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“ R eady to go?” Silas smiled at Ophelia and offered her his arm.

Her stomach pitched like she stood on the deck of a ship and warm waves of desire licked up her insides.

Silas had slung his jacket over his arm and undone the top two buttons of his shirt, exposing a V of tanned skin.

His linen shirt and trousers were slightly wilted from the heat, and his hair curled deliciously forward over his forehead.

She took his arm, and he swung her gently onto the road back to the farm.

They were quiet as they walked, their footsteps on the tarmac the only sound aside from the zigzagging song of a skylark high over the fields and the pipping of chiffchaffs in the hedgerow.

Arm in arm, they wove along the road, stepping onto the verge when the odd cart passed by.

Ophelia felt heavy and warm next to Silas, her breathing slow and easy, the steadiness of his step and the heft of his body next to hers a lovely anchor that she allowed to pull her steadily home to the farm.

Within the hour they were standing in the doorway of the barn, having made their way there by some silent agreement.

Ophelia turned to look at Silas, their shoulders barely brushing together.

She had to feed the horses their evening grain and water them, but she wanted to linger just a bit longer in this moment with Silas.

The delight of being alone with him made her a little giddy, her stomach fluttering like when she’d had too much wine or the moment just before one jumped into the sea.

It was hard to concentrate when he looked at her so keenly, his green eyes gone smoky and intense, his mouth drawn into a line somehow both firm and sensuous.

Her bravery faltered, and she dropped her eyes to their hands, Silas’s long fingers firm and warm around hers.

He lifted her hand, bringing it to his lips, and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to each knuckle.

Ophelia sucked in a breath and her stomach lurched, a delightful drop followed by a sizzling awareness of the wet warmth of his mouth on her skin.

She watched him watching her over the back of her hand, his lips moving incrementally toward her wrist, placing soft kisses as he went.

Reaching the fine knobs of her wrist bones, his tongue flickered around each, sending an arc of electricity flying up her arm to explode in her chest. She felt a shiver raise the fine hairs on her arms, tightening her nipples to hard points.

He held her hand in his, her arm extended, his tongue worrying at the tender skin on the inside of her wrist. She felt herself sagging, her body turned liquid heat, pools of it settling in her belly and between her legs.

Silas drew her gently toward him, a slow smile etching tempting curves in the corners of his mouth.

Ophelia let herself move toward him, feel the heat of him slowly surround her, his scent of grass and leather and linen flooding her senses.

“I’d not even hoped to have you alone, Fee,” he breathed, their lips almost touching, his breath skimming across her cheek to ruffle her hair.

He pulled back, eyes bright. “But I do, I mean we are, and ...” Two bright spots rose along his cheekbones.

“Would you come to my room?” he blurted. “I so badly want to kiss you again.”

“Oh,” she breathed.

Concern etched a tiny divot between his eyebrows. “Have I misread the situation? Oh Christ, Fee, I’m sorry,” he groaned.

God, no . “No!” she blurted, trying to forestall his embarrassment. “Not at all, I just need to tend to the horses, their evening grain. Would you ... would you wait for me?”

Relief flooded Silas’s face. “Until the stars dimmed,” he said. “May I give you a hand?”

She nodded. “You could fill their water buckets while I do their grain.”

She watched as Silas strode out into the yard, a bucket in each hand.

The sun had turned from the high, bright yellow of midday to the hazy, honeyed light of late afternoon, and it lay heavy and hot on Ophelia’s face, a corollary to the heat she felt watching Silas’s shoulders ripple as he worked the ancient water pump.

Back in the barn, he hung the horses’ buckets on their hooks and laughed at Delilah’s pinned ears when Ophelia placed the low pan of grain on the floor of the mare’s stall.

Latching the stall door, Ophelia went to wipe her hands down her the fronts of her pants, remembering just in time that she wore a dress.

“Damn, just need to find a rag,” she muttered aloud.

“I’ve one in my room, and a pitcher of water,” came Silas’s voice from down the hall.

“Oh,” Ophelia said under her breath.

Drawing herself up to her full height, and careful to keep her hands away from her clean dress, she followed him to his room and stood, as calmly as she could, in the doorway.

He bent over the washstand, pouring water from the pitcher into the low bowl.

In his hand was a worn washcloth. Ophelia wondered if he had used it to wash that morning, imagined the fabric moving across his sharp cheekbones, catching in the morning’s stubble that would have shadowed his jaw.

Had he wiped down his neck, over his chest, even under his arms?

Like a bomb, the idea of the same cloth skating over Silas’s body and then hers obliterated all thought, replacing it with hot need.

It was all she could do to remain on her feet when Silas reached for her hands.

He wiped each of her palms clean, lingering on the webbed spot between each finger, the touch so sensual Ophelia felt as though his hand was between her legs.

Her breathing came short and harsh until he put them both out of their misery and crushed her to him, his mouth covering hers.

His lips were firm, nipping and sucking at her own hungrily, and she responded in kind, eager and greedy.

Silas ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, kissing her and whispering her name as he went.

She welcomed his explorations, the warm swipe of his tongue against hers, the smooth nip of his teeth at her bottom lip.

Opening for him, she licked at his tongue, exploring, the soft slide of it against her own sending a spiral of liquid heat to her core.

She could taste him, minty and warm with a hint of ale from the picnic, and the familiarity of it, the intimacy of tasting each other made her tremble. Silas pulled back, searching her face.

“Is this okay, Fee?”

She nodded her head firmly and looped her arms around his neck, bringing him down to her once more.

She pressed her lips to his, his mouth a still point in the storm of desire that was ricocheting around her body.

Silas stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers, then ran a finger under her chin to lift her eyes to his.

The rasp of his fingers against the smooth skin made her shiver, which broke the spell long enough for her to speak.

“I ... I haven’t changed my mind about marriage, Silas,” she said quickly and as firmly as she could. “I want you to know that before we continue. I want this, want you , but I don’t want marriage to be the price of it.”

He was still save for the fingers that stroked the back of her neck and tangled in the loose hair there. His eyes were steady on hers when he assented.

“Okay, then we continue,” Ophelia said, her voice a little thready. “And we must be careful, Silas, I do not wish to be with child. Will you help with that?”

“Yes, you have my word. Uh ... we were given condoms while in France, and I did save one, but it needs time to prepare. Would you like to wait until I can do that?”

“I’d ... I’d prefer not to wait,” she said, colouring.

“Could you not ... not spill inside me?” Ophelia asked, refusing to give in to the embarrassment of the moment.

“Hannah says that’s a reasonably reliable way to avoid pregnancy.

She’s my best source of information at the moment,” she added, a little shyly.

“I imagine we’re both grateful for the knowledge if it means not waiting.” The corner of his lips lifted in a smile, but his eyes were intent on her, hungry.

Her blood was rushing in her ears, loud and chaotic, and Ophelia wanted so much to be kissing Silas again that his words took a moment to sink in.

She stilled. He had heard her. Their feelings about marriage weren’t totally aligned, but he respected her autonomy, her choice.

She felt a flush of heat that had nothing to do with his hands on her, his parted lips so close to hers.

He leaned forward. “We can change our minds at any point, Fee. Either of us, for any reason,” he said gently, his eyes serious on hers. “We’ll figure this out together. Agreed?”

“Yes,” she said, dreamily, rubbing her chin against his fingers. “I know we can. I want you, Silas ... I want to do this with you.”