out at the water's rippling surface, trying to ignore his presence. An impossible task. Her peaceful solitude was ruined. She felt his presence right down to the burn of his gaze on her body.
Unable to ignore him, she asked, "I take it you have been here before?" She tried to hide the resentment from her voice. For years she had thought of this place as hers.
"As a boy, yes. Many times." His gravelly voice rolled over her. Awareness spiked through her at the warm sound.
She risked another glance at his profile as he surveyed the pond.
"I pretended this pond was a moat and I had to swim it to storm that castle." He nodded his head to the dilapidated mill.
"And rescue the fair maiden within?" Meredith guessed, sure she had not been the only child with foolish romantic dreams.
"Of course there was a maiden… sometimes two." He grinned again and her heart tripped. "Strange how much smaller it seems." His smile slipped. "As a boy I thought this pond the ocean. Now it's clearly a pond. And a small one at that."
Meredith bristled at the veiled attack on her beloved sanctuary. "Everything looks bigger through the eyes of a child."
Pushing to her feet, she wobbled for balance on the uneven ground. His hand darted beneath her cloak and grabbed her arm to steady her. Her skin tingled where he touched her, but she didn't pull away, couldn't if she wanted to. She could only gaze up at him, hostage to his dark, fathomless stare.
His eyes skimmed the length of her, resting on the naked, muddied toes peeking from beneath her hem. Her toes dug into the soft earth, burrowing for cover. She tossed a heavy flank of hair over her shoulder and tried to appear the dignified countess—unbound hair, muddy toes and all. His eyes followed the movement, surveying the rioting mass.
"How did you meet Edmund?" he demanded abruptly, a strange light glittering in his eyes. She wet her lips nervously, and his eyes darkened to black as they followed the movement of her tongue.
"In the village. My father was the vicar, remember?"
Tension lines bracketed his mouth as he demanded, "Was it a love match?"
"I am carrying his child, am I not?" The defiance in her voice rang out.
His fingers flexed on her arms, the pressure increasing as he drew her nearer. "What has that to do with whether you loved him?"
Meredith stared up at him, confused. "Why should it matter to you?"
The muscles along his jaw knotted. "Answer me. Did you love him?"
His piercing gaze demanded an answer. One she was unprepared to give. Yet in no way could she admit the truth. That she had been
infatuated
with Edmund, that she had
wanted
to love him… until her wedding night and the death of her romantic dreams.
"You are prying, my lord."
Suddenly he smiled. "You didn't love him."
Meredith flinched. "I did not say that."
His hands gentled on her arms, his thumbs rotating in small, seductive circles. His face inched closer, his warm breath a puff of air against her lips as he murmured, "You didn't have to."
One of his hands slid the length of her arm, his touch feather-soft. He grasped her wrist and brought her hand to his chest, splaying her palm directly over his heart. "What of desire? Did you desire my brother? Did you look at him the way you look at me?"
Meredith gasped. Convinced she could feel the strong beat of his heart beneath her hand, she whispered, "You mustn't speak such things."
"Why?" He angled his head, dark eyes studying her intently as he placed his other hand at her waist, his touch burning through her dress, branding her. "It's true. I see the way you look at me. I imagine it's the same way I look at you."
She shook her head fiercely and tried to tug her hand free.
Nick pressed her hand deeper against his chest. "Meredith—"
"No," she hissed, refusing to let him weave sweet words of seduction around her. "You'll not get your revenge on Edmund by seducing me."
His expression turned rigid before her eyes. He released her as if stung and stepped back.
Unable to ignore him, she asked, "I take it you have been here before?" She tried to hide the resentment from her voice. For years she had thought of this place as hers.
"As a boy, yes. Many times." His gravelly voice rolled over her. Awareness spiked through her at the warm sound.
She risked another glance at his profile as he surveyed the pond.
"I pretended this pond was a moat and I had to swim it to storm that castle." He nodded his head to the dilapidated mill.
"And rescue the fair maiden within?" Meredith guessed, sure she had not been the only child with foolish romantic dreams.
"Of course there was a maiden… sometimes two." He grinned again and her heart tripped. "Strange how much smaller it seems." His smile slipped. "As a boy I thought this pond the ocean. Now it's clearly a pond. And a small one at that."
Meredith bristled at the veiled attack on her beloved sanctuary. "Everything looks bigger through the eyes of a child."
Pushing to her feet, she wobbled for balance on the uneven ground. His hand darted beneath her cloak and grabbed her arm to steady her. Her skin tingled where he touched her, but she didn't pull away, couldn't if she wanted to. She could only gaze up at him, hostage to his dark, fathomless stare.
His eyes skimmed the length of her, resting on the naked, muddied toes peeking from beneath her hem. Her toes dug into the soft earth, burrowing for cover. She tossed a heavy flank of hair over her shoulder and tried to appear the dignified countess—unbound hair, muddy toes and all. His eyes followed the movement, surveying the rioting mass.
"How did you meet Edmund?" he demanded abruptly, a strange light glittering in his eyes. She wet her lips nervously, and his eyes darkened to black as they followed the movement of her tongue.
"In the village. My father was the vicar, remember?"
Tension lines bracketed his mouth as he demanded, "Was it a love match?"
"I am carrying his child, am I not?" The defiance in her voice rang out.
His fingers flexed on her arms, the pressure increasing as he drew her nearer. "What has that to do with whether you loved him?"
Meredith stared up at him, confused. "Why should it matter to you?"
The muscles along his jaw knotted. "Answer me. Did you love him?"
His piercing gaze demanded an answer. One she was unprepared to give. Yet in no way could she admit the truth. That she had been
infatuated
with Edmund, that she had
wanted
to love him… until her wedding night and the death of her romantic dreams.
"You are prying, my lord."
Suddenly he smiled. "You didn't love him."
Meredith flinched. "I did not say that."
His hands gentled on her arms, his thumbs rotating in small, seductive circles. His face inched closer, his warm breath a puff of air against her lips as he murmured, "You didn't have to."
One of his hands slid the length of her arm, his touch feather-soft. He grasped her wrist and brought her hand to his chest, splaying her palm directly over his heart. "What of desire? Did you desire my brother? Did you look at him the way you look at me?"
Meredith gasped. Convinced she could feel the strong beat of his heart beneath her hand, she whispered, "You mustn't speak such things."
"Why?" He angled his head, dark eyes studying her intently as he placed his other hand at her waist, his touch burning through her dress, branding her. "It's true. I see the way you look at me. I imagine it's the same way I look at you."
She shook her head fiercely and tried to tug her hand free.
Nick pressed her hand deeper against his chest. "Meredith—"
"No," she hissed, refusing to let him weave sweet words of seduction around her. "You'll not get your revenge on Edmund by seducing me."
His expression turned rigid before her eyes. He released her as if stung and stepped back.
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