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A small movement next to him drew his gaze, a movement he recognized. He homed in on it and, sure enough, there it was: a little frog. He bit his lip against a smile and glanced at Sebastian and Abigail. Abigail was throwing a napkin at Sebastian, who was now purposely being as messy as possible. Rafe discreetly scooped up the frog, holding it in his cupped hands. The little thing hopped around frantically.

Don’t worry, little mate. I won’t hurt you. Just some harmless fun.

Now to figure out the best way to do this. He scanned the area, attention landing on the tea service on the drink cart. He quickly stood and turned his back to hide his grin. “Tea, anyone?”

“That would be lovely, Raphael.”

“Mmf,” Sebastian said around whatever he was eating now.

Rafe carefully slid the frog under one of the upside-down teacups and brought over the tea service. He settled it on Sebastian’s blanket, making sure his little friend was closest to his brother.

“How do you take your tea?” he asked Abigail.

“Milk and one sugar lump.”

He poured his stepmother’s tea, and she smiled her thanks. Then he poured his, throwing in a couple sugar lumps, and pulling out his flask to top it off with some brandy. He arched a brow at his brother. And Sebastian nodded, reaching forward eagerly for his teacup.

Rafe had to bite his cheek hard to prevent giving himself away with a grin. Sebastian picked up his turned-over teacup, and the little frog sprang up, jumping on its chance at freedom. Which meant it jumped right into Sebastian’s cravat.

His eyes went wide, and he reeled backward. “Bloody buggering horseshite!” He tumbled over, arms flailing, teacup soaring off. And the little frog hopped off him into the grass, making his way to freedom.

Rafe couldn’t hold his mirth back any longer; he broke down laughing. He glanced Abigail’s way, and she was covering her grin with the back of her hand, her shoulders shaking with her own mirth. He caught her eye and stilled. Amusement shone brightly back at him—from eyes that glistened with threatening tears. She shook her head at him and reached over quickly to squeeze his wrist, her smile trembling.

He swallowed hard against the thickening in his throat. He understood. The happiness hurt. When one experienced it as rarely as he did, it was like living life in the dark and suddenly being exposed to light.

Blinding.

Harsh.

Overwhelming.

He turned back to his brother, who was glaring daggers at him. “I will get you back; I hope you know.”

Rafe smiled lazily as he lifted his teacup to his lips. “I’d like to see you try, brother.” He took a sip. Notes of tea, sugar, and caramel filled his senses, warmth burning down his throat.

Sebastian growled and thrust his cup at Rafe. “You best be extra generous with the brandy after that.” The indignation his brother was attempting would have been much more effective if he weren’t also donning a grin so large it appeared about ready to split his face in two.

Rafe reached over and poured a drop into his brother’s cup. A chuckle burst from him at the outrage playing over his brother’s face. He tipped the flask and poured in a healthy amount.

Sebastian lifted his nose. “Much better.”

Rafe bit his cheek, trying to hide his smile. But couldn’t quite manage it.

They continued their picnic. It was peaceful, enjoyable—until Sebastian declared war, pelting Rafe with a deluge of bread pellets. And nothing shocked Rafe more than when Abigail joined in, launching a secret attack with Sebastian.

Rafe lifted his hands in front of his face, ducking to protect himself from the relentless barrage. “I surrender!” he said between laughs.

There was definitely no reason for him to stay.

26

Theo

Theo’s eyes fluttered, and she squeezed them against the morning light. She rolled her neck from side to side, trying to rid herself of the stiffness of sleep. Her hands were unbound, which meant the Duke would be gone. He was most mornings, except for the ones where they woke up unable to resist each other. But that almost always involved him pressed up against her back, a certain something hard, ready and waiting between her legs.

She squeezed her thighs against the faint throb that remembrance brought on. Absolutely not. She shoved away all amorous thoughts because she needed to get up and start her day. It’d be a weak imitation without the Duke anyhow. She arched her back, really leaning into the stretch, and threw her arms out⁠—

“Bugger!”