The breeze swirled around them bringing the scent of crushed grass, musk, salt, sweat. Heaven. Sophie closed her eyes and slept.
She woke to the sound of pigeons cooing overhead, the distant sound of sheep and the awareness that she was alone on the crumpled greatcoat. ‘Cal?’
He came back through the wood carrying the water bottle and a large handkerchief, poured water over it and hunkered down beside her to wash her hands.
‘You are dressed.’
‘I thought it best. We can hardly stay here naked in the woods for the rest of the day, although you tempt me.’ He picked up her clothes and began to shake them out and hand them to her. Stockings and garters, chemise, stays. He knelt to lace them, then found her shirt.
He knows the correct order to put things back on again as well as being an expert in taking clothes off, Sophie thought ruefully as she fastened her skirts and shook them out. ‘I don’t suppose you have a comb.’ It was strangely reassuring that he shook his head. At least the man did not go out equipped for al fresco seduction.
She managed a reasonable braid with the aid of a piece of leather thong that Cal found in the saddlebag, then he tossed her up into the saddle, mounted the grey and led the way down the track away from the castle, whistling.
Sophie urged the bay gelding up alongside. ‘Where has Hunt got to?’
‘He will be back behind us now, covering. Look, there’s the herd of fallow deer.’
Sophie followed his pointing finger and admired the herd, listened as he talked about the park and its history and thought about what it would mean to love this man and how she was going to raise a family with him unless they discovered the truth about his mysterious illnesses and the accidents that had driven him from home.
And then she looked across and saw his face, animated, engrossed, as he talked about the land and what it meant to him and she knew that duke or not, under threat or not, she was going to carry on falling in love with him and she would stand shoulder to shoulder with him to fight whatever threatened them, and the family they would have.
‘There is a man I could take a thoroughly irrational dislike to with no provocation at all.’ Jared lounged against the panelling of the drawing room and narrowed his eyes at the nearest group who were talking while they waited for dinner to be announced.
‘Who?’ Cal shifted his position so he could look down the room to the object of Hunt’s attention.
‘Mr Beautiful, the big blond.’
Eyebrows raised, Cal studied the men. ‘What, Ransome, do you mean.’ He was the only large fair-haired man close by. Jared grunted assent. ‘You would call him beautiful?’
‘Of course I wouldn’t. But the ladies do. Heard those two who are hanging on his every word rhapsodising over him when I was coming back from the stables. So beautiful, such a profile, oh those blue eyes,’ he mimicked in an unlikely falsetto that made Cal snort with laughter. ‘And he thinks he’s God’s gift to the female sex too. Look at him modestly exerting all that charm. Makes me want to apply the toe of my boot to his perfect backside.’
‘Jealous, Jared?’ He studied Ransome with covert interest. So that was what women thought made a beautiful man was it? Beside him his friend snorted. Ransome shifted, his gaze over the heads of the pair of worshipful bridesmaids. What was attracting his interest? Then he saw Sophie, laughing, as she turned away from Sir Tobias, caught the predatory, almost smug, expression on Ransome’s face as he looked at her and saw her expression freeze into a mask when she saw the man’s attention on her.
Jared, alert at his side, turned at the hiss that escaped him. ‘What is it?’
‘Nothing. My imagination, merely.’ Sophie, dismissing her lover as a beautiful man. What had she said about him? I was mistaken in him. From the evidence that Cal had gained that morning he labelled that man selfish and clumsy in the bedchamber and there in front of him was boundless arrogance hidden behind a handsome fa?ade and practiced charm. He had arrived with Sir Toby who admitted he hadn’t seen Ransome in years and Sophie, who had seemed completely well until the moment Ransome stepped down from the curricle, had suddenly vanished pleading a headache.
No, it was not his imagination, surely? But if he was right, then what was Ransome doing here? It wasn’t by Sophie’s invitation, that was certain, not with the way she was reacting to him. Cal put down his glass and, beside him, Hunt did the same.
‘Who are we going to kill?’
‘No-one. Stop it, this is not the back streets of Buenos Aires. Stay here, I am simply going to be the gracious host.’