Whomp.
Out of nowhere, something launched at him. A soft, warm missile that smelled like a garden and wore a sprigged muslin frock. He was caught off balance on his bad leg, and down they tumbled. He performed some heroic gymnastics to make certain he took the brunt of the fall, hitting the hillside with a dull oof.
She landed atop him. They tangled together on the ground, here in this small depression. The valley’s low ridges walled out any distant landscape. His whole world was blue sky, green grass . . . and her.
“Susanna.” Grinning like a fool, he wrapped his arms around her middle and rolled a bit, so that they faced each other, lying on their sides in the tall grass. “Where did you come from?” He skimmed a touch down her ribs. “You’re not hurt?”
“I’m fine. More than fine.” Gentle fingers smoothed the hair from his brow. “How are you?”
“I don’t know. I think I’m seeing double. Two lips, two eyes . . . a thousand freckles.”
“Nothing a little kiss won’t mend.” A smile curved her sweet lips. Then those sweet lips touched his. “I heard you were down in the village, and I couldn’t wait to see you. Why didn’t you come to Summerfield straightaway?”
“I had to stop in the village first. Had some business with Colin and Thorne. And then I stopped by the forge.”
“You went to see the blacksmith before coming to see me?”
He held up his hand between them and waggled his fingers. “Had to fetch this.”
Her gaze fixed on the ring stuck firmly at the second knuckle of his little finger. She gasped. “Goodness.”
She reached for it, but he teased her by holding the ring back. “Say you’re sorry for doubting me.”
The iris-blue hue of her eyes was sincerity itself. “I never doubted you, not for a second. I was merely impatient. Whether you go to the forge or to London or all the way to Portugal, Bram . . . I know you’ll come home to me.”
“Always.” He captured her lips in a kiss.
“Wait, wait,” she said, pushing away. “Ring first, kisses later.”
He harrumphed and muttered something about feminine priorities. He worked the ring loose from his own finger and slid it onto hers, where it rightly belonged. He loved the look of it there, snug and sparkling. “I thought you might like to have a ring made here, since we’ll be spending so much time in Town. This way, wherever we are, you’ll always carry a little piece of Spindle Cove with you.”
“Oh, Bram.” She blinked furiously, as though she were holding back tears. He hoped they were happy tears.
Suddenly unsure, he pointed out the ring’s features. “I had him use both gold and copper in the band, you see. Because your hair has both shades. And the sapphire reminded me of your eyes. Though your eyes are far more beautiful, of course.” God, this all sounded hopelessly stupid, voiced aloud. “I think Dawes did quality work with it. But if you’d prefer something finer, I can take you to a jeweler in Town or . . .”
She shushed him. “It’s perfect. I adore it. I adore you.”
Ring first, kisses later, she’d said. He claimed his forfeit now, taking her mouth in a deep, thorough, passionate kiss. Letting her know just how much he’d missed her, every minute of every hour of every day they’d been apart.
Some time later, she rested her head to his chest and gave a contented sigh. “Do you know what today is?”
“It’s Wednesday, Miss Finch.” He stroked her molten bronze hair. “But you’re not in the garden.”
She lifted her head. “I didn’t mean the day of the week. I meant, the significance of this particular day.”
He considered. “It’s . . . three days before our wedding?”
“What else?”
“Three days and two weeks before we move house to London.”
“Yes. And . . . ?”
Good Lord, what kind of devilish test was this? “I know. Three days and nine months before the birth of our first child.”
She laughed with surprise.
“What? I plan to be very industrious on our honeymoon. I hope you’re well rested, because you won’t be sleeping much that first week. You didn’t plan on seeing any of the sights in Kent, did you?”
They would be letting a country house for a blissful fortnight before moving to London. In Town, he’d arranged a temporary suite of rooms in the best neighborhood—just until Susanna could choose their house. He couldn’t wait to take her to London, as his wife. He looked forward to showing her more of the world, and watching Susanna come into her own.
“Today,” she informed him, “marks exactly six weeks since my injury. I am not only rested, but officially healed. And that means . . .” Her hand slid coyly down his chest, and she looked up at him through downcast lashes. “We don’t have to be careful anymore.”