The next couple of hours passed in talks of land improvement, crop yields, field drainage, house repairs, cattle breeding programs and a myriad of other things. At his side, Abby took notes and made suggestions when appropriate. She really was a gem. This whole endeavor of restoring the estate would have been much harder, and a lot less pleasant, without her presence.
When they finally left the Polk’s cottage, leaving the family in much better spirits with the promise of immediate reparations, it was already lunchtime. They trotted for a few minutes, looking for a place to set their picnic.
“I seem to remember there was a stream in this area. It had a lovely spot with a couple of trees providing shade and a grassy shore.”
Abby smiled. “Yes, I know the place. I actually saw it once while visiting Mrs. Polk and thought it would be a perfect spot for a picnic.”
He smiled back, pleased she had had the same thought. “Well, today I’m making your wish come true, my lady. Lead the way. I’m sure you remember how to get there better than me.”
The spot was as lovely as he remembered. Even more so. The tree branches created a dappled shade. The grass was green and soft, and the water was clear and cool. Birds sang in the tree branches, creating a peaceful melody. Here and there, patches of small violet flowers carpeted the shore.
After leading the horses a few yards downstream and tying them loosely to a low tree branch that hung near the water so they could graze and drink, they chose the spot for their picnic. Next to the biggest tree, a mighty oak who stretched his branches in every direction and formed an umbrella over the little stream. Colin draped the quilt provided by the cook under the branches and started taking the wrapped packages of food out of his saddlebags.
Cook had thought of everything. There was cold roasted chicken, thinly sliced ham, cheese, fresh bread, a jar of preserves, and a raspberry pie. She even provided a corked bottle of wine and two elegant tin cups. Perfect.
They worked together in companionable silence to set out the meal and prepared their plates.
“Hmm, this is delicious. I don’t know why food tastes better outside.” She said, taking a bite of a piece of chicken and washing it down with a sip of wine.
He watched the smooth movement of her throat as she swallowed, and noticed how her tongue darted out over her plush lips to catch a droplet of wine. He had to avert his gaze in order to fight down a sudden and unwelcome rush of lust.
Those lips, deep pink and plump and tasting of wine and woman. He wanted to kiss them, bite them, suck them. Learn if they were really as succulent as they seemed. His cock swelled at the fantasy. He lifted a leg, leaning back against the tree trunk and placed a napkin over his lap to hide his inconvenience.
“The food is delicious. Why it tastes better outside, it might have to do with our appetites after the ride,” he said in an attempt to maintain a civilized conversation to help distract him from an appetite that had nothing to do with food. He wanted to devour her. Lay her down on this blanket, strip her naked in the dappled sunlight, and kiss her whole body.
He would start on her lips, nuzzle her cheeks, lick the outer rim of her delicate ear, then progress lower over her elegant neck. After paying homage to her luscious breasts, he would kiss his way down over her gently curving stomach to the place he sought most. She would open her thighs to him and he would lower his head to feast–
“Would you like another bite, my lord?” She asked, passing him the meat platter.
He coughed to disguise how close she was to the truth. He was sure a bite of her would be the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. But alas, she wasn’t attracted to him, so his day dreams were for naught.
“I’ll try a piece of ham now.” He responded with the part of his brain not completely consumed by lust.
She speared a slice with the fork and leaned over to place it on his plate. Her movement made him catch a wisp of her fragrance. Fresh and wholesome, like her. A mix of lavender with some other herbs and a hint of vanilla. This woman was all that was delicious and tempting, and his cock was painfully erect now. He needed a distraction.
“So, tell me about my father. How was he towards my stepmother and sister?” There, talk of his father was sure to deflate his ardor.
She shrugged. “He wasn’t unkind. But he was absent a lot. He spent most of his time in London. Only coming maybe once a month for a couple of days. He seemed like a cold sort of man.”
He snorted bitterly. He well remembered his father’s cold detachment. Why would it be any different with his second family?
“So their marriage wasn’t a love match?” he asked curiously. He had always assumed his father must have remarried for love. If not, why bother? He already had an heir, and he could find female companionship whenever he wished.
“I don’t know at the beginning. I’ve only been with the countess for the last five years. They were always very polite towards each other, but it didn’t seem like a love match.”
“I see,” he said pensively, archiving this information in the thin folder he had about his father. “How about your marriage? Was it a love match?”
Her eyes snapped to his, face paling, looking like a cornered doe. She shook her head.
“I-I don’t want to talk about my marriage.” And she gulped another mouthful of wine.
Her distress affected him down to his core, but could not regret the question. He wanted to know everything about her. Had her reaction been caused because she had loved her husband so much that his death still caused her pain? Or was it something else? He couldn’t pry anymore now, of course. She had been very firm in her refusal to talk about it.
He poured her another cup of wine and changed the subject. She relaxed visibly, probably thinking he had given up the subject. Nothing could be further from the truth. He was more determined than ever to find out everything about her. He just had to bide his time.
Her tongue became more and more loose as she drank the wine. He kept the conversation general, avoiding any potentially prickly subjects. He told her more about his life abroad, the hospital he had helped found, and his work as a doctor. At her request, he told her more about his mother, whom she seemed to admire.
By the end of the meal, she was reclining on her side on the blanket, her head propped in her hand. In the other, she held one of the raspberry tarts, eating it with dainty little bites. He had never seen her so relaxed or so beautiful.
