Water lapped gently at the sides of the barge as the boatmen made the final preparations to launch in the thick rain and mist. Kate watched them move back and forth before the enclosure until the barge glided away from the dock and started upriver. Then she shifted her smiling gaze to Montgomery.
“What’s this?” he asked, looking at her soft smile. “Ah, I expected as much,” he said and reached for the basket, his arm brushing carelessly against her as if they were quite accustomed to one another.
He placed the basket on his lap. “I should not expect you to ride very far without some sustenance,” he said as he unfolded the linen cloth in the basket. It was filled with tiny sweet biscuits of various shapes and varieties. “What would you like?”
Kate leaned forward, glanced at the biscuits in his lap, then lifted her gaze. “What would you suggest?”
With a low laugh in his throat, Montgomery put aside the biscuits and put his hand on her neck. “I would suggest,” he said, leaning closer, “this.” He pulled her to him, kissed her soft and wet as they floated into a thickening mist.
Neither of them noticed.
They kissed, ate biscuits, and kissed again until the barge bumped up against a pier sometime later. Darien lazily lifted his head and leaned to one side, peering at the porthole to have a look, and turned a beaming smile to Kate.
She was turned to one side, lying against the cushions. A part of a rose petal had adhered itself to her cheek, and another was tangled in her hair, which had come quite undone. Her lips were slightly swollen and glisteningly moist. Through half-closed eyes, she smiled dreamily at him. “Where are we?”
“You must come have a look for yourself.” He helped her up; Kate leaned across his lap and looked out. Her brow puckered slightly as she tried to make out where they were. “It’s a boathouse.”
“That it is.” But it wasn’t just any boathouse. It was the grand old boathouse on his uncle’s estate. His uncle, who was well past his eightieth year, neither cared nor noticed that his nephew was borrowing the boathouse for the afternoon.
Darien had sent his butler Kiefer this morning to arrange it all. The boathouse had a pair of doors that opened up to the river, so that boats could be launched from an enclosed dock.
“Oh my,” Kate whispered, taking in the grassy slope of lawn that stretched from the water’s edge up to his uncle’s magnificent estate. “It looks like something from a picture book.”
Darien laughed, urged her up and helped her from the barge. He let the boatmen go, giving the captain a handful of coins to disappear for a couple of hours, then led Kate across the exterior dock to the boathouse.
Her blue eyes widened when they entered the interior. Near the open doors, two piles of rich brocade cushions lined either side of a damask tablecloth. On the tablecloth, a pair of silver candelabras rose above several covered platters. Two bottles of wine were nearby, as were china plates and silver cutlery. In the boat slip, candles floated, bobbing languidly in time to the rain on the roof.
And everything was covered in rose petals.
Darien glanced at Kate. Her lips had parted slightly; her eyes were wide as she tried to absorb what he’d done for her. Actually, he was rather impressed himself. He had described what he envisioned to Kiefer, but he’d never dreamed it would look as good as this. The man had outdone himself, and Darien made a mental note to commend him for his mastery.
“I’m . . . astounded,” Kate said at last.
“I’m rather astounded myself,” Darien said.
They sat on the cushions; Kate gazed out the doors open onto the river as he lit the candelabras and poured the wine. “I can scarcely believe you’ve done all this . . . for me,” she said softly, gesturing to the picnic.
“Why can’t you?” he asked, tipping his wineglass against hers and lifting it in a salute before drinking.
“No one has ever been so considerate of me,” she said thoughtfully and smiled warmly. “I’ve never been given a picnic. It rather warms the cockles of my heart, my lord.”
Darien grinned. “That’s all the thanks I need,” he said and put aside the wine and lifted the dome from the first platter. Roasted asparagus. “I should think your husband, may he rest in peace, might have treated you to a picnic now and again,” he said, broaching the subject that had weighed heavy on his mind these last few weeks.
“No,” Kate said, shaking her head and drawing her legs up against her chest. “Richard was a good husband. But he was not as creative as this.”
“Asparagus?”
“Please.”
“Your husband was a clever man. I rather enjoyed his sermons. But I must confess, Mrs. Becket, that I have often wondered if he knew about the Christmas soiree.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.
Her eyes filled with a regret that speared him, and she dropped her gaze to her lap as she shook her head.
Darien said nothing. He regretted it, too,
and feeling awkward now, he busied himself with putting chicken and roasted potatoes on her plate.
“He was fond of you, you know,” she said after a moment.