A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)

No, of course not. She knew her anxieties stemmed from their lovemaking yesterday. And last night. And very early this morning.

By all evidence, Toby had been well pleased with their use of the ancestral bed—as had she—

but Bel worried that he would regard her differently, now that she’d been so bold with him. Had any of his respect for her survived the night?

“Do you know, your little chickens tale started me thinking.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Me, thinking.” He gave her a self-effacing look. “Hard to credit, I know.”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant.”

“I know it.” Smiling, he took her hand in his. “But I was thinking, about what a supremely fortunate fellow I am. I get along with most everyone, Isabel. There are many people I like, many people I call friend—but in all my life, I’ve met few individuals I can honestly say I admire. Do you know what I mean?”

“Perhaps,” she answered carefully, worried about where she now fell in that divide. “But we each have a measure of goodness. Surely one can find something—some act or personal quality—to admire in any person.”

“Surely you can do so—but you are better than me. No, I can count only a small number of my acquaintances that I deem worthy of unequivocal admiration. Can you guess who they might be?”

“Your mother?” That was an easy guess. Isabel admired her mother-in-law, too, for her sharp wit and easy grace.

“Yes, for one. Mr. Yorke is another.” He laughed a little. “And if I ever wanted to start an interesting scene, I should gather them both in the same room and tell them so.” With his free hand, he picked up a fallen branch and swung it idly, swatting at the bushes and vines as they went. “Don’t you see? If there are only a handful of people I can admire in the world, how lucky am I? I was born to one of them, grew up a stone’s throw from another …” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “And now I’ve managed to marry a third.”

Bel’s heart warmed. How did he do it? How did he always intuit just exactly what she needed to hear and then speak the words so convincingly? It was beyond charm, it was … She didn’t even know what to call it. “Toby, that’s very …” Romantic? Generous? Undeserved? “…

sweet.”

“Sweet?” He hurried forward a step, then swung around to face her, halting her progress. Suddenly, his tone wasn’t teasing anymore—simply husky and soft. “It’s nothing to do with being sweet. I’m being honest.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

“You wouldn’t lie to me?”

“Lie to you?” Pausing, he gave her a little smile. “Never.”

And how could she doubt him, when he looked at her thus—with those amber-flecked eyes warm with admiration, wide enough to reflect all her hopes and dreams?

“I honestly meant what I told you yesterday,” he told her, skipping his finger from the crown of her head, to her brow, to the tip of her nose, to her chin. “I admire every part of you, inside and out. And I’m … I’m simply so very grateful.”

“Grateful?” she breathed. “For what?”

“For the fact you’re not wearing a bonnet this morning.” He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.

She almost laughed into his kiss, for in that moment Bel was grateful, too—and for an equally absurd reason. Not because she’d married a man who could turn her insides to jelly with a smile, or because he’d made her mistress of her very own lovely, lamb-plagued castle. Not even because she trusted him so implicitly, so completely that she could accept not only kisses, but pleasure and praise from these lips.

No, in that moment she was overwhelmed with a most vain sort of gratitude—for the fact that Toby was tall. Taller than she, when so many men weren’t. She would always have to reach for his kiss—stretch her neck, arch her feet—and feel just a bit girlish and uncertain and excited as she did. This kiss would never lose its thrill.

A giddy bubble of infatuation rose in her belly. By sheer force of will, she tamped it down. She may have lost the struggle against desire, but she was doubly resolved to guard her heart. Desire would inevitably fade—but love?

Love had a way of altering one’s priorities. And Bel needed to keep hers intact. She pulled away, and he growled deep in his throat.

“Yes, that’s enough of that,” he said, planting one last firm kiss on her lips before releasing her. “Else we’ll never make it to Yorke’s this morning.”

“Why is it we’re going there at all?”

“Just a matter of estate concern. It’s this business with the irrigation canal.”