18

 

Shadows from a flock of geese scampered overhead covering their picnic blanket. The calls of the birds filled the air, blocking all earth-bound noise. It didn’t matter, for at this moment, Madeline couldn’t speak.

Justain leaned in close. His fingers swept along her chin. He raised her head so their gazes tangled. His lips brushed hers for an instance, but he moved to her brow. “You’ll be all right as I exercise?” His words vibrated her lobe, spread a tingle down her spine.

She nodded and waved him off. As he moved, she instantly missed the scent of him, the warmth his breath falling on her skin.

Justain leapt upon his beautiful onyx horse and raced the fertile grounds. With skies now clear, the lowered sun seemed only a few miles away. Hopefully, Justain and his steed wouldn’t give chase. She rather liked having him underfoot even if his attentiveness was disconcerting.

She brushed crumbs off her muslin skirts and took care near her throbbing leg. It hurt from her ankle to her shin, but to walk under her own weight exceeded the pain. With her crutch in one hand and Justain’s support, they’d taken a turn about the floral beds. Mint and sage scented the landscape. It was extraordinary.

She stretched out on the thick tartan blanket. Justain whipped past. He jaunted close to the ever-faithful Mr. Winton, a few trees away. He had his steward watch over her as Justain jumped the hedges. The earnest man shuffled through letters and envelopes. He appeared relaxed though a rifle leaned next to his boot.

More mysterious papers.

She’d pressed Justain to disclose the nature of his posts, but he changed the subject to sculpture.

Why wouldn’t he confide in her? And why did it hurt so much when he didn’t? Something was clearly wrong with her thinking.

Madeline munched on a grape and sipped tart lemonade. Young Mr. Winton was an amiable man. His red hair and freckles should denote a temper, but he always appeared calm. His placid nature seemed to have a steadying influence over Justain. He was their timekeeper, marshalling the couple from stop to stop. It was wrong to be envious of Winton’s ability to discuss anything with Justain, but yet she was. She stroked her forehead. When had she become so irrational?

Her gaze returned to the broad shoulders of her husband. He held his seat so firm, he could’ve been in regimentals. Justain and his mount moved as one, graceful and masculine. They flew across the field. Justain’s long legs blended into the saddle, symbolizing their union.

They approached Madeline’s right and jumped a low gate. The pleasure of it rippled across his face. The perfect statue appeared human, caught in bliss, different from the measured tones he showed her. She put a hand to her stomach. Now she envied a horse?

The unguarded man of the Queen’s Inn was gone, and this new manifestation seemed to take pleasure in stirring up restless discontent. The man found a reason to have his arms about her and kiss her forehead countless times a day. Aunt Tiffany touted the wonders of having a husband’s favour. This didn’t feel wonderful.

She rooted in the picnic basket for a napkin and found a folded piece of parchment with her name. It was written in Justain’s hand. It was the third one in four days. The paper captured one of Donne’s meditations:

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend’s or of thine own were.

Her heartbeat quickened. Was he admitting to needing her?

Justain leapt from his saddle and handed the horse off to Mr. Winton. “You can leave us now.”

A knowing nod passed between the men as the steward left. Justain and Madeline were utterly alone in this garden paradise.

“You found my note.” He paced toward her in his immaculate bottle-green tailcoat and knelt onto the blanket. “You are a patient angel.” He bussed her forehead. It should bear some permanent mark by now.

Justain smirked and dove into the basket but kept his gaze toward his disappearing steward. Then he turned to her. His smile could rival the brightest celestial star. “You’re glowing.”

She rushed her hands to her cheeks. How could she not with her personal sun so near?

“I take it you enjoyed this lyric.” His thumb brushed the silver buttons of her sleeve.

Slipping from her fingers, the parchment fluttered to the ground.

Justain claimed her wrist and pressed it to his lips. “You needn’t be embarrassed. It’s normal for a man to show affection as he courts a beauty.”

“You’re courting me?”

He lay against the blanket, dangling a bunch of grapes above his mouth. “I know you haven’t had a season, but when a man is taken with a woman, he courts her in both words and deeds.”

“I’ve seen the words,” she replied. “Donne’s are lovely. And your deeds like this picnic are nice. I’m glad we finished journeying early enough to enjoy these grounds.”

He smiled at her with a wicked grin. “I’ve only begun.”

Could her face melt from the heat of his promise? Molten energy existed beneath his smooth countenance. Madeline was sure of it, but how to release it? She picked up a fan and moved some air about her. “With Mr. Winton gone, how shall you protect us from the crickets and birds of the field?”

“I’m sure my brute strength should suffice.” He lifted her with the ease of a feather and stashed her close to his hip.

“I see,” she said, “but what of the bears that hide in the hedges?”

“The knife in my boot or the blunderbuss pistol in my coat pocket will solve all problems.” Justain’s tone became serious. He took a short pistol from his coat and placed it in the picnic basket. “I shall protect you.”

Madeline straightened his cravat. Her fingers shook.

He moved her hands. “That tickles.”

She smiled at him. “Achilles’s vulnerability?”

“Don’t start something, Madeline. You don’t know how I’ll finish it.” He traced a line down her ribcage that almost made her jump from his arms.

“What happens in this courtship?” She swatted more air with the peacock printed fan.

He held a purple orb for her to bite. “You’ll come to admire me. Begin anticipating what will come next.”

She shook her head, refusing the fruit, too enthralled to eat. “I already admire you.”

He tossed the grape between his perfect teeth before propping up on an elbow. “Then come close to me.”

She leaned into him. “As you command.”

“Oh, no. I don’t take unwanted liberties. Kiss me, Madeline.”

She touched his face, copying what he’d done so many times.

He looped his fingers with hers. “Like you did in the carriage. That memory hasn’t left me.”

Something stirred within Madeline. She wanted to be held in Justain’s arms. Maybe it was the key to him being unguarded. She kissed him.

 

****

 

Her soft tongue grazed his cheek. Justain wasted no time in enfolding her in his embrace. He’d been tempting her this past week, finding ways to hold her hand during their isolated travels. He’d stroke her hair for no reason.

Madeline’s lips slipped to his neck.

He groaned and lifted her head. “What is it that you want of me, Madeline? I’m your humble servant.”

She smoothed the crush of her fuchsia gown. “Everything, but you’ll only give this much.” Madeline motioned with her fingers an inch.

He patted her hand down to the blanket. “You don’t think that you’ll win everything or that I’m not capable of giving more?”

“It’s getting late. We should settle in for the evening.” She started searching for her crutch.

He sat up and pushed the staff from her reach. “Answer my question.”

“You hide me notes that speak of unveiled emotions. That’s not you. You’re restrained, even in the way you kiss me.” Madeline set the dishes back into their basket. “I believe you’ll always hide parts of yourself from me. You don’t trust me enough.”

“Trust?” He shook his head. “My sending you notes has nothing to do with trust.”

“You’re right.” Madeline put a final plate away. “Your heart has too many defences. My knight bears too much armour.”

“Well, a man needs to know when his attention is wanted. You should speak of your desires.”

“Why, for you to kiss me on the forehead? Pat my head like a good girl.” She tossed a mug into the basket. It clanged as it banged against the other dishes. “Sorry. I guess I hoped there was more to it. The poets make a kiss sound grand.”

Excellent. Madeline felt frustrated. Justain untied the ribbons of her bonnet and tossed the hat to the blanket. “I’ve never thoroughly kissed you, Madeline.”

The heart-shaped face studied him. She narrowed her eyes. “Thoroughly?”

His words must have puzzled her, but if he was to do this now it must be right. “May I?”

Madeline nodded her consent.

He flicked away the pins from her chignon to free the bundled tresses. Then, gripping her shoulders, he drew her back into his arms and nibbled the edge of her jaw. “The poets don’t lie.” His lips covered hers. Tasting and nipping, he found his reward, the moist temptation of her deepest kiss.

Trailing his fingers down her back to encourage her, he felt her tremble. Should he relent?

Her flailing hands settled on the space between his shoulders. She tightened her grip and pressed further into his embrace. Madeline sought his mouth with urgency, matching his intensity.

Justain pulled her to his chest as he sank against the heavy wool.

She touched his face and smoothed away wisps of her hair drizzling down his cheek, then reclaimed his lips.

His thoughts spun. Strawberry fragrance swirled around him. Justain hadn’t expected Madeline to be this warm, this inviting. Who was being seduced?

This was too public a place to conceive a Delveaux heir, but would her exploring mood last if he moved them indoors? “Madeline, we should go in before it gets dark.”

“Not yet.” Her thumbs twisted in the tails of his cravat, yanking it asunder. She lingered about his Adam’s apple before returning to his mouth.

The measured pacing of their romance erupted in flames. She was kindling wood, and her warmth blazed his skin.

He wrapped his arms about her tightly. “Shall we retire for the evening?”

She abruptly pulled back. Her large eyes seemed filled with questions. No, she wasn’t quite ready to surrender.

He released her, sat up, and closed the basket. “We have a long ride tomorrow. I suppose I should get you settled into your room?”

“Yes, I think that’s best.”