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John took a sip of wine. When he set the glass back on the ground, he stretched out comfortably on the blanket.
“He is a good worker. And works twice as hard as anybody.” He popped a grape in his mouth.
“But you still have a lot of work on the estate, don’t you?”
John nodded absently and popped another grape. “Adding one good worker isn’t enough. I need dozens more if we are to farm in time, so we have a decent harvest in autumn. We also need to patch up old cottages for winter, clear the roads, not to mention our manor.”
Sam nodded. She’d come up with an idea while in Linda’s cottage the other day and had already put her plan into motion. If what John said was true, then her surprise would work out excellently for him. She smiled in anticipation of his reaction.
“What about you?” he asked and looked at her inquiringly.
Samantha wrinkled her nose. “The manor needs a lot of work. So I spend my days planning the grand renovation, buying the new furniture, and writing letters. All the pleasant things of being a mistress.”
“You like it then?” He sounded surprised.
“I do. In all honesty, I thought I would be bad at this. Isabel always took care of everything, I barely helped with the chores. But our estates were well-established. I like that I get to build our manor from the ground up and set it up just the way I like it. I have my sketchbook filled with ideas for every room.”
“I would love to see those,” he said with a smile.
“You would?” Samantha’s eyes grew wide. She’d never considered that he would have any interest in this. “I thought it didn’t matter to you how I decorate the house.”
“It doesn’t.” John shrugged. “I just want to see your sketches.”
Sam’s heart grew warm from his words.
“Come here.” John beckoned her with his hand, and Sam shifted closer to him.
He tugged on her hand, and she collapsed on top of him with a yelp. He took her face between his hands and kissed her gently. His lips brushed hers, barely touching, like the wings of a butterfly, and she sagged against him in surrender. He continued feather-light kisses on her lips, then moved on to her eyes, her cheeks, and jaw.
Sam’s hands drifted up his shoulders out of their own volition and entwined at the back of his neck. John turned her lightly until he was on top of her and moved his mouth to her throat. He kissed her more urgently now, licking at the place where her pulse thudded against her skin, and then even lower. She wished she could revel in his kisses and lose control of her mind, but she knew where this eventually led and she stiffened under him. He raised his head and looked into her frightened, wide eyes.
She thought he would be angry with her or upset, but he just kissed her mouth as gently as he could and smiled at her.
“It’s all right,” he said. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
“I am not,” she said without conviction. He shifted his weight from her and rolled to the side without letting her go, holding her so they were still facing each other.
“It’s all right,” he repeated, smoothing her hair. “I know I’ve hurt you, but I didn’t mean to do it. It had been too long, and I lost control.” He brushed his thumb over her cheek several times in a subtle caress. “But I shan’t hurt you anymore.”
“I don’t want you to stop coming to my bed,” she said, almost panicked.
His lips twitched as if he was holding back a smile.
“There must be something wrong with me,” she said softly. “I heard people saying that some women are just like that. They call them frigid, unable to relax and enjoy the act… I suppose I am like them.”
She looked up into his eyes to see fury there. She was frightened of that exact reaction. If he knew there was something wrong with her, he would definitely stop coming to her. Why did she have to go and open her big mouth? But in the next second, his eyes gentled.
“Sweetheart,” he said softly, “my lovely Angel.” He kissed her on the mouth, teasing her with his tongue. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you. I promise you.”
“How can you say that when I know that it isn’t like that for other women? I mean, I always hear about ladies flocking to St. Clare.”
John’s face contorted in a grimace, but Sam continued, unrelenting.
“Or, if you’re right and it’s not me then maybe your… your”—she waved her hand at his crotch—“your male organ is just too large for me.”
John’s lips twitched in laughter, but she continued, thoughtfully, “Perhaps it doesn’t hurt with all men. Perhaps that’s why women prefer St. Clare. His male organ must be too small to inflict pain—”
She was interrupted by a strangled sound from her husband, and she looked up at him. He made another choked sound before dissolving into fits of laughter. He dropped to the ground and wheezed with mirth. Sam had never seen John laughing like that. He looked so carefree and joyful that she couldn’t help it; she laughed too.
