Echoes in the Mist (Kingsleys in Love 1)
Happiness exploded inside her.
Bounding from the bed, Ariana hugged herself, giddy with a joyous anticipation that was long ago relinquished, but never truly forgotten. It was her childhood Christmas all over again, filled with that same tingling excitement, that wondrous promise of treasures soon to be possessed.
It was being loved.
Eyes aglow, Ariana walked naked to the window, savoring the wonderful gift she’d been given. It didn’t matter that Trenton’s feelings sprang from passion, for his tenderness told her that those feelings had now grown far beyond passion’s limited bounds. Nor, at this moment, could the menacing shadows of his past extinguish the joy in her heart, for it was her heart that had remained steadfast in its faith.
Leaning against the window frame, Ariana drank in her first resplendent view of Spraystone, knowing full well that at that moment hell itself would be paradise.
But Spraystone was truly glorious, showered in sunshine, blanketed by trees, sheltered amid spellbinding cliffs. A veritable Eden waiting to be explored.
Ariana bathed in record time. Standing before her wardrobe, she frowned. The thought of wearing layers of inhibiting clothing while touring this lush Utopia seemed not merely unappealing, but downright unacceptable. Perhaps it was her elation making her bold, but before she could change her mind, Ariana donned a simple fitted beige and check morning dress, beneath which she wore only her chemise and drawers and one thin petticoat.
Studying her reflection in the glass, Ariana grinned. She looked scandalously undressed, but hadn’t Trenton said Spraystone was deserted? She tied her hair back with a beige ribbon and, humming to herself, went in search of her husband.
He was, as promised, in the sitting room, an inviting haven of warm browns and greens that seemed to summon one into its cozy midst.
“How perfect!” Ariana exclaimed, running her fingers over the fine wooden walls. Immediately she noted that, in contrast to Broddington, these walls were lovingly lined with pai
ntings, the whole room a study of authority and detail, Trenton’s touch evident in every magnificent inch. “There’s no doubt who designed Spraystone,” she murmured aloud. “You reveal yourself in every glorious dimension.”
“As do you.”
At Trenton’s pointed comment, Ariana blushed, glancing down at herself self-consciously. “I thought since we were going exploring—”
“A practical decision.” Surprising her yet again, Trenton unbuttoned his waistcoat and collar, tossing the waistcoat onto the settee and rolling up his sleeves. Hands on hips, he faced Ariana in only his white linen shirt and dark trousers. “Better?”
She blinked. “Why, yes …” Fascinated, she found herself staring at the dark, curling hair exposed on Trenton’s chest, wondering why she had never considered the fact that a man might be as restricted by his attire as a woman was.
“Keep looking at me like that and you may never see Spraystone,” Trenton warned huskily.
Ariana wet her lips. “I’ll take that chance,” she murmured.
He crossed over and cupped her flushed cheeks between his palms. “Let me show you at least the grounds, the barn, the animals.” He bent over, rubbing his lips softly to hers. “That will please you greatly … and deplete every ounce of my self-control. After which, neither heaven nor earth will prevent me from making love to you.”
Ariana gave a shaky laugh. “My excitement at exploring Spraystone grows dimmer by the minute,” she whispered.
His cobalt eyes caressed her, inside and out. “Then I’ll have to ensure that our explorations rekindle your excitement until it burns hotter than ever before,” he replied, his voice hushed with sensual promise.
“Let’s begin our tour immediately.”
“No breakfast?” Trenton’s eyes twinkled as he glanced at his timepiece. “Or, in this case, lunch?”
“I’m not hungry … for food.” Were those scandalous words really coming from her?
Trenton pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her palm. “We’ll dine later.” His lips quirked. “Which brings me to another subject: Can you cook?”
“As a matter of fact … yes.”
“Good. Then Clara can extend her vacation … indefinitely.”
Ariana’s insides melted. “As can Gilbert.”
Trenton’s gaze smoldered. “Let’s begin our tour before I change my mind.”
Spraystone was as exquisite as Broddington—and yet utterly different in its allure. Where Broddington was a wealth of manicured lawns and flourishing gardens, Spraystone was a secluded haven, lush with trees, scented with honeysuckle and yellow gorse, tucked away just before the steep drop of the Chalk Cliffs plunged into the Solent.
Ariana drank it all in with an innocent abandon that enchanted Trenton, tugged insistently at some unknown place in his soul. The grounds, the birds, the flowers: All of this she opened her arms to, embraced, as one would a cherished friend.