She could see the wariness that crept into his eyes, that of a wild predator who scents not a trap but a hidden binding. But if she was right, the binding lay within him, and was one that, ultimately, he would willingly bear.
Now, however, she suspected he wouldn’t see it—or if he did, would do his best to ignore it.
Sure enough, after that momentary hesitation, he nodded.
Agreed and bent his head as she stretched up.
Their lips met, touched, brushed, then fused. She had no idea why it was so different every time, yet thus it seemed. And this time was all about reassurance.
About exploring anew, connecting anew. Revisiting past experiences, but with a more acute understanding, one born of the day, of the emotions provoked and unleashed, then reined back.
Until now. Now, when they could be unchained and allowed to run, when they could be given free rein to infuse and direct, to seek expression through the physical act he and she both sought to harness, to bend to their wills.
As before, neither succeeded. That force that came to be when they joined, that together they seemed to create and bring to life, inevitably overcame them.
Overwhelmed them.
This time it transformed into a firestorm of passion, of heated touches, possessive caresses, his and hers, and a burning need to satisfy the hunger that had taken root and grown within them both, ravenous and demanding.
Commanding.
At the last they bent, bowed, and surrendered, and let the flames take them and fuse them, consume and reforge them, before flinging them, limp and ragged, into the cooling sea of satiation to drift to the distant shore . . . where bliss waited, heavy and soothing, and rolled over them.
Echoes of ecstasy still tingled through their flesh as, wrecked and helpless, they disengaged only to draw the covers up before slumping back into each other’s arms.
Together, where they needed to be.
Chapter Thirteen
Life was good. Over the following days, Mary felt increasingly pleased, as she found the position of Ryder’s marchioness not just to her liking but fitting her like a glove.
The incident of the adder remained unresolved, yet as several days passed and nothing further occurred to mar the moments as she settled into her new home, the incident largely faded from their collective consciousness.
Enough for Mary to decide that it was time Ryder took her for a ride about the estate. Seated beside him at the breakfast table, she made her request, before he could reply adding, “As I mentioned last night, I think we should invite all the estate families and workers to a picnic later in the summer, and before we do I’d like to get a better idea of the estate and all those who live on it.” She glanced at his face. “And you are unarguably the best source of information on that subject.” She arched her brows. “So when can we go?”
Accustomed by now to her manipulative ploys—her last question presumed he’d agreed—Ryder looked at her and considered her request, yet her picnic was precisely the sort of event he would like to see instituted, the sort of major estate annual function Raventhorne currently lacked and that he’d hoped his wife would attend to. And, after all, he would be with her. He nodded. “All right.” Seeing triumph light her face, he raised his cup to hide his amused grin. “When are you free?”
She’d noticed his amusement and blinked her big blue eyes at him. “Whenever you are.”
The challenge in the words ensured they met in her sitting room immediately they’d changed into their riding clothes. He wasn’t surprised to discover her riding habit was in a shade of mid-blue, but the frogging over her breasts, the jacket’s tight waist, and the draped and flowing skirt fixed his attention; he followed her out of the door and was halfway around the gallery before his gaze rose and he noticed the bobbing feather in the tiny cap anchored atop her curls.
She strode along at her usual forceful pace and the feather bobbed, and he found himself grinning foolishly.
He showed her the fastest way out of the house to the stables. He’d sent word ahead, and their horses were saddled and waiting; his raking gray hunter, Julius, and the nimble-footed bay mare she’d had sent from London were both shifting restlessly, eager for a run, their hooves clacking on the cobbles of the stable yard.
Ryder cast his eyes assessingly over the mare, then lifted Mary to her saddle. He watched as she settled and accepted the reins from the groom. “I take it she’s from Demon’s stables?”
“Yes.” She looped the reins through her gloved fingers with casual expertise. “He provides all the family’s horses.”
“I’ve heard he’s careful about matching horses to riders.”
Clearly recognizing the question behind his statement, she smiled and nodded. “Indeed—he refuses to let us ride any beast we can’t control.” Leaning forward, she smoothed a palm over the mare’s glossy neck. Arched a brow as she met his eyes. “So we all learn to control the animals we ride.”
He held her gaze for a finite moment, trying to decide whether the double entendre was deliberate or not, then snorted and turned away.
Accepting the reins of his big gelding, he swung up to the saddle. The instant he’d settled, Mary flicked him a glance and led the way out of the stable yard.
He drew level in the forecourt, and with a nod directed her across a gentle grassy slope. “How are you with fences and hedges?”