But he could be here, with her. He could listen, and hold her tight.
So he did. Bram wrapped her in his arms and clutched her close to his chest. She put her head on his shoulder and wept. He held her like that for several minutes, murmuring words of comfort in her ear. Lending her the warmth and strength of his body until the tremors ceased racking hers.
When at length she raised her head and drew a deep, shaky breath, he led her to one of the corner arbors. “Come, let’s sit down.”
“I’m so sorry. Your knee.”
“No, no. It’s not that.” He pulled her down to sit with him. The arbor bench was narrow, and it would only accommodate the two of them if she sat half in his lap. He slid one arm about her waist. Her slender, stockinged legs twined with his knee boots. One of her slippers fell to the grass.
“Here.” With his free hand, he wrested the flask from his pocket. He unscrewed the top with his teeth, then spat it aside. “Have a sip of this. It will help.”
He raised it to her quivering lips, and she took a healthy swallow. Immediately, she seized up with a violent coughing fit.
“Sorry,” he said, patting her back. “You’re so proficient at shooting and Latin and so forth, I forget you haven’t mastered every manly pursuit.”
She cleared her throat and gave him a wry smile. “This is one I hadn’t tried yet. As for the others . . . I just wanted something in common with him.”
“I know, love. I know it well.” He brushed the stray hair from her face. “It was always the same with me.”
She rubbed her face with her hands. “He promised me, Bram. He promised me so many things, and I was such a fool to believe. He told me he’d look after himself, stop causing me so much worry. And now this cannon business.” A bittersweet laugh broke through her tears. “He told me once, long ago, that Rycliff Castle was mine. Did you know that? It was my prize, he said. My reward for recovering. He encouraged me to store all my hopes and dreams there, and then . . .” She reached for the flask and took another nip of whiskey, swallowing with a grimace. “And then one afternoon, he just gave it away.” Her tearful eyes met his. “To you.”
“I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s nothing. Only a girl’s foolishness. But I’m a foolish girl, it seems.” She sniffed and laid her head to his chest. “He promised me I’d be safe, that summer in Norfolk. That time spent there would be . . .” Her voice pinched. “Would be good for me. Now I know, he just wanted me out of the way. You heard him earlier. How he said I’m always becoming overwrought, holding him back. That summer, I must have proved too difficult to ignore.”
“Hush, love. Hush.” He pressed a kiss to her crown. “Don’t distress yourself so.”
Her fingers curled around his lapel. “And all this might be somehow bearable, if I had you. But now you’re leaving. Tuesday. I don’t know how I’ll survive it. I love you so much.”
Just like that, his heart danced a nimble little waltz in his chest.
She loved him.
She’d said as much inside the house. Four times, if he recalled correctly. But with every repetition, she only heaped more joy atop joy. He was well and truly wallowing in it now.
“Please don’t go,” she whispered, clutching his coat. “Don’t leave me.”
Her eyes held so much heartrending doubt. As if he would be the second man today to destroy her trust. He didn’t know that he could find the words to convince her otherwise, so he answered with a kiss instead. He lowered his lips to hers, meaning to give her a chaste, reassuring peck.
But she had other ideas.
Her lips parted beneath his, inviting and lush. Drawing him in. Welcoming him home.
God. Yes. That first taste of her, after long days of separation, sent lightning forking through his body. A low groan rumbled from his throat.
They kissed hungrily, trading light nips and deep passes of their tongues. Susanna came alive in his arms, seized by some kind of sensual frenzy. She clutched his shoulders. Pushed aside his lapels to rub her br**sts against his homespun-clad chest. Speared her fingers through his thick, cropped hair and twisted in his lap, driving their kiss deeper still.
Perhaps it was that small taste of whiskey—but in all their previous encounters, he’d never known her to be this aggressive. Her hands were bold. Her lips and tongue made demands.
Bram found he rather liked it. He liked it a great deal.
“Don’t leave me,” she urged, licking over his pulse. “Hold me, close and tight. Promise you’ll never let go.”