He made his way to the front of the house where a neat trellis of yellow roses was just coming into bloom. Mary stood in the doorway speaking with Simons. “Good morning, my lady.”
Smiling, she gracefully descended the steps and held out her hand. “Good morning to you, sir.”
Kit thought he saw the butler’s lips tilt up the tiniest bit but couldn’t be sure. No matter, soon he and Mary would be wed, and the staff would have no cause to worry about her. Simons entered the hall, leaving Kit alone with her. “Allow me to help you into the carriage.”
She started to place her foot on the step when he suddenly gave in to the need to lift her into the carriage, depositing her gently on the seat.
Her eyes widened. “Goodness. No one has ever done that before.”
He had never done that before either, and in future he’d ensure no other man ever had the opportunity. “I hope you don’t mind my groom appropriating your horses. Would you like to drive?”
Mary settled her skirts. “Thank you for asking, but maybe later.”
“Ah, you are going to assess my skill. I do not suppose you’d be impressed if I told you I am a member of the Four Horse Club?”
“Are you really?” she asked in an amazed tone. “Barham has wanted to be a member for years. Unfortunately he’s a bit ham-handed. My father was a member, though.”
“Yes.” Kit coughed. Should he tell her he’d been one of those blackballing poor Barham? “I am aware of your brother’s attempts.”
“Oh no!” Mary’s light laughter filled his soul. “I know it’s terrible, but even his wife won’t allow him to drive her. He sulked for days when she agreed to allow me to tool her around in my phaeton.”
Kit threaded the ribbons through his fingers. “In that case, I definitely wish to see your skill.”
As they drove around the estate, she introduced him to his tenants. Everyone, it seemed, knew he was here and took their cues from her. Once they saw she was friendly toward him, their skepticism turned to acceptance. From the way all and sundry were acting, he could not imagine either the Rose Hill servants or his dependents believing he and Mary were not husband and wife. If he didn’t soon win her agreement to wed him, there would be the devil to pay.
Toward midday, he directed the carriage to a wooded area by the river. After unhitching the pair, he led them to a shaded spot where the horses could drink and munch on the spring grass.
He took out the hamper and blanket and carried them to a flat area near the water. Mary helped him spread the blanket out on the ground and soon the food was unpacked. Cook had given them enough for days: Cheeses, bread, hothouse grapes, cold beef, and chicken made up the meal.
“This is my favorite spot on Rose Hill.” Mary gave a small sigh as she settled elegantly on the blanket.
He reclined on the other side of the dishes, finally able to relax a bit. It appeared his plan to woo her was working. “That is what I was given to understand.”
A light pink colored her face. “Thank you.”
“It is my pleasure.” He accepted a piece of cold chicken from her and bit into it. “This is excellent.”
Her blush deepened. “Do you like it? It’s an old receipt I found. The chicken is soaked in herbs over night.”
“I have never had chicken that was so delicious.” He didn’t know any other woman, not even his mother or grandmother, who knew as much about cooking as Mary appeared to.
As she nibbled on a piece of local cheese, Kit couldn’t keep his eyes from straying to her lips. A sudden and almost overpowering urge to push her down to the ground and kiss her senseless coursed through him.
Which was exactly what he should not, could not do.
He was not a barbarian. Thus far he’d successfully ignored the fact that Mary slept mere feet away from him, that he could hear her sing when she was in the bathtub and naked. He couldn’t ruin everything now. Mary may have to wed him, but he would court her properly.
Her small, even teeth bit into a piece of bread, and the tip of her tongue licked a crumb from the corner of her lips. His heartbeat quickened, and Kit stifled a groan. When had eating become so erotic?
No kissing until you are betrothed.
Reaching over, he grabbed the jug of wine and removed the cork. “Would you like some?”
She sat up straighter, cleaning her fingers with a serviette. “Yes, thank you.”
Rather than actual glasses, the cook had packed old-fashioned pottery wine cups. He filled one for Mary, bending sideways to place it next to her. At the same time she moved to take it. Their fingers brushed and their lips were only inches apart. She stilled, her eyelashes fluttering down.
Kit’s heart thudded as he backed up slowly, attempting to get his baser instincts under control. No matter how much he wanted her, there would be no sampling the wares. Everyone around her was trying to manage her life. He must allow her to make her own decisions . . . to a point.
