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There was dead silence for a moment, then his lips quirked upward.

"Yes, I suppose it is." He handed the putter over and slowly took the scorecard from his pocket.

"You seem to be as skilled at ferreting out information as you are in driving one of Mr. Robertson's featheries.

But be that as it may, the subject is not one I intend to discuss with a mere child. "

"I'm not a child—" she exclaimed, then bit back any further words as she bent over to retrieve the ball.

"Come, let's keep our attention on golf and not brangle with each other," he said lightly. "We've only to endure each other's company for another day. Surely we can do that without the usual fireworks."

Derrien didn't answer. Shouldering the clubs with an exaggerated hitch, she turned and stalked off toward the next hole without a glance in his direction.

Adrian deliberately finished filling in his score before following. He let out a low oath, chased by an exasperated sigh, as he regarded the angry tilt of the shoulders up ahead and the peculiar sway of the slim hips?—

Hell's teeth, those hips!

What was it about them that seemed so hauntingly familiar?

Suddenly he froze in his tracks. Some mad impulse made him call out the caddie's name, for the first time omitting the word 'master' before it.

"Derry!"

The shout caused her to stumble. The clubs spilled to the ground as she spun around, shock and confusion evident on the set of her lips.

Those lips!

Adrian covered the distance between them in a few quick strides. As he took hold of her arm and bent closer to the dazed face, it occurred to him that if he was wrong?—

It took only an instant to know he was not about to be committed to Bedlam. The lips parting under his were most definitely not those of a lad.

Pulling her closer, he deepened his kiss. For a moment, she seemed unsure of how to react, but then her mouth softened in response to his embrace, a bit hesitantly but with an undercurrent of the same hot passion he felt flaring up inside him.

Her hands came up to his shoulders and, at firs,t he thought she meant to shove him away. Then suddenly they were entwined in his hair, pulling him into an even more intimate embrace.

A muffled groan escaped his lips he found her tweed cap and yanked it off so that his fingers might revel in the sensuous silkiness of her curls..

Her soft whisper of his name shattered whatever was left of his self-control. With a groan, he kissed her again.

It was sudden passing shower of rain that finally brought them both back down to earth.

With a sudden squeak of embarrassment, Derrien pulled away. Adrian swayed, then managed to steady himself.

For several moments they stared at each other in awkward silence. It was Derrien who wrenched her eyes away first, and then kicked at the shaft of the long spoon that had fallen close by her feet.

"Bloody hell and damnation!"

Though the tension between them was nearly as thick as the low bank of fog rolling in from Eden Estuary, Adrian couldn't help but give a twitch of a smile at her curses.

A month ago he would have been shocked beyond words, he admitted. But now, he found himself wondering why all the perfectly behaved misses from the sparkling ballrooms seemed rather flat and faceless in comparison to her pluck and passions.

"You know, Miss Edwards, only men are supposed to swear like that, not proper young ladies."

"Well as you can clearly see, I am hardly a proper young lady," she replied, slapping at a cluster of curls that had fallen over her cheek.

"The sporting of breeches and boots might raise a few eyebrows, I admit," he said in a low voice. "But let me assure you that other than that, you are most definitely a real lady."

Her face turned a dull scarlet as she bit at her lower lip, still swollen with the passion of his kisses. "T-This wasn't supposed to happen," she whispered, struggling to hold back tears.

"But it did." He raked a hand through his own disheveled locks, hoping the gesture would help restrain the urge to pull her close once more and soothe the confusion from her face.

"Lud, it’s as if your Scottish witches of yore are making sport with us mere mortals, what with all the misunderstandings and masquerades that have been going on," he muttered.

"The problem is, this little charade certainly changes?—"

"No!" She forced her eyes back to meet his. For a moment he was awash in the tempest of emotion swirling in their blue depths. "Please, you must not tell! Why, it would ruin everything! "

"Miss Edwards, by all rights, I should be furious at your deception."

"Why?"

He hesitated and felt himself sinking, as if caught in the shifting sands of the deepest pot bunker. "Well, er?—"

"Hugh asked me to do this because I'm the best caddie here." She bent to pick up her cap. "What does it matter that I'm not a male? Has my advice or guidance been any less valuable?"

Adrian stare down at the tips of his boots.

As if sensing that things were turning to her advantage, she pressed on. "Besides, you are hardly in a position to criticize me for disguising my true identity in order to engage in something I'm good at."

"Miss Edwards, that's playing unfair, to use my?—"

She raised her brows. "Look, you want to win, don't you?"

He drew in a deep breath. "So you are suggesting we continue as if... none of this has happened?"

"As you said yourself, it's only for another day, then we can both forget about the entire thing. I've already agreed with Hugh that it is time for Master Derry to disappear from St. Andrews."

Adrian tried to fathom her expression, but once again, her features were submerged in shadows due to the replacement of the damn cap. Would she really find it so easy to forget their time together?

His jaw tightened as he shifted his gaze from the subtle contours of her face to the myriad nuances of the linksland.

Here they had traded taunts, shared laughter, endured frustration, made mistakes, and sweated through hard work in order to celebrate some small measure of progress.

At times it hadn't been easy, but they had somehow managed to see it through together.

He knew it would be no simple matter for him to simply excise these few weeks from his mind, as one would tear an unsatisfactory page out of a sketchbook and toss it away.

But perhaps she did not care for the broad strokes and delicate shadings of their relationship. After all, he knew quite well what her sentiments were regarding titled English lords.

What he wished he knew more clearly were her sentiments regarding him .

"And anyway," she continued in a halting voice. "I imagine that what just happened between us was only due to the fact that you are upset over Lady Honoria."

"You think I kissed you because I was thinking of Lady Honoria?"

Derrien swallowed hard. "W-why else? She is a perfect picture of a fine, highborn lady—beautiful, poised, and n-not a hair out of place." His fingers fumbled to tuck another errant ringlet up under the wool brim. "While I am an outspoken country brat in breeches."

He took a quick step closer so that he could reach out and cup her chin. "Lady Honoria Dunster may be beautiful, poised, and perfectly groomed, but she can’t swing a long spoon, loft an errant shot out of the briars, or knock the ball to within a foot of the flag on the 18th hole.”

He flicked a raindrop off her cheek. “Pick up the clubs, brat. We have work to do."