Whatever had sent Wes haring off—and no one at the house seemed to have the slightest idea what it was—he hadn’t returned. The butler had sent word that Mr. Gardner, the estate steward, had ridden up in a lather, and then both of them had taken off. That suggested an emergency somewhere on the estate, which of course he must see to at once.
She told herself her disappointment was her own fault. If she’d just told Wes this morning, instead of leaving little clues to send him on a treasure hunt, he would have come right down. They could have had breakfast together before he was called away. Now she had spent most of the day waiting for him, and it was growing dark.
Ah well. It was a small disappointment, after all. Smiling wryly at herself for moping over it, she went to put out the lamps and return to the house. Tomorrow morning she would tell him, first thing.
“I say, this charming cottage has a very fetching lady in it,” said his voice behind her, warm with amusement.
Viola whirled. “Wes!”
He opened his arms and she flew to him for a long kiss. “I’ve been waiting all day for that,” he breathed, holding her close.
She smiled up at him. “I should have stayed in bed this morning, shouldn’t I?”
“With me? Always,” he replied, making her blush and laugh. “But what are you doing here?”
‘Here’ was the small former gamekeeper’s cottage at the edge of the woods, facing the largest pond on the estate. She stepped back and spread her arms. “I know how much you wish to travel and see the world, and get away from the cares of Winterbury. I cannot offer you Sicily or St. Petersburg, but I hope this will be a peaceful retreat from the estate.”
His face had gone blank with astonishment. He looked around the cozy little cottage. Freddie and Tom had overseen the renovation, removing some of the walls that cut it into three tiny rooms and made it one large room. It was still rustic, with comfortable but simple furnishings and walls washed white, and thick warm drapes covering the windows that overlooked the pond. Bookcases framed the stone hearth, where the fire was burning low, and a pair of deep wingback chairs sat in front it, inviting a relaxed cup of tea or a glass of brandy over a good book.
And the map. It covered an entire wall, richly illustrated and detailed. Wes caught sight of it and crossed the room slowly, entranced.
“You created this for me,” he said softly, his fingers tracing the frothing wake of a sailing ship at sea. “With sea monsters,” he added with a sudden laugh, spying the gilled serpent lurking in the depths of one ocean.
“What decent map doesn’t?” She put her arms around his waist.
He kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, my love. I hope you don’t regret it when I hide from Anne and Justin here.”
Viola smiled and stepped out of his embrace. “And now I can give you your gift!”
“Now!” He laughed in surprise. “As if I haven’t got everything I want…”
She retrieved a parcel wrapped in linen and handed it to him with a shy smile. “Happy Christmas, my love.”
Lips quirked, he undid the folds, and then his mouth dropped open and he simply stared.
“Are you pleased?” she asked, a bit anxiously.
He raised stunned eyes to her. “How did you get this?”
It was the Desnos atlas he’d gone to Dorset in search of a year ago, the object that took him to Kingstag Castle and into her life. But a year ago, it had belonged to the Duke of Wessex, intended as a gift for his wife the duchess. The duke had utterly refused to sell it.
“Her Grace sent it to me,” she explained. “She read your father’s writings in the back and realized how much it must mean to you. She said she could not keep such a dear memento of someone so beloved, and sent it with cordial wishes.”
His face was very still as he paged through the atlas. “I never thought I would see it again. To tell the truth, I’d made peace with that. These days my mind is more agreeably occupied, with my deeply beloved wife.”
She blushed. “Now you have both.”
“Viola.” He laid the atlas on the table between the armchairs. “Having my father’s journal restored to me is astonishing and marvelous beyond words. Thank you.” She beamed at him. “Now, does this cottage contain a bed?”
“A chaise longue.” She arched one brow. “Are you in need of a respite?”
“No,” he murmured, “I wish to thank you properly for the atlas.” He bore her backwards onto that chaise with a growl, until her giggles turned into breathless sighs of delight.
Some time later, Wes lay sprawled on the chaise feeling at perfect charity with the world. The cottage did feel like a private little world, simple and far removed from the responsibility of Winterbury Hall. A respite, she’d called it. Yes, that was ideal, he thought, pressing his lips to her forehead as she snuggled against him.
“If I might suggest one small improvement,” he murmured, “perhaps a larger chaise.”
Viola laughed. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders in fetching disarray, and she only wore her shift. “Perhaps.”
His fingers played with her loose hair. He loved undoing her, laces and buttons and hairpins. “I suppose now I should give you your gift.”
She kissed his jaw. “I think you just did.”
“That!” He grinned. “That was my everyday expression of love and appreciation. I’ve got something special for you.”
Viola propped her chin on his chest and smiled dreamily at him. “Never say that wasn’t special.”
He laughed. “It was extraordinary! However”—he kissed her on the mouth—“there’s something else waiting at the house. Shall we go see?”
Surprise flickered over her face, but she sat up and reached for her gown. Wes kissed his way up her back
