Page 33 of To Follow her Heart

***

They paused for a while at the pretty twelfth century church of St Giles in the village of Bodiam to take a walk about the gravestones. High above the castle, upon a wooded hillside, the church overlooked the River Rother. The main attraction here was a medieval brass of a knight in armour, thought to be one of the de Bodeham family to whom the castle owed its name.

From here, the party walked to the impressive moated castle that dominated the tiny village. St Clair’s servants had come on ahead and, by the time they reached the castle, they had prepared a lavish picnic for them in the blessed shade of the castle walls.

“Goodness, isn’t that Bonnie?” Matilda exclaimed moments after they’d settled themselves down to the mouth-watering feast provided for them by their generous hosts.

Prue and Harriet looked up, both squinting into the sun and laughing as they saw one woman begin waving like a lunatic and jumping up and down.

“Yes, it is,” Matilda said, answering her own question with an amused smile.

Bonnie and Ruth were greeted with pleasure and excitement from the Peculiar Ladies, who hurried to introduce them to everyone they’d yet to meet before settling them down among in their company.

“We reached Holbrooke House far earlier than we expected,” Ruth explained, “and the dowager countess was kind enough to leave instructions as to your plans for the day, on the off chance we arrived in good time, so… here we are!”

“How wonderful it is to see you all,” Bonnie said, filling her plate with a generous helping of everything and beaming at everyone. “Though I hope this isn’t the sum total of eligible men, or the single ladies must fight over St Clair and his brother, Mr Baxter, and Mr Burton.”

“Bonnie!” Matilda scolded, trying not to laugh. “Do keep your voice down.”

“Yes, and your hands to yourself,” Kitty added with a smug grin. “Mr Baxter is mine. We’re engaged.”

Bonnie gaped, and at once demanded details which naturally took up the rest of the picnic as the romance of the story captured everyone’s attention.

Matilda forced back her concerns, not wanting to dampen Kitty’s obvious happiness, nor Mr Baxter’s, come to that, who had moved to join them once it became clear he was the topic of discussion.

“Are you telling dreadful stories, Kitten?” he asked, his voice so full of affection that Matilda told herself she was worrying over nothing.

The romance Kitty had told her about was every bit as strong and true as she had believed, that much was obvious to all. Yet, when the conversation lulled and he thought no one was observing him, she saw tension in Mr Baxter’s eyes, and she knew she had not been wrong. There was still trouble ahead.

***

Once everyone had eaten, the company dispersed to investigate the ruins. Kitty was not about to listen to a boring lecture on the history of the castle, not when there were far more interesting things to do.

“Luke!”

Luke turned as she called his name, a low whisper designed to reach only him.

From her secluded position, Kitty grinned as he searched for her. His eyes lit up as he found her, peering around a doorway and gesturing for him to hurry up and come. With amusement, she watched him check no one was looking before he moved. Luke would do nothing as foolish as not look thoroughly before he leapt, as he had always scolded Kitty for doing.

As he joined her, she grasped his hand and tugged him through what had once been the kitchen and on to the south tower, before climbing the narrow, winding staircase. Most of the other guests had joined a tour provided by a local historian, but Kitty would not lose an opportunity to be alone with Luke. Halfway up the tower she turned, discovering she was eye-to-eye with him as she stood on the step above.

She threw her arms about his neck and Luke grasped her waist, though his expression was reproachful.

“Kitty, you devil, we can’t—”

She cut the words off by the expedient move of pressing her mouth to his.

He groaned and pulled her closer, his arms closing around her, and Kitty sighed as the sound of his pleasure shivered through her. He was here, not a dream, not a figment of her imagination as she’d sometimes feared he was. She’d longed for him for so long and so badly that her memories of him had taken on a gilded, dreamlike quality that had begun to frighten her, but this was no dream.

Luke was here and flesh and blood and the absolute perfection of being in his arms made every moment of those years of longing and loneliness worth the pain.

He kissed her with slow, decadent kisses, allowing her the time to follow his lead, to learn this new intimacy that their childish affections had known nothing about. Kitty was all too eager to learn, this and everything else they had missed. They had wasted so much time thanks to a wicked old man and his ambitions.

She sank her hands into the thick warmth of his hair, pressing herself closer, aware of the hardness of his body, of the way his hands wandered, the rapid beat of his heart.

“Kitten,” he said, a warning to the words she had no intention of heeding. This was Luke, the boy she’d known like her own soul and she trusted him implicitly. “Kitty, we must stop …”

She illustrated what she thought of that idea by sliding her hands under his waistcoat, enthralled by the heat of his skin through the fine linen of his shirt, by the shape and feel of a man beneath her fingertips. There was so much more of him now than she remembered, and every inch hard and warm and so tempting.