Then he closed the last fraction of an inch and kissed her.
She kissed him back, glorying in the exchange. To her, this simple pleasure was both novel and exciting, yet also comforting and reassuring; it was patently something that was meant to be.
She’d never before realized that one could communicate through a kiss, yet as she parted her lips and he supped and sipped, then dove deeper, wanting more, a landscape of burgeoning desire bloomed in her mind. His desire and hers, twining and strengthening, one feeding the other and rolling forward, painting an alluring image of what would soon be theirs.
A future she wanted. One she would seize.
She shifted closer, and he did as well, and his arms slid about her and tightened, and she buried her hands in his hair and urged him on.
Warmth—that curious blend of passion and desire—spread beneath her skin.
Hunger and need escalated as his lips played over hers, and their tongues tangled in a sensual duel that heated her blood even further.
Emboldened, she nipped his lower lip, then kissed the imagined hurt away.
He made a sound low in his throat, then his hold on her shifted, and she felt his hand cup her nape, his fingers tangling in her hair as he angled her head and deepened the kiss.
Pleasure bloomed and beckoned. They were rarely truly alone at the Hall, yet at that moment, secreted in the rose garden, there was no one else likely to intrude…
The moments spun out, richly colored with rising passion, warm and heady with intoxicating desire—until the distant but distinctiveclackof horses’ hooves and the crunching of wheels on the gravel of the drive dragged them back to the world.
Reluctantly, they drew back from the kiss.
Gregory looked into her eyes, a frown in his. “What now? Are we expecting anyone?”
As he eased his hold, she inwardly sighed and, accepting that the unwelcome visitor had put an end to the promising interlude, shifted apart and shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of.”
He drew away, then rose and tugged his coat straight, muttering, “This better not be another cousin.”
Mirroring his reluctant resignation, she stood and straightened her gown. “I seriously doubt it. Hamish arrived less than a week ago. Unless Daniel has lost patience and run away of his own accord, this won’t be him.” She frowned. “And anyway, whoever this is has driven up in a carriage. Perhaps it’s one of our neighbors come to call?”
Gregory had a sudden, very unwelcome premonition of who the visitor might be. Lips firming, he grasped Caitlin’s hand. “Come on. We’d better go and see.”
She nodded and strode quickly beside him up the central path. “If they ask for either of us, Cromwell doesn’t know where we are. He’ll panic.”
“Hmm.” Gregory walked out of the rose garden, onto the drive, around the front corner of the Hall, and on toward the forecourt, then halted.
A flashy curricle with a pair of nervous horses stood before the front steps, and Ecton was standing beside the carriage, holding the reins.
A groom came pelting past, rushing to take charge of the horses.
Gregory released Caitlin’s hand and ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing the strands. “I knew he’d be back.”
He glanced sidelong at Caitlin; her chatelaine’s mask was firmly in place. As he watched, she tucked a strand of dark hair he’d dislodged back into her sensible chignon. He muttered, “I’ll have to speak with him.”
Briefly, she met his eyes and nodded infinitesimally.
Refocusing on Ecton, Gregory adopted his customary façade of easygoing bonhomie and strode forward. Initially, Caitlin hung back, then followed, correctly trailing a few paces behind him.
For Ecton, they were owner and chatelaine, nothing more.
As he approached, he saw Ecton’s attention fix on Caitlin, but then Ecton switched his gaze to Gregory and smiled. “Cynster! Well met!”
Gregory kept his feelings from his face as he halted and shook the hand Ecton offered. “Ecton. I’m surprised you’re still in the area. What brings you here this fine afternoon?”
Pointedly, Ecton switched his gaze to Caitlin, who had halted a few paces behind Gregory.
Gregory glanced at her and suppressed a smile at the picture of a dutiful chatelaine she was projecting. He nodded at her. “Thank you, Miss Fergusson. That will be all.”
