Page 81 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke
“Will you truly not tell me where we’re going?” Samantha asked as he led her past the village green and onto a narrow path that wound between ancient oaks.
“Patience, Duchess. The destination is but half the pleasure.”
She huffed at this evasion but followed willingly, her curiosity evidently piqued. The path climbed gently upward, dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy of leaves overhead. Birds called to one another in the branches, and once a rabbit darted across their path, freezing momentarily before disappearing into the underbrush.
“I had no idea this path existed,” Samantha remarked, gathering her skirts to step over a fallen branch. “Is it part of the estate?”
“The entirety of Valemont extends for miles in every direction,” Ewan replied, steadying her with a hand at her elbow. “But yes, this particular section has belonged to the Wildingham family for generations. My father used it primarily for hunting.”
“And you?” she asked, her perceptive gaze noting the shadow that crossed his features at the mention of his father.
“I prefer to visit for other reasons,” he said simply.
They continued in companionable silence for perhaps a quarter of an hour, the path gradually steepening until it emerged suddenly from the trees onto a rocky outcropping that overlooked a breathtaking vista.
Below them stretched the whole of Valemont village, the cottages like toys from this height, the church spire gleaming in the afternoon sun. Beyond lay the patchwork of fields and meadows that comprised the heart of the estate, and further still, the distant rooftops of Valemont Hall itself.
“Oh, Ewan,” Samantha breathed, her eyes wide with wonder. “It’s magnificent.”
A warmth that had nothing to do with exertion spread through his chest at her reaction. “I discovered it as a boy,” he told her, watching her face as she took in the panorama. “It became something of a sanctuary when life at the Hall grew… difficult.”
She turned to him then, her expression softening with understanding. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”
“I wanted you to see Valemont as I see it,” he replied, gesturing toward the landscape spread before them. “Not just as a collection of properties and responsibilities, but as a living whole. These lands, these people, they’re connected to each other and to us in ways that transcend mere ownership.”
“I understand,” she said softly, and he knew with certainty that she did—that this woman who had entered his life through the most unlikely of circumstances truly comprehended what he was trying to convey.
He drew her to a flat stone near the edge of the outcropping, where he had arranged for a small basket to be placed earlier that day. “I thought perhaps we might enjoy a modest repast while admiring the view.”
Samantha’s delighted surprise as he revealed the basket’s contents—fresh bread, cold chicken, berries from the Valemont gardens, and a bottle of light summer wine—was a reward in itself.
They settled side by side on the stone, close enough that their shoulders touched, sharing the simple meal as the afternoon light gilded the landscape in gold.
“This is perfect,” she said after a time, her voice holding a contentment that resonated with his own. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“I find I wish to share everything with you,” he admitted, the words emerging with unexpected honesty. “Even the parts of myself I’ve kept hidden for so long.”
She set aside her wine glass to take his hand, her fingers warm against his. “I want to know all of you, Ewan. The light and the shadow both.”
The openness of her expression, the acceptance in her eyes, undid him in ways he could not have anticipated when he had first proposed this impromptu excursion. He had planned it as a pleasant diversion, a chance to show her a favorite spot and perhaps steal a kiss away from the watchful eyes of servants and villagers.
Instead, he found himself speaking with a vulnerability he had never permitted himself before.
“I used to come here when my father was in one of his rages,” he told her, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. “I would imagine that I was a hawk soaring above it all, free from the constraints of the Hall and all it represented.”
Her hand tightened on his, offering silent support.
“Later, after Benedict died and I became the heir, I would stand here and try to see the estate as my father saw it: as property, as a symbol of power and prestige. I tried to make myself into the duke he would have wanted.” A bitter smile twisted his lips. “I failed, of course. But in failing, perhaps I became something better.”
“Something infinitely better,” Samantha affirmed, the conviction in her voice warming him more thoroughly than the wine ever could.
He turned to her then, framing her face with his hands, overwhelmed by the depth of feeling this woman had awakened in him. “How do you do this?” he asked, his voice rough with emotion. “How do you continue to cut me off at the knees, my duchess?”
“Perhaps,” she replied, her eyes luminous in the golden light, “you were really always just weak-kneed.”
Ewan chuckled at the joke, his heart light.
When he kissed her, it was with a tenderness that belied the fierce possessiveness he felt toward this remarkable woman who had chosen to see beyond his carefully constructed facade to the man beneath. Her lips yielded to his, warm and willing, her arms twining around his neck to draw him closer.
