Page 98 of The Unknown Birds

As they made their way back to the house amid the waning sunlight, the entire meadow came to life with a flickering, glowing waltz, and Ashley gasped.

“Glow-worms?” she asked and Rook nodded. “I’ve seen a handful in a jar, but never so many, not like this. Are you sure we’ve not been transported to a fairy world after all?”

“Blimey, Ash,” Rook teased, channeling TomTom. “You really are a city lass.”

Though Ashley found herself praying for time to stop, Saturday morning arrived as it always did, and the footman carried their luggage out to the Austin. Captain Davies came down, not to see them off, but with a bag of his own in hand.

“Are you returning to the city?” Ash asked on the way to the station, somehow both delighted to extend their visit and disappointed not to have Rook all to herself for the last few hours that remained.

“No indeed. I take another train today, north to Newtongrange to visit a familiar face—Logan Stewart. I’d like him to join our little band.”

Ashley’s heart leapt at the name. “Long-Leg Logan. I thought you said he hadn’t recovered his sight?” she asked Rook.

“No, that’s quite permanent, I’m afraid. But I have in mind some radio work. The sort of thing it wouldn’t do to write down in a letter, you understand.”

“Give him our best,” Rook said.

“Yes, please do. Though I understand if you’re not comfortable explaining everything.”

The captain’s eyes danced as they had on first seeing her. “You’ve snuffled out the real reason I want to go in person: to see his face when I tell him your secret.” To Rook he added, “I’ll send word when I’m back in town.”

“Thank you, Cap.”

Davies’s lips twitched. “It seems deuced priggish to pull rank, but if you’re coming back into the fold, you might remember I was promoted to major after my injury.”

Rook shrugged, and Davies sighed as though terribly put upon.

“Safe journey,” he said. “I’ll see you both in London?”

Ash nodded, and he clasped each of their hands before Rook tucked her against his side and they watched Davies go and catch his train to Scotland.

The railway car was crowded and stuffy, leaving Ash primly smashed against Rook’s left thigh. Her body lit with awareness at his every shift, their every touch, and she craved the way it made her feel alive.

By the time the train stopped long enough for them to stretch their legs, she was burning with desire, almost as though her skin knew their freedom was drawing to an end, and she wanted to seize it with both hands while there was still time.

Rook guided her down the platform to an empty carriage near the back of the train and, as though of a similar mind, he drew the curtains and wedged his cane against the handle like a lock.

The moment the train lurched away from the station without any poor unwelcome soul having tried to join them, Ash fell into his waiting arms.

Perhaps she should have been ashamed at how naturally she straddled his lap, but she was too wrapped up in grasping every shred of joy before they returned to the real world with real responsibilities and the ever-present threat of a real impending war.

He was just as eager, straining against his trouser zip, running his hands up her back and then around her sides, his gentle thumbs skimming her breasts, making her squirm despite the layers of clothing between them.

They kissed their way past Rugby and didn’t stop until someone jiggled the handle at the station in Bletchley. They both turned towards the door, breathless, but the passenger moved on to the next compartment and the train departed once again, leaving them safely to themselves.

Not wanting to lose another chance, Ash raised her brows, asking for permission as she took hold of his zip.

Eyes dark and hungry with desire, he nodded, and she smirked in satisfaction when his erection was finally free. She’d skipped wearing pants under her skirt for just this opportunity, and she was more than ready for him.

He rolled on a condom and growled contentedly as she slid down his rigid length, her eyes fluttering closed with pleasure.

“Both eyes open, soldier,” he whispered.

“Yes, sir,” she replied, locking onto the shadowy depths of his gaze and primly adjusting her skirt as though she weren’t riding every inch of him to their release.

Thus seated, his arms around her and his lips at her throat, he pulled sounds from her she’d never heard before—whimpers and moans—until he murmured, “Quiet, Little Bird, or the conductor will have us walking back to London Town.”

Then he captured her lips to hush her, before she had the chance to tell him she didn’t care if she ever got back to London because she was already well and truly home with him inside her.