Page 45 of How to Cross a Marquess (The Way to a Lord's Heart 3)

They were hidden from the world here, Fenella noted. Even the horses would not be easily visible, due to the dip in the land and the height of bushes. They might have stepped outside of time. Her everyday life seemed far away.

Roger took a raspberry and held it out to her. Fenella leaned forward and opened her lips. He put the berry on her tongue. She bit into it, the intense flavor filling her mouth—piquant, delicious, another dart of pleasure. She held out a berry. He followed her example, bending toward her. She set the crimson fruit in his mouth without touching him. He held her gaze as he bit down.

The sultry atmosphere went to her head—the languorous warmth, the rustle of leaves overhead, the soft grass beneath her, Roger’s lips red with berry juice. Hers must be as well, Fenella thought. The same hue, the same taste. The idea seemed to pull her forward, and the next time he held out a berry, she leaned past it and kissed him.

He did taste of raspberries. But the kiss was so much more than that. The sweet taste of the fruit slid slowly into a melting of her whole body.

Strong arms came around her and pulled her close. She put hers around his neck and let herself sink with him onto the grass. The world contracted into a kernel of dizzying sensation.

What kisses, she thought. She’d known she was drawn to Roger, but she hadn’t realized it would be like this. His touch set her vibrating with desire. She wanted to give him all he could ask, to take everything he could offer. She pressed up against him. Their kisses wove a tapestry of longing, begging to be unraveled. He murmured her name.

“It went this way,” shouted a boy’s voice from other side of the thicket.

“Into the brambles?” replied another.

“Right under, the cunning little devil.”

“I ain’t desperate keen to crawl in there.”

“It’s John and Tom,” whispered Fenella.

“Deuce take them,” replied Roger.

“Perhaps it will come out the other side,” said John. “We can go around.” Footsteps pounded along the edge of the thicket.

Roger pulled her closer as if to protect her from this intrusion. But his instinct was wrong in this case. They couldn’t be found embracing. Fenella pulled away and sat up. Her hat had fallen off. She retrieved it and set it on her head, plucking and pinning stray strands of hair into place.

“Must speak to you,” Roger whispered.

“Shh. Not now.”

“Must.” He couldn’t stay silent. He had to tell her. This was the tricky bit, where he could win her, or lose everything. If only he could make his damnable tongue form the right phrases, and in a hurried whisper, no less. “These last few weeks, I’ve…I’ve seen the truth. What I felt when I saw you again after…everything.” This was bilge. “Of course I couldn’t say anything. Or even think it. So I didn’t. I buried every feeling, every reaction. Got angry. It’s always so easy to get angry.” He wasn’t proud ofthat. “If only I’d just married you five years ago!”

“Shh.” She held up a warning finger. “That wouldn’t have worked,” she murmured, as if saying something he ought to realize.

“It might have. Who can say? We have a great deal in common. And those kisses.” He met her blue eyes. Fenella flushed. With pleasure at the memory, he hoped. “I admire and respect you. I think of you constantly.” More bilge. How did other men do this?

Roger’s horse stamped and shook its head, repelling flies. Its harness jingled sharply in the silence. Fenella froze, wondering if the sound had carried across the dip. Briefly, she thought it had not. But then Tom’s voice rang out, louder than before, as if directed across the thicket. “I reckon that snake’s gone to ground,” he said. “We ain’t going to find it again. Let’s go down to the stream and look about there where it’s cooler.”

“But these bushes must be full of specimens,” replied John. His voice came from the far end of the bushes, moving closer.

Roger closed his eyes and shook his head. Clearly he wasn’t pleased at the interruption. Fenella wasn’t either, but perhaps it was fortunate. What might she have done otherwise?

“And thorns,” said Tom. “They’ll rip your coat to pieces. Your aunt won’t care for that.” Something in his tone made Fenella certain he’d heard the horse and guessed at their presence. Was Tom warning her? Fenella wondered.

“The berries look awfully good,” said John.

She had a wild urge to call out that they were delicious. With a wry smile, she suppressed it.

“They’ll have some at Clough House,” said Tom. “With cream as well. Come along.”

“We can’t just give up.” And with that John rounded the end of the thicket and came into sight on the slope above them. “Oh.” He stopped short. “Hullo, Aunt Fenella, Lord Chatton.”

“Hello, John.” Fenella gathered her full skirts and rose from the grass. “Have you found another snake?” For a place where reptiles were said to be sparse, there seemed to be a great many of them about.

John moved closer. “A little one,” he replied with his usual enthusiasm. “I’d have caught it if not for the brambles. I was that close.”

Roger stood, making a sound rather like a hiss himself. Tom rounded the bushes and joined them, nodding a greeting. “If the creature has any sense, it will stay in there,” said Roger. His irritation was clear, at least to Fenella. And to Tom, she thought.

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