Page 23 of The Lady is Trouble

And what, exactly, did he mean bygiving up so much? Did he include her in what he had to give up? She folded and refolded the glove, afraid to ask. “How democratic,” she finally said for lack of a candid comment.

“Democratic.” He laughed softly and came around to assist her dismount. His touch was offhand, and he immediately moved away, but the heat of his body had transferred at each point she’d grazed on the way down, tiny patchworks of fire lighting her skin.

“Your glove chose an adequate spot for lunch,” he said, his moist breath crossing her cheek. Then he surprised her as he’d never surprised her before. With a gentle, easy smile, he lifted the hat from his head and settled it on hers. It sank low on her brow, held up by her ears. When she continued to stare, dumbfounded, he said simply, “Your cheeks are freckling,” and turned from her as if nothing earthshaking had occurred.

She was left standing in a field with his tantalizing fragrance drifting from his hat to her nostrils, the lingering warmth of his body dissipating, carried away on the breeze.

It was heaven and hell.

Julian gathered her bay and his black, giving them apple slices with murmured appreciation for their patience. From his saddlebag, he removed a tightly rolled blanket and a leather satchel. Ripping off his glove with his even, white teeth, he settled the blanket on a patch of grass beneath a towering blackthorn she imagined to be as old as Harbingdon.

She crossed to the picnic spot with uncharacteristic hesitation, pressing her glove between her palms until she noticed Julian studying her with a muted, yet challenging smile. Her hands stilled, her chin lifting. “Strangely, I feel tested.”

His movements slowed, long fingers neatly tucked under the corner of the blanket. His gaze met hers, then fell back to his task. “Perhaps I test myself,” he replied, then turned to unpack the bounty contained in the satchel, negating any explanation about a comment she was sure to spend a sleepless night puzzling over.

Silent, she turned a full circle in the shaded clearing. A cushion of discarded blossoms littered the ground, a lacey, white border surrounding the blanket Julian had secured as neatly as if it were nailed down. Piper lifted her hand to her brow and peered into the distance. “Is that Murphy sitting atop the rise?”

“Yes.”

“Groom or chaperone?” she asked as she knelt, wrapping her arms around her knees in an indelicate perch.

“Guard,” Julian replied, a container of strawberries balanced in his hand.

He opened the container as she removed the others, placing them on the sea of linen. Sliced chicken, asparagus, walnuts, cheese. Stilton, she guessed from the aroma. Lastly, he pulled out a corked bottle. With a turn of his lips, he shrugged. “I worried I might need reinforcement.”

“How ridiculous.” She twisted her legs to the side, doing a visual check to ensure she was, except for a minute glimpse of stockinged ankle, covered. Ripping her remaining glove off, she brushed him aside when he would have served her and reached for a plate. “So, that’s why Murphy had a knife in his boot.”

“And a pistol in the other,” Julian said, slipping off his coat and making a neat fold of it, the gloves dangling from the pocket the only hint of disorder. He squatted, knee pressed to the blanket, the other rising high in delicate balance. His waistcoat, a somber but very fine pewter, played off his eyes as if a well-paid valet had planned it when she understood this was not the case. The wind, picking up as wrathful clouds moved in, pressed silk against his muscled upper body, and she again marveled at his physical maturation.

Repairs at Harbingdon were evidently not sourced to workmen.

Taking a bite of a strawberry, she licked at the crimson streak on her palm as the puzzle pieces fell into place. “They’re coming for us.” The hat brim slipped over her eyes, and she knocked it back. “For me.”

Julian’s gaze lit on her effort to clean her skin, and she watched his aura spark at the edges. “What happened between you and Finn, before you arrived in the churchyard? Your hair was unbound as if you’d run a race, and Finn looked”—Julian grabbed the wine bottle, uncorking it with a flip of his thumb—“Finn looked stunned.” He drank deeply, his throat pulling. Plainly, Cook had neglected to pack glasses. “That smile he never leaves home without hidden deep.”

“I have no idea what you’re referencing,” she whispered, the denial as fragile as one spun with gossamer thread. She could hear the lie ringing between them like the village’s church bell.

He laughed, razor-sharp, an uncharitable retort. Tapping the bottle against his forearm, he took another sluggish pull. “Your bravado is admirable. I know few men who possess it, but you scare the hell out of me with the risks you take. Leaving Gloucestershire the latest in a string of them.”

Piper squeezed her hand into a fist, found she still held the half-eaten strawberry and tossed it to the grass. Juice ran down her wrist, staining her sleeve. “You hide me away when I cannot denywhoI am, any more than you or Finn. Maybe the risk, to you, is acceptance. When there is no choicebut.”

With a curse, he jammed the cork in the bottle and tossed it aside. Before she read his intent, he palmed the ground alongside her hip, his long body looming over hers. His intimidating stance shocked even as she leaned into it. Julian rarely moved close enough for her to study him. “The healer’s gift is so rare, scholars suspect it’s illusory. The chronology lists only three in our world since the 1500s. Only the power to arrest one’s gift completely, something your grandfather crudely called a blocker, is rarer. Power like yours in the wrong hands…I’ll die before letting them possess it. Possessyou.” His eyes flashed, catching like dry kindling.

And his aura…glorious.

Resting back on his heels, he dragged his hand through his hair, sending the strands into disordered coils. “I’m simply trying to protect you. Protect them.” He nodded in the direction of the house. “But you make it very difficult, Piper. You always have.

“Why, then? Leave it. Leave us.”

His gaze snapped to hers. “Do you think I haven’t considered running? Going to one of my estates and hiding behind this blessed title? I tell myself I stay because of the promises I made to your grandfather when I know”—he thumped his chest—“I stay because it’s my destiny. Mychoice. I couldn’t leave you, Finn, anyone I’ve asked to join the League if I tried. I wouldn’t make it to the end of the drive.”

“Is that what you promised the earl? What he died whispering to you? Is that why—”

“One time,” he grit through clenched teeth. “We’ll discuss this one time, then never again. It hurts us both to remember.”

Hurts us both. She swayed, her hand sliding off the blanket, her fingertips sinking into moist earth.

All this time, she had assumed it only hurther.