Page 29 of Blame It on the Earl (The Duke's Estates 3)

“This is rather like the sea cave,” Sarah said when he offered her a section.

“We’re not soaked with brine,” Kenver responded.

“No. And we have food.”

“We’re not trapped,” he pointed out.

She laughed. “So it’s not really like it at all. It just…feels similar somehow.” She bit into the peach.

She was right. Here they were, alone, far from the press of humanity, with talk and silences, close together side by side. And there was that bond knit between them, palpable, mysteriously sturdy. He used a corner of his napkin to catch a trickle of juice running down her chin.

Sarah looked up at him, her blue eyes soft. He bent to kiss her, tasting peaches on her willing lips.

Matters went from tender to fiery in a flash of desire. Kenver didn’t notice the thud of cider bottles dropping to the dirt floor. He pulled her against him and let their kisses go urgent. His hands moved over her, impatient with the barriers of cloth, finding the buttons of her riding habit.

He had undone two of them when caution nagged. He could tumble her here in the hay, as other couples had no doubt done before. The place was well-known. Which was why some might arrive to shelter from the rain. To find them… It was…not respectful. She was his wife. Stifling a groan, Kenver drew back. Napkins lay in the dust with spilled cider and fragments of peach. “People use this barn,” he said.

Sarah blinked. She looked adorably disheveled. Her hair curled about her flushed cheeks, and her hat had fallen off. He could see the quick rise and fall of her chest. He wanted her unbearably.

Aching, Kenver bent to pick up the bottles. There was only a bit of cider left. He drank it. Then he rose to tidy away the rest of their picnic. “Check the horses,” he managed, taking the remains to his saddlebags.

He stayed there for a while, regaining his composure. When he came back, Sarah had restored her hair and put on her hat. Somewhere in this whirl, the rain had tapered off. “If you’re rested, we should go on,” Kenver said. Should because his control really only went so far.

She nodded. He brought their mounts and helped her up, then led her down toward the coast. “We are circling back toward Poldene now,” he said.

Sarah heard him but scarcely took it in. Her senses were still reeling; her skin burned with a thwarted wish to be touched. It would have been horribly embarrassing if they had been caught…indulging in the hay. Of course she knew that. The gossip, on top of the story of their match, would have been dreadful. Lady Trestan… She wasn’t going to think about that! But there was no one about. Except… Two laborers carrying shovels rounded the corner of the lane ahead. They saluted Kenver as they passed. A cottage on the hill to the right probably overlooked that barn. A boy swung down from a tree farther off and slipped through the bushes like a lad avoiding chores. So Kenver was right. He knew his lands. Obviously. She must stop thinking about his hands and his lips and…everything.

She took a deep breath, and another. The sound of the sea grew ahead, with its salt scent. They came to a cluster of fishermen’s homes on a cliff above a small cove. Sarah was surprised when Kenver stopped before one of these, dismounted, and came to help her do the same. “I need to speak to a man down at the boats,” he said, indicating the flotilla below. “Mrs. Vine will take care of you.”

She turned to find a stocky woman of perhaps fifty coming from the cottage, wiping her hands on a pristine cloth. She bobbed a small curtsy when Kenver introduced Sarah. “I’ve some of that currant cake you like,” she said to him.

“I thought you would,” replied Kenver. He smiled at Sarah and turned toward the path leading down to the water.

Mrs. Vine ushered her into a front room that held two small tables and chairs. “Travelers have started coming along the coast,” the woman said. “To look at the sea.” She shook her head as if mystified by this. “They like a place to stop and have a cup of tea and a bit of cake. I’m a baker, so I spoke to his lordship and…” She gestured at the tables. “Sit you down.”

Sarah did. A few minutes later, Mrs. Vine returned with a tray holding a teapot and cups and a splendid-looking cake. “What a lovely pattern,” Sarah said of the porcelain.

Mrs. Vine gave her a sidelong look. “His lordship ‘found’ them in the back of a cupboard. Someplace. So he said.” When Sarah smiled, Mrs. Vine grinned and cut a large slice of the cake to set before her.

Sarah picked up a delicate fork, wondering if it too had come from some storage nook at Poldene, and ate a bite. “Oh, that’s wonderful.” A medley of marvelous flavors melted on her tongue. “I think it’s the best currant cake I’ve ever had.”

Mrs. Vine beamed. “My daughter has a post making pastries and such at a fine London hotel. That’s not common, you know.”

Sarah nodded. It certainly wasn’t for a young woman. Or any child of such a small place really.

“His lordship helped her to it. She’s growing famous because ofmyrecipes.”

“I can see why.” Sarah took another luscious bite.

Kenver returned soon after to devour his own huge slice and chat with Mrs. Vine about her daughter. Soon after, Sarah and Kenver mounted up and rode back toward Poldene. “People call you ‘your lordship,’” Sarah observed as they went.

“I can use the title Viscount Otterham,” he replied. “But I don’t care to. It belongs to the earldom—my father—and is granted as a courtesy to the heir. Seems unnecessary.”

Sarah took this in and decided she rather liked his attitude.

It had been a lovely day, she thought, one of the best she could remember. If only dinner could be the same.

Six

---