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How dare Sawyer surprise her while she was in the shower? How dare he bring her sexual fulfillment—not once but twice? How dare he leave without explanation?
She was so confounded by his behavior she didn’t know what she was most upset about.
How dare Sawyer twist her in knots.
Of course, she’d been an active participant in their romantic interlude. She’d told herself she was going to remind him just how incompatible they were—the bohemian, wayward daughter and the aristocratic lord. But events hadn’t unfolded in the way she’d expected.
Her cheeks flamed as she replayed the scene from last night. Sawyer had shown a greater mastery of her body and all its pleasure points than any man she’d ever known.
And then he’d left abruptly.
Was it because he’d come to his senses and realized the two of them were, in fact, a crazy pairing?
She felt an unexpected squeeze around her heart.
Her cell phone beeped, indicating she’d just received a text message, and she got up to retrieve it from where it was recharging on a nearby table.
When she reached her phone, she realized the message was from Sawyer.
Tour the Cotswolds with me at eleven. The guests will expect it.
Before she could reply to the text, however, she heard a discreet knock on her sitting room door and went to answer it.
When she opened her door, she discovered Sage, one of the maids she’d been introduced to, standing in the hall.
“My lady,” Sage said, “his lordship sent me to attend to you.”
“Thank you,” she replied, wondering what Sage thought of the lord and lady of the house communicating at arm’s length on the morning after their wedding. “However, I do not require anything at the moment.”
She looked down at herself. She was wearing an oversized T-shirt and well-worn pajama bottoms. She hadn’t even bothered with a robe. No doubt about it. She was hardly countess material.
For Sage’s benefit, though, she added, “But please tell his lordship I will meet him for our tour as planned.”
Sage hesitated for a moment, as if perplexed, but then nodded and retreated.
As Tamara closed the door, she thought about how Sawyer was a blend of the modern and archaic. He’d sent a text message and a lady’s maid within moments of each other. He had a Manhattan town house suited to a media baron and an English country estate worthy of an earl.
But, she reminded herself, they were still hardly compatible. Sure, he’d surprised her on several fronts, but just because Sawyer had shown signs of being less buttoned-down than she’d dismissed him as being, it didn’t mean they weren’t oil and water.
She was thoroughly modern. More than slightly bohemian. Independent and American.
She and Sawyer were proving compatible in the bedroom, but as she well knew, much more was involved in a successful marriage.
As Tamara walked alongside Sawyer through the nearest village, she couldn’t help but be impressed again with the natural beauty of this part of Britain.
Traditional thatched-roof cottages clung together in little groups under the late-morning sun, and everywhere the local golden limestone was in evidence, from low-lying walls to the exterior of homes and businesses.
The setting was picturesque, and it fired her imagination. She wanted to go home—no, sit in the fields—with her sketchbook and design something inspired by the local landscape.
The locals all hailed Sawyer by name, and he introduced her as his new countess.
This meet-and-greet, she thought, had been Sawyer’s purpose in proposing a walking tour of the local village.
Fortunately, she’d dressed for the role of the new mistress of Gantswood Hall. Before she’d left New York, she’d made sure to buy clothes that would be more appropriate to wear during her trip than her usual attire. Her flowered blouse, A-line blue skirt and ballerina flats complemented Sawyer’s blue shirt and beige pants.
Yet she’d refused to disguise herself completely. Her favorite self-designed earrings completed her outfit.
She’d expected Sawyer to frown at the sight of such loud accent pieces. Instead, strangely enough, he’d smiled.
She and Sawyer left the baker’s shop and sauntered down the street, and Sawyer picked up her hand, lacing his fingers with hers.
At the moment, there was no one approaching them, so she had a brief window during which to speak her mind.
“I’m hardly going to be the Countess of Melton long enough for all these introductions,” she protested in a low voice.
Sawyer shot her a sidelong look. “Nevertheless, the locals expect it. There would be raised eyebrows, and likely some degree of affront, if I didn’t introduce you.”
“I see.”
Of course, she did. Sawyer was simply performing his duties as earl. And as his countess, she now had her obligations, as well.
“The villagers have all been friendly and welcoming,” she added. “And everyone appears to like you.”
Sawyer looked amused. “You’re surprised?”
She’d heard tales from the locals of his do-good nature, from his initiatives in local eco-friendly improvements to his charitable endeavors.
Aloud, she said, “Perhaps they’re seeing only one side of you. The beneficent one.”
Sawyer stopped and laughed, swinging her to face him. “And you, I suppose,” he said in a low voice, “have seen others?”
She searched his face and remembered last night—seeing him nearly na**d and clearly aroused.
“Did you like my other side?” he asked, his voice a caress.
“Why did you leave so abruptly?” she countered.
“Why do you think?” he responded. “If we’d continued, I would have fulfilled your expectation that I wanted to bed you as a novelty.”
She was surprised by his forthright answer. “And that isn’t what you were looking for when you appeared during my shower?”
His lips quirked. “I’m thinking you’re a lot more complex than a novel shag—”
Her eyes widened.
“—and the earl is only one part of who I am.”
He held her gaze for a moment longer, and then looked up the street.
She turned, too, and noticed a passerby was approaching.
Their private conversation was at an end.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Humor me,” Sawyer responded, capturing her hand from where he lay on the picnic blanket set near a small duck pond.
It was a glorious summer day, with the occasional puffy cloud drifting overhead, and they had a basket of wine and cheese and French bread with them.
