Amelia sighed and faced forward, looping her arm through Luc's. "Thank you." She smiled when he glanced at her, stretched up and kissed him lightly. "He's the most precious wedding gift you could have given me."
Luc's expression clouded; she immediately frowned. "I'm afraid I haven't got anything to give you in return."
Wide-eyed, she met his gaze — but couldn't read it.
A moment passed, then he lifted her hand from his sleeve, raised it to his lips. "You," he stated, "are more than enough."
She assumed he meant her dowry, but as she searched his face, his eyes, she wasn't sure… a wave of fine tension swept up her spine.
They strolled on and she faced forward, conscious of the tightness about her lungs. Wondered if she should tell him she didn't mind if he spent money on his dogs — wondered fleetingly if that was why he'd given her one, his latest champion. Dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred. She'd never known Luc to be devious — he was too damned arrogant to bother.
Should she speak? They hadn't mentioned her dowry since those early days, yet in truth, there was nothing to say. When it came to money, to how he managed their now-combined fortunes, she trusted him implicitly. Luc was definitely not hi
s father; his devotion to the Chase, to his family, was beyond question.
Indeed, it was that devotion that had allowed her to get this far — to be here, walking the grounds of the Chase, now her home, with him, now her husband.
She could feel his gaze on her face, could feel the heat of him, the sleekly muscled length of him, all down her side. Not a touch but the promise of a touch, and more.
Glancing up, she smiled, and tightened her hold on his arm. "It's too early to go inside. Come and show me around the gardens. Is the folly on the rise still there?"
"Of course — it's one of the stated attractions. We couldn't let it fall into disrepair." Luc turned toward the path leading up the rise. "It's one of the best spots in the district from which to view the sunset." He glanced at Amelia. "If you want to indulge, we could go up there."
Her smile deepened; she met his gaze. "What an excellent idea."
Chapter 15
The idea inhabiting her mind had not been the same as the one inhabiting his; he'd actually imagined they'd watch the sun set.
The next morning, while he paced in the hall waiting for her to join him to ride about the estate — infinitely safer than walking the gardens or anywhere else with her — Luc was still mentally shaking his head, trying, largely unsuccessfully, to rattle his disordered wits back into place.
What with their visit to the folly — folly indeed! — it hadn't been his idea to risk being caught in flagrante delicto by one of his undergardeners — it was midsummer; they were out in force — or worse, by one of his neighbors, many of whom, with his permission, used the folly for the purposes of bucolic introspection. What they would have found would have opened their eyes — in some it would have caused heart failure.
What with that, and their subsequent late return, then the unexpected challenge of dinner and the fight to resist behaving as he had the night before and dragging her straight off to their room — only to succumb before they'd been in the drawing room for more than ten minutes — let alone the consequent events of the night, and the dawn, he felt thoroughly disoriented.
He was — had been — the gazetted rake, yet it seemed it was she who was set on corrupting him.
Not that he was complaining, at least not about the outcome, not even at the folly — he felt desire lance through him simply at the memory — yet it was all… so different from what he'd expected.
He'd assumed — been sure — he was marrying a stubborn but delicate flower, yet she was turning out to be a tigress. She certainly had claws — he had good cause to know.
The clack of her heels on the stairs had him turning. Looking up, he watched as she came gliding down. She wore an apple green riding habit; the color turned her curls a deeper gold. She looked up and saw him; her face lit with eagerness, and — or so he told himself — something else. An expectation that had nothing to do with their projected ride.
She stepped down from the stairs and came toward him; she halted, looking down, fiddling with the buttons on her glove. The morning sun shone through the fanlight behind him and poured over her.
For one instant, he couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The same feeling that had flooded him yesterday when he'd seen her cradling the puppy rushed over him again. A longing, deep-seated and absolute, a need to give her something even more precious of his to hold and croon over.
She grumbled about the buttons. The feeling ebbed, but didn't completely leave him. He hauled in a deep breath, glad she was distracted, then reached for her wrist. As he had before, he deftly slid the tiny buttons home. His eyes met hers; briefly, he raised her wrist to his lips, then closed his hand about hers. "Come — the horses are waiting."
In the forecourt, he lifted her to her saddle, watched critically as she settled her feet and gathered the reins. He'd ridden with her years ago. Her seat had improved since that time; she grasped the reins more confidently. Satisfied, he strode to his hunter and mounted, then with a nod, directed her down the drive.
Side by side, they cantered through the morning, through the landscape of wide green fields liberally splotched with the darker greens of copses and coverts. They headed south, occasionally jumping drystone walls; he knew every field, every dip, every wall for miles — he avoided any route he deemed too challenging.
If Amelia guessed, she gave no sign, but took each jump easily, with a confidence he found both reassuring and yet distracting. Another sign of difference, of the maturity the years had wrought in her — and changed her to woman, no longer girl.
The summer sky wheeled above them, a wide and perfect blue, with only a hazy wisp of cloud to veil the beaming sun. The chirp of insects, the flight of startled game as they passed a covert, were the only sounds they heard above the steady drum of their horses' hooves.
They went as far as the lip of the Welland Valley, drawing rein on the ridge to look down on the rich green land threaded by the river, a silver ribbon winking here and there.