Page 77 of Harpy of the Ton
“Mama! Are you all right?”
“Don’t be silly—she’s fallen down.”
“Are you hurt? Don’t be angry—we didn’t mean to hurt you!”
Roberta’s plea tore at Bella’s heart, and she shivered at the fear in her daughter’s voice.
She rolled onto her back to find her children standing over her. Roberta and William’s faces were streaked with mud. But Jonathan was caked—his was indiscernible beneath a thick layer of mud, save for a red mouth and a bright pair of eyes.
Like a mole—a mole topped with hair the color of carrots.
She bit her lip to stem the tide of mirth, while her body shook.
“Mama?” Jonathan’s eyes widened, and Bella descended into a volley of laughter.
“Oh, Jonathan—you look so…” She drew in a shuddering breath. “You look like a mole!”
Jonathan screwed up his eyes, his mouth creasing as he let out a wail, and Bella sat up and pulled him into her arms.
“Oh, my precious boy!” she said, shaking with laughter. “How dull life would be if I didn’t have you.” She glanced up at the twins. “All of you.”
“What’s all this?” a deep voice asked. “Children, go back inside. Mr. Ryman’s all on his own.”
Bella’s laughter died as her husband came into view. She gave Jonathan a squeeze of affection, then kissed the top of his head.
“Run along,” she said. “Leave your clothes in the kitchen and I’ll give them a rinse tonight.”
“Yes, Mama,” the boys replied.
Roberta hesitated.
“What is it, Bobby?” Bella asked.
“Don’t be angry with her, Papa,” the girl said. “I like her when she laughs.”
“I’m not angry,” he said. “I could never be angry with”—he hesitated—“your mother.”
Roberta skipped inside, yelling at her brothers to remove their muddy clothes.
Bella looked up at her husband. He offered his hand, and she stared at it.
“Shall we call a truce?”
“How can I trust you?” she asked.
“You can’t.”
She sighed. “I suppose I shouldn’t expect anything more from you.”
She took his hand. He pulled her up, then lost his balance, and they crashed to the ground. He let out a laugh, and she found herself caught up in his mirth, and they lay on the ground, shaking with laughter while he continued to hold her.
She tipped her head up to face him, and her heart fluttered at the expression in his clear gray eyes—she had never seen such joy in him before. Their laughter died, and, for a heartbeat, they simply stared at each other.
Then he lowered his mouth onto hers.
His kiss was gentle—lips caressing hers, coaxing her to yield and soften in his arms.
And soften she did, relishing his strength and the feel of his body enveloping hers. He stroked her lips with his tongue, and she parted them, inviting him in, relishing his taste while he teased and caressed her mouth. Then he withdrew and placed a trail of tiny kisses along the seam of her mouth, before nuzzling the tip of her nose with his.
