Noticing her gaze, he shrugged. “There are cows. I need milk.”
“You know how to milk a cow?” she asked out of curiosity. “I understand the association but I don’t think I could actually get a cow to part with any.”
“You just have to know how to stroke them and make them happy,” he said. “Like all women. Stroke them with kindness and the right touch and they’ll be happy.”
She snorted. “Are you calling women cows?”
He blinked. “Dear God, no. That was not my intent.”
“Good.” She laughed. “I’m glad I scared you for a moment. Turn about is fair play.”
“I’ll make the tea then.” He seemed eager to move away from the current topic of conversation.
Amused, Adalyn looked around once more, this time noticing one or two small paintings. While Trick juggled hot water, tea and teapot, she rose and crossed the room to look at them.
They were, to her inexperienced eyes, quite wonderful. Two landscapes, the same place at different times of the year. One was rich with the yellow-greens and blue skies of spring, the other shone with the reds and golds of autumn, against a background of a purpling sky streaked with red-gold clouds.
“Oh Trick. These are lovely. Who painted them?” She glanced over her shoulder at him.
“I did,” he replied quietly.
“You? You did these? Trick, they are amazing. You have a gift…” She looked back toward them. “Watercolours, I believe…”
“Yes. I find them more comfortable for landscapes.”
“Do you work in anything else?”
“I do…” He nodded to one side of the bed, and she noticed what looked like canvases stacked up against the wall behind it.
“May I?”
He paused, then nodded. “Yes.”
Rounding the bed, she sucked in a breath of air. The first one, standing in front of the others, was her.
She sat, dropping onto the side of the bed like a stone, stunned at how he had portrayed her. A charcoal study, he’d caught her in what looked like mid-laugh, her mouth curving, her eyes looking to one side, her head turned and tilted a little as if she was answering someone.
Her shoulders were bare, and the lines faded away at her décolletage…
“Trick…” she whispered. “Is this me?”
“It is,” he answered, walking around the bed and sitting beside her. “Once seen, Adalyn, a man can’t forget you or whisk you out of his mind.”
She shook her head, eyes fixed on the portrait. “I had no idea.”
“Of what?”
“That I looked—like this…”
“You are beautiful in a unique way,” he said, reaching over and running his finger down the canvas, tracing her neck and shoulder.
She shivered, as if she could feel the touch even though it was not her real self.
“Your features come alive when you talk of your interests, your wants, your desires…” his voice trailed off.
“Surely not—this cannot be.” She shifted a little, tilting her head to one side. “This woman looks—confident, aware, part of something.” Adalyn frowned. “I can’t describe it.”
“You are all those things. Did you not realise it?”
She turned to him then, realising he was closer than she’d expected and their faces were a whisper apart. “No, Trick, I never imagined this was how you saw me.” Her eyes were drawn to his lips, full and warm, they were so near.
Without conscious thought, she licked her own and caught his indrawn breath.
“Adalyn,” he whispered. “I cannot help myself…”
And with that, he closed the distance between them and gently, delicately—as if he caressed the most tender flower—kissed her. The lightest brush of his lips, but it was enough to inflame her body and send pleasurable tingles over her skin.
She pulled back on a gasp as his hand rose to her chin.
“Trick, oh Trick,” she whispered.
“Please don’t be angry with me…” he cupped her face and his thumb stroked her cheek. “You are an irresistible force, Adalyn. You have an allure that is all innocence and sweetness, yet a man wonders what fires lie unawakened beneath.”
She blinked. “You have a way with words, but I cannot believe myself worthy of them.”
“You hush now, cariad bach,” he reprimanded gently. “You’ll not disparage yourself in my presence.” He let her go and took the canvases from her, putting them back in place. “Come. Tea’s getting cold.”
Adalyn swallowed, fighting for composure, unsettled by his portrait of her, his revelation of what he considered her nature, and most of all, his kiss.
She didn’t want to move, but knew she must. He walked to the table and she rose to follow him, praying her legs would not fail her.
“Now then,” he said, seating her. “Tell me about your invitation to Fivetrees?”
The practicality of his question jerked her thoughts back to the present moment and in some ways she was glad of it. The tea had cooled sufficiently to be perfect, and she sipped, allowing the strong brew to finish the job of returning her to her original purpose.
“Well, as I mentioned, I’m to visit there for dinner on Friday evening. Sir Amery was quite pleasant about it, and his niece Judith is now in residence there, so the proprieties will be fully observed.”
“But?” He raised an eyebrow. “I sense there is a ‘but’ somewhere…”
“There is. Giles is not certain we can rely on Sir Amery to be the gentleman all evening.”
Trick’s face hardened. “If he even thinks about laying a hand on you…”
She shook her head. “I can’t imagine him going that far, but apparently he’s proven to be untrustworthy and with one sole aim in life.” She sighed. “He wants Wolfbridge, as you must already know. And both Giles and Jeremy believe he’ll go to any lengths to get it.”
“The bastard,” swore Trick. “Apologies, Adalyn.”
“No matter. I’ve thought worse,” she smiled. “But even though I’ve not seen evidence of such greed, I will accept that it’s there because Giles and Jeremy said so.”
“Your trust is well placed,” Trick approved. “So what can I do?”
“I would like you to help me fall down.”
She wanted to burst out laughing at his expression. The handsome and masculine lines to his face slackened in shock and
