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She approached what had become his favorite spot, his toes dipping into the water of the pond that sparkled beyond the cooling shade of the boathouse. Dragonflies in their jeweled colors skimmed across the surface, causing barely a ripple, and now and then a fish jumped, safe in the knowledge that there was no one nearby with a rod and a hook.

There were no actual boats, as far as she could tell, but she could understand why he loved this place. It was quiet and serene, with a magnificent view of the pond and the woodland, and farenough from his grandmother’s house to avoid any callers who happened to ‘pass by’ to see how he was faring.

“Your grandmother has cured me. I have no reason to rest anymore, and if I have to spend another moment in bed, I’ll take leave of my senses,” Sophia replied, sitting down next to her husband, leaning into the solidity of him.

He pulled a playfully pouting face—something she was still getting used to.

“What a terrible thing to say to your beloved,” he teased. “And I wasjustthinking that, since my grandmother is in town, and no one is likely to call on us in such suffocating heat, we might spendthe wholeafternoon in bed.”

She peered up at him. “But… you are hurt.”

“I’m not,” he assured her. “And if I can’t make love to you,Iwill take leave of my senses. In truth, I think it will rid me of my last aches and pains.”

She raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “Oh, is that so?”

“I read about it somewhere.” His hand came up to cradle her cheek, his eyes shining with affection… and hungry with desire.

“You’ll have to point me in the direction of such a book.”

He chuckled in the back of his throat. “I couldn’t possibly. It is too inappropriate for such innocent eyes.”

“Let us not forget who asked who for a ‘favor,’ my love,” she reminded him with a sultry smile. “Iwas the bold one.”

“You still are,” he murmured, catching her lips in a slow, longed-for kiss.

There were not nearly enough opportunities to steal such kisses while they were quarantined at Rosamund’s house for the duration of their recovery. Their arrival there a week ago had been somewhat accidental, it being the closest residence to the hunting lodge, and inhabited by a woman who knew everything there was to know about healing herbs and remedies.

Rosamund had been horrified and then delighted, herding them in separate bedchambers.“So that you don’t make yourselves worse with close proximity. The rooms are for rest and recuperation, nothing else.”

But perhaps she had known that the married pair needed some time alone, for she had suddenly decided to visit town to have tea with an old friend, leaving them that morning with the jarringly jovial sentiment.“If I don’t see her now, the next time will likely be at her funeral.”

Sophia wrapped her arms around Thomas’s waist, sinking into his kiss, reveling in the notion that—once they were healed and back home—they could do this whenever they pleased.

But as their kiss deepened, the air around them seemed to thicken and crackle, like the atmosphere before a summer storm. And Sophia knew they would not make it back to the comfort of the bedchamber, nor did she mind, for there were cushions and blankets aplenty in the boathouse. Presumably left behind after the boats themselves had drifted off somewhere else.

His lips kissed down her chin and along her jaw, and as he dipped his head to kiss her neck, he gently pushed her down onto the blanket he had already laid out for himself.

Gazing up at him, feeling the weight of him on her, she smiled and brushed the dark locks from his face, taking a moment to just admire the inordinate beauty of her husband.

“Am I allowed to touch you this time?” she asked mischievously.

He smirked. “As I don’t have all of the strength back in my arm yet, I suppose I can permit it.”

“Good.”

She pulled his head down and kissed him hard, her body already responding to the promise of pleasure she hadn’t thought she would ever get to experience again.

In the balmy haze of the summery afternoon, crickets chirping in the long grass, bees humming in the wildflowers, Thomas unwrapped Sophia from her clothes as if she were the mostprecious gift. His lips followed the movement of the fabric, chasing the hem of her skirts up and over her head, doing the same with her petticoats, her chemisette, and her stays.

“Exquisite,” he murmured as she lay back on the blanket, unhindered by any garments at all.

Reaching for him, she finally got to do what she had dreamed about—undressing him slowly. She kissed his warm skin wherever it was revealed, running her tongue over the contours of his hard muscles, exploring him in a way he hadn’t allowed the last time. But even then, he had control, for as she curled her hand around his swollen length, he gasped and caught her hand, pulling it away.

“The next time,” he said with a smile, “you can touch me there as much as you please.”

She pouted. “Spoilsport.”

“I would be spoiling the sport if I were to let you now,” he told her as he leaned down and kissed her slowly, sensually, tortuously.