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He arched a brow at the unusually confident answer on her part. But Sian knew herself to be a reckless rider, one who could best almost anyone she knew. Why not him? She would have no chance to outrun him on foot, of course, but on horseback, everything was possible.

“I never lose, Little La?—”

Sian had kicked her horse before he could finish his boast.

There she was, a dark shape barely distinguishable amongst the saplings.

Christopher saw the woman only because he knew she was here, waiting.

He moved forward, stealthy as a cat. At first, he had been surprised by the bold invitation, but perhaps he shouldn’t have been.

The laundress was not the first woman who’d made her desire for him plain.

No, the surprising element was rather that the assignation had come through Sian.

Did his little lamb have any idea what kind of licentious message she had delivered?

Of course she would. She had already hinted at the fact that she was not as innocent as he might think.

Rather surprising for someone of her rank, but wasn’t she full of surprises? Wasn’t it what he liked about her?

Yes, what he liked too much, if truth be told.

Which brought him to the most surprising thing of all. He had almost not come tonight; instead, he’d considered asking Harry to take his place.

In the end, he had decided he might as well make the most of the woman’s willingness.

It had been too long since he’d been with a woman—weeks, if not months.

That must account for his unusual mood, he decided.

He wasn’t sure if he was restless, despondent, or plain bored with a life that seemed to be sorely lacking in excitement.

It was time to shake it off, whatever it was.

Perhaps a tryst in the woods would help.

He had rarely taken his conquests outside in the open, but he had to admit that the forbidden, unusual element added a certain thrill to the idea.

An adventurous lover himself, he liked an imaginative partner, and the place of the meeting had convinced him to go himself instead of sending Harry.

In any case, here he was, about to pounce on the waiting, brazen laundress.

Thanks to her hood, she wouldn’t see him approach, and he was confident in his ability to move silently.

Mildred would be surprised when he swept her into his arms and deposited her onto the mossy ground.

Or … should he pin her against the tree and lift her skirts?

Pleasure her first, then bend her over and take her from behind?

Aye, perhaps he should do that, as, for some reason he could not fathom, he didn’t want to see her face.

As soon as he had put a foot in the clearing, his mind had been assaulted by memories of little Sian sitting on her blanket, eating her simple tart like other ladies might eat an exotic, expensive delicacy.

His groin tightened when he remembered the way she had moaned when he had licked her dainty little fingers.

It hadn’t been the most wicked thing he had ever done to a woman, not by a long shot, but it had fired his blood in a most unexpected manner.

Damn and blast, he’d gone hard just thinking about it.

Oh well, Mildred was just out there, waiting. The discomfort would not last long.

He wrapped an arm about her waist and drew her to him, murmuring soothing words in her ear when she gasped in shock. Though he had wanted to surprise her, he hadn’t meant to frighten her.

“It’s only me, sweetheart. Have you been waiting long?”

She nodded and whispered her answer, almost too low for him to hear. “Too long,” he thought he heard her say.

“Well, I’m here now. Let me give you what you’ve been waiting for.”

Keeping her back to his chest, he took her earlobe between his teeth.

The moan escaping her mouth was the most provocative he had ever heard.

It seemed wrenched from her very soul, unrestrained, betraying a wild, sensual nature he wasn’t even sure she was aware of that inflamed his blood further.

As soon as he cupped her breasts, she reached back to place a hand over his straining groin, the message clear.

She needed more.

Only too happy to comply, he slipped a hand under her bodice and felt a petal-soft nipple.

He growled his satisfaction when it peaked under his caresses.

Desperate to hear more of her moans, he tugged at the hardened nub at the same time as he suckled her earlobe and lifted the hem of her dress.

Suddenly, she was not just moaning; she was talking.

In Welsh, as far as he could tell.

Well, what of it? It would hardly be surprising if someone employed at Sheridan Manor had been brought over from Esgyrn Castle.

It didn’t matter what language she spoke or where she came from, not when her hand was pressing down on his hardness and his fingers were inching their way up her silken thigh.

When he reached her most intimate place, he could not help but groan.

She was so wet and so hot he knew it would take only a few moments to bring about the release her body was desperate for.

A finger slipped inside her sheath easily. Christopher groaned. He’d always liked pleasuring women, and the one in his arms seemed made for his caresses. There was nothing like a willing, daring partner, and she was like living fire, exquisitely responsive.

It was not long before she flooded his fingers with her release, gripping his wrist so tight he already knew he would wear the imprint of her nails for days. Oddly, the thought pleased him. He would wear the marks with pride.

“Beautiful,” he rasped in her ear. “Now give me your mouth before I take my turn.”

Though he had elected not to see her face only moments earlier, after what they had just shared, he felt the irresistible need to kiss her.

She turned her head, and her hood fell. A mass of unruly curls tumbled down to her shoulders.

He frowned. From what he’d seen at Sheridan Manor, Mildred’s hair was as dark as night and nowhere near as thick.

It was really a wild profusion of hair. He knew of only one person with such a mane of hair.

“ Sian! ” He took his hands from her as quickly as if he’d been burned. Shock made him swear out loud. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I … I was …” She didn’t seem able to talk; her breath was coming in short pants, and her eyes were glazed.

And no wonder. She was recovering from a very intense release.

Christopher could still feel the heat of her desire on his palm, the proof of her pleasure was still coating his fingers.

Christ on the cross, what had she made him do?

He’d thought to tup an experienced woman, and he’d almost deflowered Lord Sheridan’s daughter in the middle of the woods.

If he hadn’t felt the urge to kiss her before possessing her, he would even now be bending her over and ramming himself inside her with all the strength of his need. It didn’t bear thinking about.

Thank God he’d seen who she was before it was too late.

Christopher muttered another curse. He had not felt any intimate barrier while his fingers had been inside her, but that didn’t mean she had ever been possessed by a man.

He had heard from some of his less honorable friends, who—unlike him—didn’t balk at the idea of bedding virgins, that not all of them bled, contrary to what one might hear.

He had concluded that not all women had a maidenhead to breach.

It mattered not. Maidenhead or not, Sian was an innocent. Willing or not, she was a virgin—and a lady. He shouldn’t have done what he had done. He shouldn’t want to do more. He shouldn’t still be hard as rock.

For more safety, he took a step backward. If he touched her, there was no telling what he might do.

“Where is Mildred?” A silence. Christopher crossed his arms over his chest, doing his best to control his rising temper.

He’d been played for a fool, he was painfully hard, and he’d had to put an abrupt stop to the one thing that would bring him relief.

He was in no mood to be patient. “In case you hadn’t realized it, this is the point where you explain what is going on. ”

Sian swallowed at the anger in Christopher’s voice.

Instead of answering, she looked at her hands kneading the cuff of her dress, at the pebbles at her feet, at the crack in the tree bark opposite her.

She looked anywhere but at the man standing in front of her, waiting for her to explain what was happening.

How could she do it? How could she tell him that she wanted him to make love to her? It was the last thing he would expect to hear.

Well, perhaps she could show him what she wanted.

Bracing herself for his reaction, she allowed the cloak to drop at her feet.

Underneath, she was wearing only a shift.

She’d made the most of the warmth of the evening, hoping the sight would make it impossible for Christopher to resist her.

If the tensing in his body was any indication, it had been an inspired idea.

“Bloody hell. Didn’t I say that you constantly surprise me?” he said through gritted teeth. “I didn’t know the half of it.”

But there was nothing surprising in her going to him.

Sian had known in her heart she would marry that man for years.

As young as she had been when she’d first set eyes on him, she had known.

And her childish admiration had grown into something very much like lust as her body—and his—had developed. And now … Now she was in love with him.

It was inexplicable, and she wasn’t sure anyone would understand how it had happened, but it was a fact.

And so tonight, she was not doing anything scandalous; she was only giving herself to a man she had been in love with for ten years, the man she had chosen to be her husband, the only man she had ever wanted.