Page 119

H er luck was shifting. The air was sweeter.

She wore pink, her favorite and most flattering color.

The sun shone brightly overhead, but a pleasant breeze kept the heat from becoming oppressive.

Miss Darrow glowed in Mr. Barnes’s presence.

And if Amelia was honest with herself, there was something brighter about her own cheeks when she smiled at herself in the mirror.

Maybe, just maybe, Amelia was beginning to believe in luck.

Not just the bad kind, either. If not for the mishap with the carriage, they would not have stopped in the village.

No delay in the village would have meant no acquaintance with the Duke and Duchess of Burnham.

And no invitation to the house party would have meant she never would have met Matthew Love.

The selfsame golden-haired man who stood in the doorway of his sister and brother-in-law’s manor house, smiling boyishly and clearly waiting for her.

The other guests passed by, chattering amiably.

But Matthew’s gaze was on hers, caressing her as she descended the staircase. Heat flooded her cheeks, but Amelia did not mind.

When Matthew offered his arm to escort her outside, she took it gladly. “What entertainments has Lillian planned today?” It felt new but comfortable to use the duchess’s given name.

“She had arranged for boating on the lake,” Matthew said. He led her to a position near the outer edge of the assembled group, who loitered in the pea gravel awaiting further direction from the duchess herself, who had yet to appear.

Matthew avoided looking down at the lake, but Amelia did not have the same level of control. She cringed at the blue surface, bright and inviting under the afternoon sun.

“But no one will go near the water since the lake monster’s mysterious appearance?” she guessed.

Matthew squeezed her hand. “We will see it sorted.”

Her stomach danced a jig. “Your faith in yourself is astounding.”

“You love it.”

“Perhaps, Lord Love .” Amelia bit her lip, but for once it was to keep the laughter at bay rather than from nerves. Matthew had such a knack for making her smile—once she’d allowed him to do so. The temptation to allow him the privilege in perpetuity…

He tugged gently on her arm, guiding her to walk along the lane. Rows of bright flowers provided plenty of excuse for extricating them from the larger group.

“I have been working on various possible scenarios,” Matthew whispered conspiratorially.

For the lake monster, she realized. Her head snapped to the side, locating the nearest set of guests. But Matthew’s voice was low and the others were too far away to hear.

“We could fake another sighting,” he continued. “But say that we got a better look and it truly was something mundane. Like the beavers you were so keen to see.”

“There is nothing mundane about beavers.”

Matthew flashed a grin. “I agree. Fascinatingly crafty creatures.” His gaze dropped to her lips. They had not spoken of the kiss in the carriage. But the way his eyes lingered on her mouth, the rise of her own chest… Amelia knew they were both thinking of it.

He cleared his throat, tearing his gaze away. When he spoke again, his voice was thick.

“Alternatively, we could speak with Lillian and ask her advice. As you have noticed, she is singular in her determination once she puts her mind to something.”

Amelia jolted to a stop. “No.”

Two golden brows lifted, then knotted together with concern.

“I do not want to tell Lillian. Or anyone else.” She almost appended a please . But Matthew was already nodding.

“Of course. Whatever you wish,” he said. And as simple as that, he’d respected her wishes, her boundaries, and her need to avoid further embarrassment.

Amelia held tighter to his arm for fear her legs might give out on her.

“What has Lillian devised instead of boating?” she managed to ask.

“Mushroom foraging.”

“Is that a jest?”

“Not at all. She’s invited a biologist up from Cambridge to lead the activity. Though I think she had to pay him extra to get him here a few days earlier than expected.”

“Your sister is…”

“She defies description,” Matthew agreed, turning her in the opposite direction of where the group was now pointing, with said biologist at their head, his shabby brown and black marking him out among the creatively dressed guests. “Come. I already know where all the best mushrooms are.”

Amelia did not think twice. Not to question being alone with him, nor to wonder what the others would think. Lillian had created an oasis of carefree respite. Who was she to deny herself?

*

Matthew led her around the back of the manor house, through the gardens, and down a hill toward a line of trees Amelia had not noticed before.

They walked in companionable silence, the fresh air bolstering them over the last hundred yards.

It was only when they reached the tree line that Amelia noticed the blanket.

Laid out between the roots of two trees, there was a pillow, several books, a basket of yarn for knitting, and another filled with provisions.

Amelia sucked in a breath. “What is this?”

The setup for a romantic tryst, her mind answered. Disappointment and temptation did battle in her chest. How could Matthew expect such a thing of her… how could she deny the heat pooling in her stomach that begged her to accept?

“We’ve been rather beset by group activities. Your commandeered voyage into the village, then last night’s impromptu musicale.” Amelia shivered at the memory. Mr. Barnes had a lovely, deep baritone voice. Mrs. McTavish, conversely…

Amelia dislodged her lower lip from between her teeth. “I still do not understand.” Or rather, she did not want to.

“I thought you might enjoy some time to yourself. Far away from the lake,” he pointed out, eyes crinkled at the corners with mirth. It made him even more handsome. “And far from any other person who might disturb your peace.”

“It is very nice.” It seemed a noncommittal thing to say. A factual observation. Because she still was not quite sure what he expected of her.

He lifted her hand to his mouth. But instead of brushing his lips across her knuckles, he rotated her hand and pressed a kiss to the tender skin of her wrist, right where it met her palm. “I will leave you to it, then.”

Matthew released her hand and stepped away.

It was not a tryst. There was no innuendo. He’d arranged this beautiful, idyllic retreat just for her. Just because he was kind and good and knew it would please her. And then he planned to walk away.

No one, maybe not even her sister Dominique, had ever understood her so perfectly. The heart in her chest, the one that had been doing somersaults since the first time she’d met Matthew Love? It had melted completely.

“Matthew.” She tangled her fingertips with his and refused to let go. “Stay.”

He did not pull away, but neither did he step closer. “Are you certain?”

No.

But words and reason eluded her.

So she answered with an action instead. She closed the space between them and, for the second time in as many days, she kissed him.

It began chastely. Her lips pressed against his. Until Matthew drew his tongue tentatively along the seam of her lips. Amelia opened for him gladly. His approach was gentle. Gentle and thorough. He explored every corner of her mouth as if it were a revelation, unfamiliar territory to be explored.

But it was not enough. In the few stolen kisses and fondling she’d managed in her youth, Amelia had never felt this way.

She’d never wanted someone to touch her.

Needed it. She guided Matthew’s hands to her waist. He accepted the invitation, spreading his palms to find her curves through the pink muslin of her gown, then sliding one up the line of her spine. She arched against him.

“Amelia,” he breathed against her throat.

Her name on his lips… it was everything she’d imagined it would be.

Reverent and sweet. If no other person but Matthew ever said her name for the rest of her life, she’d be satisfied.

Because when Matthew said it, it was not just an endearment.

It was a recognition of all that she was—even the parts of herself that she would rather hide.

In those three syllables, Matthew saw and worshipped it all.

It felt right. Easy. Minutes before, she’d questioned his honor.

But what was honor? Respect? Matthew had shown again and again that he respected and understood her. She was an independent woman. She belonged to no one but herself. And if she wanted to give herself to Matthew?

That question did not even need asking. Amelia was the one who tugged him down to the blanket. And when his mouth found the edge of her gown, she was the one to pull it away, exposing her breast.

Matthew paused, waiting for her agreement. And she gave it to him—all of it—joyfully.