Three Nights with a Scoundrel
Page 50

“We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow,” Amelia said.
“I was able to conclude my business a bit early. I met with your husbands over by the stables.”
She laughed. “I could have guessed that you would.”
He turned to Meredith. “Ashworth didn’t let on a thing about your good news, however.”
“It’s meant to be a secret yet,” Meredith said. “Don’t tell him you know.”
Julian’s mouth tipped as he considered. “I’ll keep your secret if you give me an answer.”
“Oh?” Meredith’s brows arched. “To what question?”
He spread his arms wide. “Where, on this grand, magnificent, sprawling estate is my wife?”
Lily took a cautious step to her right. Her bare toes squelched in spongy mud, and the knotted hem of her skirt swirled atop the rushing stream.
Bending at the waist, she grasped a handful of watercress and pulled by the stems. She shook the leaves free of excess water before adding them to the basket threaded over her wrist. Just a few more bunches, and she would call it enough.
A brilliant blue dragonfly zipped past, darting from one patch of sunlight to another as it hovered above the creek. Lily watched, delighted with the creature’s iridescent beauty and graceful speed. The dragonfly made a sudden streak to the left. She turned her head to follow its path—
And spied her husband standing on the riverbank, one shoulder propped against a beech tree. She was stunned. She hadn’t expected him until tomorrow.
“How long have you been standing there?” she asked.
“Not long.”
She turned to face him. Lord, he was dangerously handsome. Unshaven, rumpled, bronzed from a day of travel in the sun. He’d stripped off his coat and wore it slung over his shoulder on the crook of one strong, talented finger. His cravat, if he’d been wearing one, was gone.
The stream’s brisk current lapped at the backs of her knees. Her mouth watered.
He tossed his coat over a branch and advanced toward her. “You,” he signed, “are very hard to find.”
She swallowed hard. Then lamely lifted her basket. “I’m gathering watercress.”
“So I see.” He came closer, plunging right into the stream, boots and all. As he neared, he drew a deep breath. “You smell of it, too. Green and peppery and fresh.”
“I’ve missed you,” she told him. And she had, every hour of every day.
“Nowhere near as much as I’ve missed you.” His throat worked as he swept her with a hungry gaze, from her loosely plaited hair to the froth swirling and eddying about her bare legs. “I’m going to kiss you, right here in the water. And then I’m going to make love to you on the riverbank.”
“That sounds lovely.”
He reached for her basket of watercress and unthreaded it from her wrist, stretching to place it safely on the riverbank. Then his hands went to the ribbon ties of her straw hat. He unknotted the bow beneath her chin and tossed the whole business aside.
Then … at last … he reached for her.
He touched one hand to her cheek and released a deep, full-body sigh. “Lily.”
A shiver swept her, all the way from the cool stream’s surface to her sun-warmed nape. She trembled. So absurd. He was her husband of more than eight years. Most days, she felt she knew him better than she knew herself.
Still, she trembled.
They smiled at one another as they slowly leaned forward, taking their time easing into the kiss. Because by now, they both knew better than to rush. It was drudgery, being apart for long weeks. But it was magic, reuniting after long weeks apart. A mere glance was exciting. The first brush of skin against skin was pure exhilaration. The first taste of each other was an exquisite blend of the familiar and the wild.
And wherever they were—be it London, or York, or the middle of a stream in Cambridgeshire—this first kiss meant they’d come home.