And look he did, not only at the world as she showed it to him, but at her as well. Despite his resolve to take matters between them no farther than a bit of harmless flirting, he found himself wanting more. Wanting her. Desiring her with a need that seemed to deepen by the day. So far, he'd held his longing in check, refusing to give in to the desire that burned inside him like a barely banked fire.

If she weren't such an innocent, he would have taken her already. He knew she was far from immune to him and that he would have no difficulty acquiring an invitation to her bed. But she was was innocent. Which meant he would have to leave her s.e.xual awakening to the man who would one day become her husband, whoever he might be. innocent. Which meant he would have to leave her s.e.xual awakening to the man who would one day become her husband, whoever he might be.

Scowling at the thought, he forced himself back to the topic at hand. "You're right," he said. "No time to dawdle. We have fish to catch. You have been fishing before, have you not?"

"Of course. With my brothers. But I fear I must warn you that I can't bear baiting the hook. You'll have to do it for me."

He smiled. "Too squeamish?"

"No. I feel sorry for the worms. Imagine being skewered, then fed to a fish. Poor things." She shuddered.

Laughing, he held out a hand.

After a moment, she took it, and together they set out after the others.

"I think I've got one!" India declared nearly two hours later as she stood with her boots braced in the soft, gra.s.s-covered bank that overlooked the gently eddying stream.

She and Quentin were alone, the pair of them having walked some distance upstream from the others in order to find a calm spot where the fish were likely to be hungry and plentiful. Apparently, their strategy was working, since he'd already caught a lovely trout not more than fifteen minutes ago, and now she had a bite as well.

Tightening her grip on her fishing rod, she pulled back on the line and worked to reel in her catch. The lancewood pole bobbed sharply, confirming her suspicion that she had a lively one. The pliable wood quivered, the line growing taut as the fish struggled to escape.

"Keep at it," Quentin encouraged from where he stood several feet to her left. "Don't let him snag you up on a rock and break away."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Quentin secure his own fishing rod. Then she had no more time to watch him, since she was far too busy reeling in her line to pay attention to anything else-not even another enjoyable perusal of Quentin Marlowe's striking physique.

Having dressed with sport in mind, he wore a fawn waistcoat and breeches with a pair of knee-high black Hessians on his feet. And although he'd arrived wearing a coat, he'd stripped that off an hour earlier after seeking her permission to do so. As he'd told her, the sleeves were far too confining for fishing and the material far too warm for the rising August temperatures.

"Must be a big one," he remarked, as he drew up beside her.

Moments later, the fish popped out of the water, wriggling wildly on the hook. She fought to maintain the upper hand.

Quentin moved past her and steadied his feet on a rock along the edge of the stream, before leaning forward to grab the line and secure her catch. "What a beauty!" he called, holding the dripping fish aloft. "Two pounds if I don't miss my guess. We certainly won't be going back emptyhanded."

She smiled, pleased by her success. "I wish my brothers were here to see. They'd be green as chive cheese."

"Compet.i.tive, are they?"

"Horribly. Especially when it comes to sport. I've long ago washed my hands of their wagers and wrangling. Still a fish like this deserves some recognition, do you not think?"

"Indeed, it does. If you'd like I could frank a letter to each of them, providing a detailed description and an ink rendering of your catch. Or maybe an advertis.e.m.e.nt in the Times Times would be more fitting. I have a caption in mind already. would be more fitting. I have a caption in mind already. Lady wishes her brothers to know that she is the better angler! Lady wishes her brothers to know that she is the better angler!"

She laughed at his good-natured teasing, watching as he went to the creel he'd brought and laid the fish inside next to his own catch.

"Following on your earlier remark about cheese," he ventured. "What would you say to a small repast?"

"You brought food?"

"I most certainly did. No respectable angler ever comes out without something to eat."

Her stomach rumbled in approval of the idea. "Then I'd say you're brilliant, that's what. I've been famished for ages, but a.s.sumed we'd have to wait to return to the house."

"Nothing of the sort. Let's dip our hands clean in the stream, then we shall dine in style. Or at least on that big rock over there. I believe it looks wide enough to share."

Glancing across, she studied the large chunk of granite and agreed, noting that it was about the size of Lady Pettigrew's settee without the upholstery.

Minutes later found them seated next to each other, her feet dangling a couple inches above the ground. He handed her a handkerchief with a wedge of cheddar and a hunk of crisp, yeasty bread nestled inside. The rich, salty aromas made her mouth water.

Unable to wait an instant longer, she dived into the simple meal, finding it heavenly. "Umm, delicious," she p.r.o.nounced after a first swallow.

He ate a bite of the serving he'd prepared for himself, then nodded in agreement. "Just right on a fine summer morning."

They fell silent for a brief time, while they both enjoyed the meal, comfortable and relaxed with each other. She felt as though they'd shared moments like this a hundred times before. And yet in truth they were still strangers, their acquaintance numbered by mere days.

But still it feels like more, she thought. she thought. It feels like eternity. I'm being silly, It feels like eternity. I'm being silly, she told herself, shaking off the sensation. she told herself, shaking off the sensation.

In two days more, the country party would end, and she and Quentin would return to their usual lives and activities. She realized she didn't know what those were for him. Suddenly, she wanted to hear everything about him before it was too late to ask.

"Tell me about your estate," she said, breaking off a small bite of bread without eating it.

He glanced over at her. "What do you want to know?"

"Anything. Everything. I only know that it is located in Herefordshire near the Welsh border and that you have over five hundred tenants and a hundred servants to see to the Keep."

His mouth curved into a wide smile. "You already seem well acquainted with the subject. Gossip pages again?"

"They're very informative, as I've told you. Nevertheless, they only present facts without any real substance or detail. What's it like there in the winter, for instance?"

"Cold, as I believe winter generally is."

She shot him a look. "Don't be flippant, Your Grace."

"Quentin," he corrected in a warm drawl.

"Don't be flippant, Quentin. Quentin. You know what I mean. Do you take sleigh rides or skate on a pond? How do you pa.s.s the holidays? Do you have lots of family?" You know what I mean. Do you take sleigh rides or skate on a pond? How do you pa.s.s the holidays? Do you have lots of family?"

His expression sobered. "Two brothers, but they are often away. When my parents were alive, we all used to celebrate Christmas at Weybridge Keep, but those days are long since past. Now, I generally stay in London. What of you?"

"Oh, we always go to Braebourne to Cousin Edward's estate. The family wouldn't think to do otherwise."

"I am sure it's delightful."

"It is. You should-"

He raised a brow. "I should what?"

She had been ready to say, "you should come," but then realized the implications of such an invitation. What would he think of her wanting to see him again? Especially since she'd just been asking questions about his estate? Would he wonder if she suddenly had designs upon him? Had hopes of marrying him?

But of course I don't, she admonished. Quentin was dashing and seductive and entirely capable of winning the hand of any woman he chose. But the idea of a serious attachment between them was absurd. His courting of her was only make-believe, after all. she admonished. Quentin was dashing and seductive and entirely capable of winning the hand of any woman he chose. But the idea of a serious attachment between them was absurd. His courting of her was only make-believe, after all.

Yet what if it wasn't? What if he really was pursuing me and truly wanted me for his wife?

A potent longing tightened like a vise around her heart, leaving her with an unexpected awareness that such a wish was exactly what she wanted. Quite intensely, in fact. Lowering her gaze, she stared hard at her toes and struggled to collect her tattered emotions.

"What is it I should do?" he inquired again, his words returning her to their conversation.

She searched for an answer, forcing a smile. "Do? Why see if there's anything left in that basket. I'm still hungry."

He chuckled. "I believe there's an orange."

"Perfect." I only hope I can choke it down, along with my foolish dreams. I only hope I can choke it down, along with my foolish dreams.

Sitting quietly, she let him peel and section the fruit, then pa.s.s her a serving. Thanking him, she forced herself to eat a slice.

Juice squirted in a crazy arch as she bit in, a few droplets sliding down her cheek. She raised a hand to wipe them away, but he stopped her.

"Here," he said. "Allow me."

Her eyelids fluttered slightly, her pulse thudding in her throat as she held still. Using the edge of his handkerchief, he leaned close and pressed the fine linen against her damp skin.

"All done?" she asked with an odd quaver in her voice.

"Not quite," he said. "I think I may have missed a spot."

She glanced up and into his eyes. A tingle sizzled down her spine at the acute need she saw in his gaze. Need for her.

Then his mouth was on her skin, his tongue gliding over the spot where the orange juice had been. "Sweet," he murmured. "So very sweet."

Her toes curled, and her eyelids fell closed, her breath catching on a harsh inhale.

Nuzzling her cheek, he pressed a series of lingering kisses against her flesh in a seemingly random pattern that led slowly to her mouth. Her senses spun in crazy circles, his touch everything she remembered and more. She still had dreams of him, but those paled in comparison to the reality of his touch, her memories no more than weak facsimiles of real pa.s.sion and ardent need. A sigh escaped her, a ragged snippet of sound that verged on a moan. Enthralled, she waited for his kiss, yearned for his possession.

Finally, his mouth met hers, plundering with a leisurely thoroughness that made her ache. Dark, sultry, and delectable, she couldn't get enough, her desire heightened by the power of not just her need, but her emotions. He was everything she wanted. Everything she craved. Everything she...loved?

Yes-she sighed in her mind-I do love him.

Leaning closer, she kissed him back, pleasure tossing her like a feather adrift in a tempest. He reached up and cupped the back of her head, angling his mouth over hers to deepen their embrace. But a few moments later, he paused, his mouth growing still against her own.

Suddenly, he pulled away.

Before she had time to recover, he was on his feet. "Forgive me, India," he said in a gruff tone. "I acted before I thought and had no right to take advantage."

"But you were-"

"I was wrong. We're here alone, and I gave in to temptation. Believe me though, it won't happen again."

Won't it? she thought in abject disappointment, her spirits deflating like the bubbles in a gla.s.s of old champagne. she thought in abject disappointment, her spirits deflating like the bubbles in a gla.s.s of old champagne.

"I should check my line," he said. "I left the hook in the water and might have a bite by now."

Is he talking about fishing? Now? It would seem he was, she realized, watching as he strode down the bank to the stream, then leaned over to take up his fishing rod. It would seem he was, she realized, watching as he strode down the bank to the stream, then leaned over to take up his fishing rod.

All the bright light faded from the day, despite the fact that the actual sun continued to blaze as strongly as ever overhead. And though it was August, with heat rippling in the air, a chill crept upon her like a bitter winter wind.

Cold and bereft, she stood, but didn't move forward, realizing she no longer felt certain of anything.

Chapter Six

Ah, and here we are. Do you not find this a lovely setting for a picnic?" Lady Pettigrew asked two afternoons later as she strolled across the grounds.

Walking next to Lady Pettigrew, with her aunt on the other side, India cast an idle glance around. The vista was stunning, but she took little notice of it, scarcely looking at either the majestic ocean waves crashing in the distance or at the ruins of the fifteenth-century monastery that rose over the landscape in jagged columns of weatherbeaten gray stone. Normally she would have been br.i.m.m.i.n.g with interest and excitement over the outing, but today she was having a hard time working up the necessary enthusiasm. Nevertheless, she forced herself to smile.

"Yes, it's quite lovely," she agreed. Tipping her parasol slightly to one side, she glanced around in a furtive search for Quentin.

Although she'd ridden here with him in his curricle, he'd lost no time excusing himself soon after their arrival. Having escorted her to her aunt, he stayed just long enough to exchange a few pleasantries, then bowed and left to a.s.sist some of the men, who were busy setting up for a game of cricket.

On the surface, everything between them was fine, his attentions to her as marked as before. But underneath nothing was the same. The easy, flirtatious friendship they'd shared at the start had vanished in the aftermath of their kiss by the stream. She wanted to draw him closer but couldn't find a way. While he seemed determined to maintain a kind of invisible barrier between them-a circ.u.mstance that let her know exactly how relieved he would be to leave her behind when the party ended tomorrow.

Sighting him several yards away, she couldn't help but stare.

How splendid he looks, she thought. His bold, darkly arresting features and natural strength cast every other man around him into the shade. But there was more to Quentin than just a pleasing face and physique-there was the dynamic inner man as well. As she now knew, he was intelligent and charming, worldly, with a self-effacing sense of humor and a surprising appreciation of the absurd. To some he might appear cynical, even jaded, but underneath he possessed a gentle compa.s.sion and a generous heart. She only wished he wanted to share that heart with her. she thought. His bold, darkly arresting features and natural strength cast every other man around him into the shade. But there was more to Quentin than just a pleasing face and physique-there was the dynamic inner man as well. As she now knew, he was intelligent and charming, worldly, with a self-effacing sense of humor and a surprising appreciation of the absurd. To some he might appear cynical, even jaded, but underneath he possessed a gentle compa.s.sion and a generous heart. She only wished he wanted to share that heart with her.

Her fingers clenched around the wooden parasol handle she held, longing rising inside her in a now-familiar ache. With a sigh, she turned away.

"Is everything all right, dear?" Aunt Ava murmured in a soothing voice. "You seem a bit blue-deviled today. I'm not used to seeing you without your usual, jolly smile."

She gazed at the older woman, a part of her wanting badly to confide. Instead, she forced a happier expression onto her face. "Only a bit wistful over thoughts of home. I have not seen my little sisters in more than a month's time, and as much as I am enjoying myself here, I shall be glad to be back among everything and everyone familiar."

"Well, of course you shall. Although, might I venture to wonder if mayhap there is another reason as well?" Her aunt's shrewd gaze drifted away, settling for a brief, but pointed, moment on Quentin. She raised an inquiring brow.

India glanced away. "No, it's nothing like that...nothing serious that is. Nor do I wish it to be."

Liar.

Aunt Ava gave her a kindly smile. "It's just as well, I suppose. He is a good man and an excellent friend to my sons, but he's complicated. Despite his t.i.tle, I suspect only the very deepest love will ever induce him to marry. And that love will need to be returned in even greater measure by his bride. So it is good that what's between you is nothing serious. You are young yet, India. You have time."

But I have no time, she thought with a sudden bleakness. she thought with a sudden bleakness. Since he has already stolen my heart. Since he has already stolen my heart.