He got to his feet.
How tall he was. Out here in the wilds, if you could describe this part of the estate in such a way, he appeared taller and more masculine and far less of the semi-invalid she’d taken him for. He had pleasingly broad shoulders and at the neck of his shirt dark hair curled. Enticing dark hair that had her heart performing a few more wild leaps. Perhaps it was having been married so young to a much older man that was right now making her imagine what this man, a young and handsome man, might look like divested of coat and shirt.
He held out his hand. “Would you care for any assistance in your search for mushrooms?”
Her heart began to beat ever faster and her knees felt quite weak. Well, so weak she feared she might collapse in a quivering heap on the damp grass. Whatever was happening to her? This was ridiculous. How could a man be doing this to her? She was an old widow-woman and she should not be feeling like this about a man. This man.
But she had to answer him. “Thank you, that would be most kind.” Her voice came out in a disturbing squeak. She cleared her throat and returned his smile.
He took the basket.
Now what?
He was looking down at her with an intensity that only made her weak knees worse. And he was very close.
“This way,” she managed and turned back towards the field, trying to push everything but mushrooms out of her head.
He caught her arm. “Miranda.”
She paused, breath held, head still turned away, unsure how to respond.
“You must know that I love you.”
He what? Had she heard him correctly?
Her back stiffened as his words sank in, words she’d longed to hear, but she didn’t turn towards him. Her breath caught in her throat. How did one respond to such a declaration? Geoffrey had not presaged his proposal with such an announcement. Sir Julian’s had been so unwanted. And this one? Yes, this was very wanted.
She kept her back turned, his touch burning through the thin sleeve of her gown to her skin. “Lissy told me you were not in the market for a wife.” How stiff her words sounded.
“I was not, because I didn’t know you. Now I do know you, I am.”
“Oh.” She could think of nothing else to say. And still she couldn’t turn to look at him. Her brain was in a turmoil.
“Miranda.”
“Yes?”
“Will you look at me?”
This took some resolution on her part. She drew in a deep breath and compressed her lips. Slowly, oh so slowly, she turned around and, even more slowly, she raised her head to look up into his eyes. And she was lost, just as she’d feared she might be.
“The usual response when a gentleman declares his love is for the lady to reciprocate, so I’m told.” He sounded unsure of himself. Did he think she didn’t feel the same? He must be very blind. Her face must surely betray her longing.
She licked her lips. “I…I was not looking to marry again…” The words came out small and uncertain. “I thought I was done with being a wife.”
He kept on gazing down at her and in a minute she was going to swoon straight into his arms if he didn’t look away.
“And then…” She hesitated, and then more words came tumbling over one another as if she couldn’t say them fast enough. “I’m an old woman, Harry. You need to find yourself a young woman who can give you the sons you’re going to need. A son to inherit Windrush…” Her words lacked a certain amount of sincerity, no matter how hard she tried to instil it into them.
His mouth quirked in a half smile. “You think I care about that? I’ve told you I love you, Miranda. I can’t stop saying your name. I love the very sound of it. I love you with every part of me. You are all I want. I don’t care if you can’t give me a son, or even a daughter. I’ll be more than happy to leave everything to your girls. Everything.” And now he chuckled. “And you are most certainly not an old woman. Never say that again or I might be forced to chastise you.”
He lifted a hand and put it under her chin, his fingers warm on her skin. “I mean to make you my wife, Miranda, and no one can stand between us. Except you. Tell me you don’t feel the same and I will desist.” He dropped the mushroom basket and clasped his other hand to his chest. “You will break my heart if you do, and I can assure you Iwill never recover, but I would rather not force you into something you are not completely committed to.”
“Harry…” Was she panting? She stared up into his eyes, her whole body quivering with longing. And then her knees finally did give up on her and what she’d feared happened—she collapsed towards him.
He caught her in his arms before she could fall to the ground and pressed her to his body as though it might be something he’d been longing to do. The world spun, and for a long moment all she could feel was her heart hammering against his as though it might burst, and the warmth of him, and the slight, clean aroma of his soap. She closed her eyes and breathed him in and one hand caught hold of his coat to hang on the better. She never wanted to let him go.
“Miranda.”
She dared to open her eyes. At first the world still seemed to be spinning around her in a way that wasn’t entirely awful, and then it settled and she found her face was only inches from his. “Harry…I…” She’d been about to tell him she loved him too, and perhaps he’d been about to kiss her, but both of them were far too late.
Sending clods of earth flying, a horse skidded to a halt only feet away.
“Unhand that lady, you despicable villain!” a furious voice roared out.
Sir Julian Horncastle leapt from his horse and Miranda found herself dragged from the safety of Harry’s arms. And forgotten. For Sir Julian, his face a startling shade of red, seemed to have misconstrued their meeting. Almost in the same movement as dropping her to the ground, he swung a fist at the startled Harry which connected with his jaw. He too bit the dust close beside Miranda. Only he had a trickle of blood running from the side of his mouth.
“You-you damned cad!” shouted Sir Julian, spittle flying as he stood over Harry. “You bounder. What the hell do you think you’re doing with my fiancée?”
