At least he was making progress. Though she hadn’t had any more nightmares, she let him sit with her at night, rub her back, and talk to her about their day. It was an exquisite agony to be so close to her without being the least bit intimate, but he’d done his best not to think about that. He’d taken to going for long, hard rides through the countryside to release his pent-up desire. And when that didn’t work, he pleasured himself.
It was ridiculous, really. He’d gone months before without bedding a woman, and now all he could think about was making love to his wife. Undoubtedly because he knew he couldn’t. It had nothing to do with how fetching she looked in her night rail. Or how her merry laugh could instantly brighten his day. Or how her every motion seemed designed to seduce—
“Good morning!” said a cheery voice from the doorway.
Speak of the devil. She was of course wearing some treat of a gown that made him think of strawberries gilded with cream. That he wanted to devour.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You’re up early.” He frowned. “Not another bad dream, I hope.”
“No. I just . . . couldn’t sleep.”
Picking up the orange he hadn’t eaten, he asked, “Want me to peel this for you?”
She made a face. “I despise oranges and anything to do with them. The smell of them alone makes me sick.”
“Then I’d best dispose of this one.” He aimed at the open window and lobbed the orange right through it.
“It never ceases to amaze me how good you are at judging distances and trajectories.” She cocked her head. “Are you trying to impress me again, sir?”
“If lobbing oranges through windows impresses you,” he said, “I have a bowl of fruit I can juggle.”
She laughed. Coming over to sit next to him, instead of at the far end of the table, she saw the newspaper and sobered. “Anything in the Times to worry about?”
“Not that I could find.”
“Perhaps Durand has given up.”
“I doubt that. He’s probably plotting something—we just don’t know what it is yet.”
“Well, Mr. Doom and Gloom,” she said teasingly, “I think it’s time we got you out of the house.”
He eyed her with suspicion. “Why?”
“Because you need more entertainment than throwing oranges. You need a dose of sun and warmth and leisurely exercise. We should do something fun in the outdoors.”
How he hoped that her idea of fun and his were the same. But somehow he doubted it. “What did you have in mind? Swimming?” Naked, preferably. “Going for a drive?” To somewhere they could be naked. “Riding?” Please let it be riding. But not on a horse. And definitely naked.
“I thought perhaps we could have a picnic.”
He blinked. “A picnic! Why would we do that when we have decent food right here in the dining room, served up on plates by well-paid servants?”
She rolled her eyes. “Where is your sense of adventure, Lord Blakeborough?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Nonsense. Everyone has a sense of adventure if the situation is right.” She pushed the newspaper aside. “In this case, we’ll start with something less challenging—a walk through the deer park, perhaps. I’ve already charged Cook with packing a picnic lunch for us, and after our stroll, we can have our luncheon by the stream between our estates.”
“Along with the flies and the snails.”
“I thought you liked the outdoors. You ride all the time.”
“Yes. Going neck-or-nothing with the wind in my face. Not sitting on the damp ground, surrounded by spiderwebs and squawking crows while I eat cold ham from a basket.”
“I had no idea you were so missish, Edwin.”
He scowled. “I am not missish. I just prefer my comfortable house to the vagaries of a forest.”
“Fine. Then I’ll go by myself.”
“You will not! Durand might be skulking about somewhere.”
She eyed him askance.
“Very well.” He sighed. “We’ll go on your ‘picnic.’ Though it seems rather silly to me.”
Nonetheless, a short time later, he was tramping through his land with a basket on one arm and his wife on the other. And surprisingly, he was enjoying himself. The sun brightened the barley fields, the sparrows were chirping, and every beech was in bud.
After a while, he found himself telling her about the various parts of the estate and the roe deer that lived in the park. She mustn’t have found it too boring, for she listened and nodded and asked questions.
It wasn’t long before three very enjoyable hours had passed. They headed to the stream to have their picnic, which he was still rather skeptical about. But when he saw her spread out a blanket, it cheered him. Blankets could double as beds, after all.
While she began to unpack the basket, he scanned their surroundings. To keep from dwelling on how lovely she looked beneath the dappled light of the trees, he said, “It seems that the flies and snails are absent just now.”
“You know perfectly well that it’s too early in the season for either.” She shifted to look out at the water and grew pensive. “I’ve always loved this stream. At this time of day, it glistens like a fairy highway leading to a magical realm.”
He snorted.