smothered a groan. 'Portia and Penelope will be your willing slaves — they've been at me for years to use that.' He frowned at her. 'What is it with females and King Arthur's court?'
Her eyes met his; her smile deepened. Before he knew what she intended, she slid onto his lap. His body reacted instantly; his hands closed about her hips.
Her smile only grew as she leaned into him. 'You'll have to ask Lancelot.'
She kissed him, but lightly, her lips toying with his. Then she drew back; the fingers of one hand slid into his hair as she twisted and leaned closer still, her breasts to his chest. 'It occurred to me that I haven't thanked you properly for Galahad.'
He had to moisten his lips before he could say, 'If you want to name him Galahad, you'd better add a bribe.'
Her smile, her low chuckle, nearly brought him undone. Lips parted, she leaned in. 'Let's see if I can convince you.'
She put her heart and soul into it; his head literally spun. Her lips tempted, teased, incited — and he couldn't help but take, partake of what she offered, slide deep into the warm cavern of her mouth and savor all she was, all she would give him. He closed his arms about her, then tipped her back so he could plunder more deeply, more evocatively. She welcomed him in, urged him on, fingers tangling in his hair as her tongue dueled with his.
Outside, the warm, dozy afternoon took hold; activities slackened; people rested. In the small room with the curtains drawn, hands grasped, silk shushed, and the temperature rose.
He'd taught her well enough not to rush; kissing her, feeling the promise of her supple body, her generous curves filling his arms, caressing his thighs, was like drowning in a sea of sensual delight. She was fluid, malleable — a mermaid tempting him to sink with her deeper under the waves.
Into the oblivion of ecstasy.
The temptation whispered through his mind, pulsed through his veins, throbbed beneath his skin. He was on the brink of yielding when some remnant of self-preservation reared its head.
Was she — could she possibly be — seducing him?
His instinctive reaction was to mentally smile and push such a ridiculous thought aside. She was his wife, here to thank him for an act of generosity; she was warm summer in his arms, full of the promise of life. The need to take, her and all she offered, was strong — and she'd made no demand. She'd simply offered…
Because she knew him too well — knew he would take if she offered, and resist if she demanded.
He kissed her more forcefully, deliberately setting her wits spinning while he tried to assemble his. Tried to decide if she was intent, following some plan of her own… even if she was, did he care?
Uncertainty reigned, then she kissed him back, and the feeling faded, along with his resistance. They both knew what lay between them, knew the power and the force, knew how it would consume them.
Wanted it — with one mind, one purpose.
He closed his hand about her breast and she arched in his arms; he ravaged her mouth as he filled his hand with her flesh. He drew her closer, tighter, deeper into his embrace—
They both heard the steps in the corridor — both stilled, then broke apart, eyes wide, widening…
A brisk tap fell on the door. A second later, the knob turned; the door opened and McTavish looked in.
He blinked, taking in the scene as Luc looked up and raised a brow.
'Oh, sorry, my lord.' McTavish blushed. 'I didn't think.' He nodded respectfully to Amelia, perched on the desk, watching as Luc pored over the ledger.
'Never mind.' Shutting the ledger, Luc waved McTavish to the seat before the desk. He turned to Amelia. 'That name seems in order.' He handed her the ledger. 'We can discuss the necessary payment later.'
Amelia saw the smoldering passion in his dark eyes — she saw the suspicion, too. Accepting the ledger, she smiled, and slipped from the table. 'Excellent.' She let just a touch of the purr she knew he would hear slide into her voice. 'I'll leave you to your business.'
With a smile for McTavish, she headed for the door, perfectly serene.
She might not have got all she'd wanted, but she'd gained enough to go on with. And who knew? McTavish might, indeed, have been sent by the gods.
Chapter 16
'I'm going riding — I thought I'd go to that place on the river we used to go to years ago.'
Looking up from a financial report, Luc stared at the vision filling his study doorway. Clad in her pale green riding habit, Amelia smiled, then glanced down as she fiddled, as usual, with her gloves. Beneath her tight-fitting jacket, a froth of gauzy blouse showed, tantalizing in its transparency. Late-afternoon sun washed through the windows, bathing her in golden light, emphasizing the temptress role he was almost certain she was playing.
Gloves secured, she looked up, smiled again. 'I'll be back in time for dinner.' She started to turn away.
'Wait.' He was rising before he'd truly considered, but didn't stop. 'I'll come with you.'
She'd turned back; now she raised her brows. 'Are you sure…?' She glanced at the papers he'd dropped on the desk, then met his gaze as he joined her. 'I didn't intend to disturb you.'
Looking into her eyes, he couldn't tell whether she was lying. Biting back the words: then you shouldn't have come within my sight, he gestured impassively on. 'I could do with a ride.'
Her eyes widened; her lips curved deliciously. 'I see.' Serenely, she turned and started down the corridor. 'Being out in the fresh air will be pleasant.'
He had no idea which way she intended that; gritting his teeth, he strode after her.
She'd already called for her mount; his hunter was quickly bridled and saddled, then they were away, galloping over his fields, heading south to the river. He knew the spot she was looking for; he led her straight there, to where a loop in the river left a finger of his land surrounded on three sides by water. Trees screened the base of the promontory; they left the horses there. Beyond the trees, the tip of the promontory was a secluded place, cushioned in lush grass, partially shaded by the reaching branches of the trees.
As children, this had been their spot for lazing, for paddling, for passing the days in idle talk, or in dreaming. They had occasionally been here in a large group, or had visited alone or with others, but they'd never come together, just the two of them, to this realm of childhood peace.
Ducking under a branch, he led the way, Amelia's hand in his; as they walked out into the thick grass, he could almost hear the high-pitched voices, the laughter, the whispers, the soft murmur of the water a constant counterpoint. He stopped in the center of the grassy area, and drew in a deep breath. It brought with it the scents of summer, of sun on leaves, of grass crushed beneath their feet.
'It's just like it always was.' Amelia slipped her hand from his and sank down on the grass, lush, green, and, courtesy of the warm day, dry. She looked up, met Luc's eyes, smiled. 'It was always so peaceful here.'
Arranging her skirts, she looked around, then hugged her knees, set her chin upon them, and fixed her gaze on the gently swirling water.
After a moment, Luc sat beside her. He stretched out, long legs toward the water, booted ankles crossed. Leaning back on one elbow, he, too, considered the river.
It was a constant, something that had been here over the generations, over the centuries — something that tied them to this land, to its past, yet whispered of its future.
