This time he grabbed her close and shifted his balance on to his good leg to protect her from his clumsiness. He cursed himself for taking even the slightest risk with her. He should never have tried to kiss her on his first trip outside his spartan bedchamber in a week. He felt her stiffen and curve away from him even as they saved themselves from a tumble once again. Ah, yes, that was the truth of it; he should never have kissed her at all.
Breathless and flushed, she was even more delicious and desirable now she would not meet his gaze. When she tried to speak it looked as if words had deserted her. She shook her head and looked away. They had taken a huge step into intimacy, then a hasty jump back. He wanted to tell her he was glad and sorry for it, so he stood tense and silent instead. What an odd tableau if anyone could see them in this wilderness, but she was more important than who knew what and when.
He was going to live a very different life from his old one and to do it he had to renounce his best fantasy of Marianne love shot and heavy-eyed in his bed. She was a lady and the widow of a man who gave his life for his country. He wanted her to feel safe at Stratford Park if she agreed to become Juno’s companion and she was hardly likely to if she was afraid he would impose himself on her whenever they were alone.
‘I am sorry,’ he said stiffly. ‘I promise you it will not happen again.’
‘Good,’ she managed to say at last.
Of course she agreed; why would she not? He was not a very impressive figure with a weak ankle, sore wrist and poor record as a human being. ‘Please accept my sincere apology, Mrs Turner,’ he asked as they stood several yards apart.
‘I loved my husband, Lord Stratford,’ she said, then eyed him warily as if he might be about to argue, given her fiery response to him in that fleeting, glorious moment before she recalled who she was kissing.
‘I am sure you did, ma’am,’ he said stiffly.
She shrugged and looked as if she still could not find the words to tell him how much less than the late Mr Turner he was. ‘Don’t call me ma’am,’ she ordered him sharply instead.
‘No, m—’ he began, then hastily amended at her glare. ‘Mrs Turner.’
Juno. Remember how much her happiness matters, Stratford, he reminded himself sternly.
‘I am not usually so clumsy,’ he added.
‘You have an injured ankle.’
‘I am surprised you did not kick me in the other one and make it a pair.’
‘I should have resisted your kiss and you should not have kissed me in the first place—that is the beginning and end of the matter. We must try to forget it ever happened.’
‘Very well, if that is what you want,’ he agreed. His inner idiot was jumping up and down, wanting to know where that much forgetfulness was going to come from. It did feel as if awareness of all they could be together was branded on his very soul by that hot and deliciously passionate kiss. No, he was a cold man at heart—he must be to have ridden away from London when Juno needed him. He was sure he could will all this heat and desire stone dead if he tried hard enough and she did, too.
‘I do,’ she asserted and they were in complete accord for once.
That was wonderful, but it seemed like a good idea to change the subject. ‘Stratford Park has been closed up for far too long,’ he said and saw her puzzlement and a suspicion his wits might have been addled by that blow on his head after all.
‘Indeed?’ she said cautiously.
They both stared at what had once been a gravel walk covered in climbing roses as if seeing the chaos ahead of them was a lot easier than trying to explore places neither of them wanted to go. The air felt heavy with unsaid words as well as the scent of a last Bourbon rose gallantly blooming in its hard-fought-for corner. Most of the ironwork had collapsed under other roses grown wild and a mass of ivy and brambles added by Mother Nature. Luckily the wild disorder reminded him what they came out here to talk about.
‘Even the servants sent to London to open up and run Stratford House for Juno’s debut will have returned to Wiltshire by now,’ he added, hanging on to his subject like a drowning man to lifeline.
‘I hope they enjoyed their holiday.’
‘If they did, it is well and truly over. Many of them are on their way here with my valet,’ he confessed.
‘Oh, really?’ she said at last and sounded frostier than he had hoped.
He had best carry on explaining himself before she packed her bags and stormed off to stay with her parents. ‘Your brother has agreed I can set them to work here instead of leaving them to argue endlessly at Stratford Park.’
‘How easily led he has become since he fell in love,’ she said coolly.
She was very good at making a man feel bad, wasn’t she? He almost felt sorry for Turner facing his wife’s wrath for some clumsy male misdemeanour. Except the man had her passionate love and Alaric was ashamed of being so jealous of a dead man. He wanted her sharp wits and hard-earned wisdom for Juno and he would just have to lock his inner satyr in the cellar and throw away the key when they got to Stratford Park.
‘Love will do that to a man,’ he said blandly. She looked so horrified when she took her eyes off the undergrowth it cost him an effort
