He gave chase with a growl and a wave of warmth washed over him for her playfulness. He caught her within six yards andswept her up into his arms. “I told you I would carry you all the way to the bridge, my lady,” he said as she settled into his arms with a cry of delight and a giggle, her arms going round his neck.
*
Her heart wasbeating so fast she wouldn’t have been surprised if he could hear it. The flood of joy made her laugh out loud—she couldn’t contain it.
“Robert, this is ridiculous—I can walk!” She felt she should protest, but she secretly loved it.
She had never flirted and played like this before with a man, and the duke’s masculine strength, the hard lines of his body, his heat, his kisses, his obvious desire for her was making her drunk with happiness and an equally hot desire.
“This is your forfeit,” he said with a grin, but the softened light in his eyes made her heart turn over in her chest.Dear Lord, is there more to this than flirtation?A surge of longing for that to be true warred with fear that she was reading more into this lightness of spirit than was there.
He carried her easily to the old stone bridge that crossed the river and linked Littledon with its neighboring village of St. Swithin. He set her on her feet gently in the middle of the bridge and wrapped his arms around her waist to keep her close to him.
He kissed her nose and loosed one arm so that he could turn and survey the length of the river before and behind them.
“That is where the Monastery of St. Swithin is located,” she said, pointing to the other side of the bridge, and his gaze followed the direction of her arm. “The monks still make and sell wine, and very good wine it is, too.” She leaned on the bridge rail and looked down at the water, her heart still racing. He tightened his arm round her waist, drawing her closer against his side.
“You’re so different here at home, to what you are in London,” he said.
“Is that a good or a bad thing?” she asked with some trepidation.
“Good,” he said, bringing her chin round to face him. “I like big sister Sarah,” he grinned.Oh God, his eyes are so blue, I could drown in them.
“Well, you’re different, too,” she said with a smile, trying for light and playful, despite the thudding of her heart.
He looked down ruefully at the rocks below them, where the water ran, eddied, and splashed with the current. “You don’t like the duke much, do you?”
“I prefer you like this,” she admitted.
“I can’t get rid of the duke, you know. He’s part of me.”
“I know, but knowing there’s another side, a warmer one, makes him easier to accept.” She waited with bated breath to see how he took that.Would he be offended?
“I have a feeling you will bring out more of this side of me.” He leaned his chin into his hand, elbow propped on the rail, frowning abstractedly at the middle distance. “I never realized that was what I needed, but I think I do. Someone to balance me and challenge me. You do that.”
She gasped, a big wave of emotion taking her breath at this admission. “Th-thank you,” she said shakily.
He tightened his arm around her and then, straightening, pulled her round to kiss her. A light kiss, not the searing, knee weakening, devouring kisses of before. “Thankyou,” he said softly.
Oh God!She melted against him, burying her face in his jacket and he held her close in silence.
After a few moments, by common accord, they resumed their walk, making their way back toward the main street.
After supper that evening, Hepzibah very improperly begged the duke for a story. It was a family tradition on Saturday nights for someone to tell a story for the edification of the rest. The only stipulation was that it had to be a new story, not one the family had heard before. Sarah held her breath, hoping the duke wouldn’t refuse and squash Zibby. He could be devastating when he got on his high horse.
He appeared flummoxed at first, but then something must have occurred to him because he said, “Very well, I shall tell you the story of my ancestor who was made a knight by William Conqueror for valor in the field of battle. How does that sound?”
This was greeted with shouts of glee from the boys and Zibby and murmurs of approbation from the girls.
The children gathered round his feet on the carpet and the rest of the family took up seats on the sofas and chairs in the front parlor. Sarah sat beside him on the couch beneath the window.
“My ancestor’s name was Alain de Launde, which in English means Alan of the Forest Glade. Launde became anglicized as Layne in the twelfth century. Alain came to England with William of Normandy and fought in the Battle of Hastings in 1066. He was a part of William’s personal bodyguard; his role was to protect the standard-bearer who held William’s colors so that the troops would always know where he was on the field at any time.
“This was important for morale. The troops needed to know where their leader was and that he was still fighting, for if he went down or fled, they would also flee the field.
“Alain was young and fit and strong. In those days they fought in heavy chainmail, with bucket helmets on their heads, and they held great swords that took two hands to wield. I have some examples of these at The Castle that I can show you whenyou come for the wedding.” He smiled at the reaction he got from the boys to this.
“Really, sir?” Emanuel leaned forward, his eyes shining. “Jolly good! You hear that, chaps—real swords and armor!” Japh gave a whoop, and Zeke, not to be outdone, bounced in his place.
