Despite his high-handed, domineering behavior, she didn’t feel overwhelmed. She knew, absolutely, that he would never hurt or harm her, that if she struggled, he would release her…both actions and words suggested he simply wasn’t going to let her deny him, or herself, purely on the grounds of social strictures.
If she wanted to deny him, she’d need to convince him she really didn’t want to fall in with his plans. Simple enough—except…
Her head was pleasurably swimming, her mind detached, her body warm and heated under his hand.
Suddenly, he broke the kiss. Lifting his head, he looked past her, past the tree. She turned her head, but couldn’t see past the bole.
He’d frozen—all except his fondling fingers. She drew in a tight breath, about to ask what was there—his gaze flicked back to her face, his eyes widening in warning.
Then, swift and silent, he moved, stepping to her side, turning and drawing her with him around the tree; he ended with his back to the bole, more or less to the pond itself, while she stood trapped against him, her back to his chest, facing away from the pond, shielded from whatever danger threatened.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him looking over his, peering around the tree toward the pond. Then he looked back, met her gaze. Lowering his head, he nudged hers until he could whisper in her ear, “Ferdinand. Keep quiet. He doesn’t know we’re here.”
She blinked. He straightened again; she sensed he was keeping watch, yet…while his attention had diverted and his fingers had slowed, they hadn’t stopped. Her skin still felt hot, her breasts tight, her nerves jangling.
Worse, his other hand had risen to minister in apparently absentminded concert.
It was, she discovered, extremely difficult to think.
Regardless, she couldn’t protest.
Minutes of nerve-tingling tension passed, then the alertness gripping him eased. He turned back to her, leaned close, and whispered, “He’s heading away from us.”
Valiantly ignoring the preoccupation of his hands, she turned and peered past him, and glimpsed Ferdinand striding into the forest, following a path leading away from the pond’s opposite side.
Michael had seen, too. He caught her eye, closed his hands firmly, then eased his hold, trailing his palms down her body as he released her.
She dragged in a fractionally deeper breath.
He studied her eyes, then bent his head and kissed her—one last time. An ending, and a promise—until next time.
Lifting his head, he
met her gaze. “We’d better get back.”
She nodded. “Indeed.”
They set out around the pond; when they reached the opening of the path that led back toward the clearing, she paused, looking further around the pond to the path Ferdinand had taken. “He’s going the wrong way.”
Michael met her gaze; his jaw hardened. “He’s a grown man.”
“Yes, but—” She looked down the other path. “You know how easy it is to get lost in here. And if he does wander off and lose his way, the whole company will get caught up trying to find him.”
She was right. He sighed, and waved toward the other path. “Come on—he can’t be far ahead.”
With a quick smile in acknowledgment of his capitulation, she led the way. Fifty yards on, the path hit a downward slope badly crisscrossed with roots; he stepped past her and went ahead, giving her his hand to ensure she didn’t slip.
They were concentrating on their descent, not speaking but watching their feet, when low voices reached them. They paused, looked ahead; both knew another small clearing opened to the side of the path a little way along.
He glanced back, put his finger to his lips. Frowning, Caro nodded. This was his land, but it wasn’t fenced; he’d never prevented locals from using it. But they’d both caught the furtive note of the murmured conversation; it seemed wise not to walk into a situation where they might not be welcome. Especially not with Caro by his side; there were at least two men, possibly more.
Luckily, it was easy to step off the narrow path, then continue between the trees. The undergrowth was sufficient to screen them. Eventually they reached a spot where they could look through a large bush into the clearing.
In it, Ferdinand stood talking to two men. They were slight, rather weaselly, dressed in threadbare frieze. They were definitely not Ferdinand’s friends; from their interaction, however, it seemed likely they were his employees.
Michael and Caro had arrived too late to hear any of the discussion, just assurances from the weaselly two that they would perform whatever job Ferdinand had hired them for, and Ferdinand’s curt, aristocratic dismissal. That delivered, he turned on his heel and walked back out of the clearing.
They held still and watched him stride away, back toward the pond.