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Glancing back at the house, he kept watch for Sunny’s return. It was a beautiful summer’s day—just days from midsummer—and he stood in the orchard, contemplating the fact it might be his last day here with Sunny, while watching the sunlight push through the heavy canopy of leaves above. It was a heavenly spot. The sun dappled across the grass below, turning it into a moving carpet of light.
He surveyed the crop of apples. The boughs were heavy with fruit, some even trailing down to touch the ground at their tips. He’d worked hard on the house and the gardens, repairing the thatch and bringing the land under control. Sunny’s home would prosper henceforth. Even while he labored, preparing for an enforced departure beyond his control, he grew angry and frustrated because he was unable to make the choice to stay by her side. If it was the last thing he did, he would protect her. He would gladly give his life rather than allow Nathaniel Fox to have his way with the woman he loved.
When he heard his name being called, he glanced across the orchard. Sunny walked down the path toward him, holding two glasses of freshly crushed apple juice. He smiled at the sight of her, admiring the gentle sway of her hips as she walked. She was a vision. She’d filled his life. He’d never met a woman like her, and he doubted he ever would again. “You’re like Eve, tempting me with your apple nectar.”
“Heh, you better believe it.” She set down the glasses and sidled up to him to give him a long, slow kiss. “If I’m Eve, this must be the garden of Eden.”
“Paradise...” He breathed her scent in. “Did your lesson with Celeste go well?”
“Yes,” she replied quickly. “Got back about fifteen minutes ago. I’ve just been doing some finishing touches to our special website.” She smiled at him. “It’s almost done.”
She’d been designing a guide to living in England in the early 1800s. It was a bit of history, and he hoped it would be useful to people who might be interested. They’d had a lot of fun putting the material together. The fact she’d done it for him was very special. Not that he fully understood the technicalities of the internet, even after nearly four weeks struggling to do so. He left it to her, turning his hand instead to the house and land.
He’d employed two local retired gentlemen to maintain the gardens and fruit bushes for Sunny from now on, while she was working, and he’d ensured Sunny would have a good crop of fruit and vegetables all year round. He’d also been able to negotiate a contract to supply a small local hotel with apples and summer fruits. Whatever happened, he was proud to have given her a bit of security. There was just one last thing he wanted to secure for her, and it necessitated a visit to his family homestead.
“Thank you.” He took her into his arms and kissed her forehead. Lord, the feel of her was so good. Would he ever truly be able to give that up? “Thank you for that—and everything.” He looked down into her eyes. They had long ago declared the depth of their love for one another.
She looked at him wistfully.
He knew what it was about. They had vowed not to speak of Nathaniel Fox until the time came to deal with it and he was steadfast about it. She wasn’t happy about the visit to Hollingswell either. Was that because it was his family home?
Sunny’s mother had sent her a framed embroidery for the cottage that read, ‘Home is where the heart is.’ Sunny said it was her mother’s way of telling them she approved of her life in Cornwall, after all. It was where his heart was too, but here in her time.
“Take that worried frown away, my love,” he added and smoothed his thumb across her brow. Perhaps she thought today’s planned trip to Hollingswell Hall, his family estate and the place where he’d grown up, would make him want to go back in time. He knew she feared the worst, that he was homesick. The fear was written all over her beautiful face.
He did need to see Hollingswell Hall right now, to strengthen his resolve about what was the right thing to do. And, more than that, there was something in particular he needed to do there.
“Yes, we must get on our way.” She adopted a breezy smile and glanced at her watch. “I’d like to get changed first. I’d like to wear something pretty to visit your family home.”
“What you’re wearing is pretty,” he replied.
“No, I must change into something appropriate.” She glanced away, as if avoiding his gaze. “I’ve got our picnic basket ready,” she quickly added, “and I called and checked, the first afternoon tour is at two-thirty. I’ll be ready in an hour, then we can get on our way. It’ll give us time to have our picnic on the grounds, before we take the tour.”
“Do we have to view the place with the tour guide?”
“Yes, because it’s only a small Heritage House, that’s the way they run it, for security’s sake.”
He nodded, disgruntled, for he felt sure it would make his task more difficult to achieve.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The picnic was wasted.
Dark clouds loomed overhead, casting long shadows over the grounds at Hollingswell Hall. They walked through the gardens before picking a spot to eat, but neither of them were hungry.
Something was wrong. Cullen had barely said a word to her since they’d left the cottage, and he’d hardly eaten anything at all.
“You feeling okay?” she reluctantly asked as she packed up the picnic basket.
He nodded, then looked at her outfit as if trying to make sense of it. “Yes, I’m quiet because I’m admiring you. You’re more beautiful than ever today.”
It was an excuse for his distraction, she knew it. But then she was equally distracted. Cullen hadn’t even noticed Aveline, Eben, and Rowena were strolling in the grounds too.
“Thank you.” She could scarcely look at him in case he guessed she’d glammed-up for another man. Man, or demon? She sighed.
Celeste had informed her that, amongst his other foibles, Fox liked a bit of sophistication in his women, and if she was going to convince him she was interested in what he was offering, it would be better to have him in a good mood. She’d dug out a dress she’d worn to a friend”s summer wedding the year before—the most expensive dress she owned, a long, sophisticated number in cream silk with dangerously thin spaghetti straps and a low scooped décolletage. It was impossible to wear a bra with it, but it was flattering and she did feel more confident in it. Goodness knows she needed any help she could get. She’d worn her hair up, grabbed some jewelry to wear, and gone overboard on the makeup. Her heels were high and elegant. Cullen hadn’t seen her dressed quite that way before now.
“I wondered at first if you’d forgotten your undergarments,” Cullen added, peering at her chest dubiously.
