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S arah retired to her room, hugging the intensity of his kisses and the desire he aroused in her body to herself.

Whether he had a mistress or not, he’d made it amply clear he meant to share her bed when they were married and that he was impatient for that moment to arrive.

She had to admit she was growing impatient for that, too. His kisses were so addictive.

It would be so tempting to think this meant he had stronger feelings for her, but she was mindful of Daphne’s warning that it wasn’t the same for gentlemen, that they could feel all this desire without it meaning they cared for the person who aroused it.

For herself, it was becoming more and more difficult to resist caring for him.

In fact, if she was honest, it was a losing battle. Her feelings threatened to swamp her.

It took a long time for her to go to sleep. Her body was keyed up in a way that made her restless and achy. The tingling desire between her legs gradually subsided, but she still felt as if she needed something and didn’t know what it was.

She dreamed of something that made her body tingle and explode with pleasure, but the memory faded before morning.

*

Robert had sent Bridges, Esme, and Fleur, Lady Holbrook’s maid, on ahead to The Castle in a separate carriage with the bulk of their luggage, so he was forced to undress and dress himself, but as he was trying to cultivate a casual and relaxed air with the Watsons, he was not too concerned about his appearance.

Lady Holbrook had stayed at the Blue Boar today, nursing a headache.

The kissing session with Sarah necessitated a session later with his hand, and after attempts to avoid thinking of Sarah failed, he gave in and did think of her, in lewd detail. The sooner they were married the better.

Breakfast with the Watsons was as chaotic as supper, and afterward he found himself drawn into one of those backyard cricket matches Sarah had told him about.

It was a fine day, perfect for a game, and memories from Eton came tumbling back.

But those matches had been played entirely between teams of boys.

It was a different experience to have teams half made up of girls and all with such a variety of ages.

With six players a side, and three of the neighbor’s children joining the fray, he was appointed captain of one team and Sarah the other. So much for ducal dignity.

Sarah won the toss and elected to bat. Advancing to the crease with her bat, dressed in a plain cotton gown with her hair bundled up under her sun hat, she waited with the relaxed air of a veteran for him to bowl.

He had to admire her sangfroid. His first impulse was to bowl wide so he would be sure to avoid hitting her—it felt wrong to pelt a ball at speed toward a defenseless woman—but it was obvious that Sarah expected him to throw the ball so she could hit it, and he had to assume she could.

With his team distributed around the field—they were playing on the open lot behind the vicarage—he wound up to bowl and launched the ball toward the wicket standing behind her.

She hit the ball square on with a crack and sent it flying to the trees.

“Run, Japh!” she shouted. She and Japheth made four runs while his team scrambled to retrieve the ball and get it to Emanuel, his wicket keeper.

Fronting up to the crease again, she grinned at him and said, “Didn’t think I could hit it, did you?”

Almost breathless with admiration, he made a recovery and retorted, “You’re on notice, Miss Watson. The Layne honor is at stake—watch your wicket!”

He kept her scoreless for the rest of the over, but by the time he managed to bowl her out, she’d scored twelve runs in total and Japh three.

Mary replaced Sarah at the crease and proved almost as good as her sister.

He surrendered the ball to Emanuel to let him get his brother out, and when little Zeke stepped up to bat, Sarah helped him.

Once he’d got Mary out, the batting side collapsed, and they stopped for lunch.

Mrs. Watson brought out pies, sandwiches, and cake to feed the hoard under the trees, and he sat beside Sarah on a rug and tried to remember when he had enjoyed a morning more in his life.

She was very different in her home surroundings.

More relaxed and confident, happier. She smiled a great deal more and laughed a lot.

“You’re very good,” he said, toasting her with lemonade.

“Admit it, you were surprised I could hit the ball at all!” she teased.

“You’re right, I was. I will never underestimate you again.”

She smiled and was going to say something else when an argument between the boys distracted her.

“Japh, apologize, please.”

“But he took my piece of cake!”

“Emanuel?”

Emanuel sighed, rolling his eyes. “He wasn’t eating it!”

“I was saving it!”

“In that case, return his cake and you can both apologize.”

The boys obeyed her with a show of reluctance, and peace was restored.

She then spent the next several minutes ensuring all the children had their fair share of food and drink, that Mary put her hat back on to protect her complexion, and stopped Emanuel from pulling his twin, Hepzibah’s, hair.

He was conscious, lying on his side, propped on an elbow, of a very strong desire to pull her close and kiss her.

It was impossible of course, but the impulse was distractingly difficult to shift.

She had never appeared more attractive or desirable to him than she did in that moment, and he was reminded of Lannister’s description of her again with a pang.

Vital and warm. She was that in abundance, and he’d not really seen it in London.

The formality of the ton , which he took for granted, stifled her natural vivacity.

The game was abandoned for the rest of the day because the elder girls had visits to make to parishioners and errands to run.

As he helped Sarah pack away the luncheon things, she said with a rueful smile, “I would normally be doing that, but Mama says I must stay and entertain you.”

“Of that I am very glad,” he said.

“Perhaps I can show you round the village?” she said, handing him the folded rugs to carry. “Littledon is not large.”

“I’d be delighted,” he said, happy for her to dispose of his day as she saw fit. As long as he got to spend it with her, he didn’t mind what they did.

She took him on a loop of the village commencing down Church Lane toward the river and the mill.

From there they walked along the riverbank under the trees.

It was very peaceful with the trickle of the water over the rocks, much quieter than the loud rush of the mill race they had left behind.

The occasional call of a bird or buzz of an insect disturbed the drowsy afternoon.

She picked up a flat stone and skipped it across the surface of the water.

It got halfway across before it disappeared.

“We used to see how far across we could get the stones to go before they sank when we were children,” she said, picking up another stone and trying again. “I’m out of practice. I used to be able to get it all the way across.”

He picked up one, and it hit a rock and bounced into the water. “It would be easier if the surface of the water were entirely flat. Why do it here where there are so many exposed rocks?”

“That’s part of the challenge, avoiding the rocks. We started with flat water and worked our way up.”

“I see.” He picked up another stone and tried again. He did better this time and got halfway across, but she was still beating him. Another three goes, and he thought he could catch her. “Another go?” he said.

She nodded, “Best of three?”

They each found three nice flat stones and took it in turns. He beat her on the first, she beat him on the second.

“The decider,” she said.

“Loser pays a forfeit,” he said with a smile.

She cocked her head. “Very well. If you lose, Sir Knight, you must collect me a posy of wildflowers from the field over there.”

“And if you lose, you give me a kiss and I will carry you all the way to that bridge.” He waved to the stone bridge fifty yards ahead of them.

She blushed. “Carrying me hardly seems like a reward for you.”

“It will be,” he said, stepping closer. “I get to put my arms round you.” He slid an arm round her waist, drawing her against his chest.

She raised her eyebrows. “You haven’t won yet, Your Grace.” She slipped out of his embrace and threw her stone. It got more than three quarters of the way across. “There, beat that!” She gave him a saucy smile.

He took careful aim and watched as his stone skipped and bounced artfully over the expanse of the river and dropped from sight in roughly the same spot as hers.

“A draw,” she said. “Neither of us won, no forfeits paid.”

“On the contrary, both forfeits should be paid,” he said, determined to get his reward. “Stay there, I will fetch your posy.”

He plunged off into the field full of wildflowers and picked her a generous bunch of purple, pink, yellow, white, and red blooms. Bringing it back, he presented it to her with a low bow.

She giggled and took it. “Thank you, Sir Knight.”

“Now for my kiss,” he said, wrapping his arms round her and drawing her close. She wrapped her arms round his neck, the posy clutched in one hand.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all day,” he murmured, lowering his head and finding her lips. Determined to take his time and savor it, he took it slowly, brushing his lips lightly over hers, pulling her closer, teasing her lips apart and exploring with his tongue.

He couldn’t suppress the groan in his throat, she was so delicious.

His hands roamed over her back and lower to squeeze her bottom, pressing her belly against his hardening cock.

He slid one hand upward, over her hip and up her side until he could cup one breast in his hand and fondle and squeeze.

His thumb rubbed over a nipple through the fabric of her gown, and she gasped.