“Are we going to do it again?”
His lips pressed against her forehead stopped moving. “Would you like to?” he asked, and she felt him aroused and strong.
Her answer was to reach down and boldly brush the length ofit, no longer timid. And this time, making love was even better than the first.
There didn’t seem to be a need to get dressed, so they didn’t.
The furnitureless bothy became their own Garden of Eden. It could have been furnished with the richest stuff, and Lyssa would not have been happier.
They spent the rest of the day listening to the rain and making love until Lyssa ached in places she didn’t know could ache, and still she yearned for more.
When they weren’t making love, they talked, their topics covering anything and everything. He confessed his worry for his nephew Liam. She made him laugh with stories of what a disaster she’d been in Society. He’d kissed her nose and assured her that if he’d been present he would have swept her off her feet.
Of course, Lyssa was no fool. She noticed Ian did not mention the future and she tried not to let her fear show. There was only the here and now. Nor did they speak words of love…but she knew. She knew. Even though she hadn’t the courage to say them first.
They didn’t leave the next day either. The rain had stopped but the sky was still threatening, or so they convincedthemselves, and that seemed to be as good a reason as any to stay where they were.
Ian found a stream close by. From his magic knapsack he pulled hook and line and caught fresh fish for their lunch and supper. The filets, cooked over an open flame, were delicious after a diet of dried beef and catch-as-catch-can.
That evening, she went with him to tend the horses. Ian wore nothing but his leather breeches and she left off stockings and shoes. The tall grass tickled the bottoms of her feet, making her laugh. She’d never been so happy.
The stallion’s bullet wound was healing nicely thanks to Ian’s salve. “What’s in this?” she asked, giving the tin a sniff.
“Lobelia flowers.” He ran his hand down the horse’s flank.
“Anything else?”
“Goose grease.” He straightened, brushing off the horse hair that had stuck to his fingers. “Simple enough, hmmm? I received the recipe from a Portuguese woman known for her abilities as a healer. In the army, we all went to her before we’d go to any military quack.”
Lyssa pressed the lid on the salve tin. “And how did you manage to wheedle it out of her?” Her imagination could jump to obvious conclusions.
He threw his arm around her neck, pulled her close, and whispered in her ear, “I saved her son from a bullet.” He took the tin and dropped it back into his open knapsack on the ground.“The lad was where he shouldn’t be and almost took it from a French sniper.”
“Oh.” Lyssa shifted her gaze away from him. “So, I’m not the first life you’ve saved?”
“You’re the most important one,” he answered, brushing a possessive kiss against her temple. “Here. What shall we name our stallion?”
Our stallion.Lyssa leaned her back against Ian’s chest. “I don’t know. It must be a grand name, but not something Gaelic.”
“ ‘Davidson’s Pride’ won’t work?” he teased and she elbowed him in the ribs.
“What about Fortune? Irish Fortune.”
His arms came around her and he rested his chin on her head. “I didn’t know there was such a thing.”
“There is,” she confirmed, covering the hands he pressed against her stomach with her own. “I’m discovering a good Irishman creates his. And the truth be known, I have a weakness for self-made men.”
There, she’d made the first tentative step forward to what was in her heart. She held her breath, waiting for his response.
“I want to believe,” he said softly.
“I do, too,” she confessed
His arms around her tightened. He held her close, then said, “Lyssa, we must return to London.”
She felt her heart drop.
“I must face your father,” he said.
