standing beneath an oak tree, tall and lean and powerful. Very handsome he was, a hero, a man whoâd been very kind to a young girl those three long years ago. That spring afternoon theyâd met for the first time, here at Bunberry Lake, flowed through her mind, and she felt a strange sort of inevitability.
She realized belatedly that he was home because the war was over. Sheâd been so isolated, not only on the estate but in her own mind, that sheâd paid little attention to the happenings in France. Napoleon, sheâd heard from someone, had been incarcerated on an island somewhere.
Burke was waving to her. âCome here,â he called.
His deep, rich voice crystallized the memories. Odd that she should remember that voice so clearly. She touched her fingers to her cheek and smiled at another memory. She was remembering the crimson plume of her riding hat sheâd worn that long-ago afternoon. She wondered briefly what had become of it.
Arielle waved back, then directed Mindle slowly and carefully through the shallow end of the lake.
Burke had known, had been certain, she would come. Heâd wondered, mocking himself, if this newfound sensitivity of his would prove accurate. This first time he hadnât wanted to go to Rendel Hall to see her. He hadnât wanted to see her in another manâs house. He hadnât wanted to call her my lady and acknowledge that sheâd belonged to Paisley Cochrane.
Ashes whinnied again and pulled on his reins, nearly jerking them free of the yew bush branch. Burke felt his pulse increase.
He watched her guide her mare through the shallow end of the lake, some twenty-five yards distant; watched her as she neared. It was fitting, he thought, that he should see her here for the first time in such a long time. So many years. If only he hadnât been so bloody noble before. It could have been he who had been her husband. He could have taken her at sixteen. He shouldnât have waited.
She was drawing closer. She looked the same on horseback, her back straight as a rod, her riding skirt flowing about her, an ostrich plume brushing her cheek. It wasnât red, but a pale gray. Odd that he would remember that. Heâd wondered, many times, what he would feel at this moment. Would he look at her and laugh at the romantic fantasies of a young man, fantasies that had staled in the intervening years? Would he still want to drag her to him and make love to her until they were both stupid with it?
When he saw her, he didnât want to do either. She was pale, and her pure blue eyes were wide on his face, pupils dilated. He wanted to hold her, to press her face against his shoulder, to stroke her rich hair, to pour out all the dammed-up words that were stored inside him.
âBurke.â
Her voice was soft, thin-sounding. Burke realized he was holding his breath and released it. He grinned up at her. He felt wonderful. All the questions, the doubts, had disappeared. She was Arielle and she was his. Her marriage to Paisley Cochrane meant nothing. She would belong to him. Forever.
He realized, had realized long before this meeting, that he couldnât rush his fences. She had no idea of the depth of his feelings. Lord knew, he hadnât either, until just this moment. He must go easy.
âHello, Arielle. Come down and join me.â As he spoke, he raised his hands to draw her out of her saddle. To his surprise, she pulled back. She kicked her booted foot free, slid out of the saddle, and tethered Mindle next to Ashes.
âI remember the first time I met you, you wouldnât allow me to assist you, but that was because my arm was in a sling. And this time, Arielle?â
âIâm not helpless,â she said. She wondered where those words had come from. She wondered why she was here.
âYou still have Titian hair.â
âWhat? Oh, that.â Her fingertips nervously touched her hair. âSomething I donât suppose
She realized belatedly that he was home because the war was over. Sheâd been so isolated, not only on the estate but in her own mind, that sheâd paid little attention to the happenings in France. Napoleon, sheâd heard from someone, had been incarcerated on an island somewhere.
Burke was waving to her. âCome here,â he called.
His deep, rich voice crystallized the memories. Odd that she should remember that voice so clearly. She touched her fingers to her cheek and smiled at another memory. She was remembering the crimson plume of her riding hat sheâd worn that long-ago afternoon. She wondered briefly what had become of it.
Arielle waved back, then directed Mindle slowly and carefully through the shallow end of the lake.
Burke had known, had been certain, she would come. Heâd wondered, mocking himself, if this newfound sensitivity of his would prove accurate. This first time he hadnât wanted to go to Rendel Hall to see her. He hadnât wanted to see her in another manâs house. He hadnât wanted to call her my lady and acknowledge that sheâd belonged to Paisley Cochrane.
Ashes whinnied again and pulled on his reins, nearly jerking them free of the yew bush branch. Burke felt his pulse increase.
He watched her guide her mare through the shallow end of the lake, some twenty-five yards distant; watched her as she neared. It was fitting, he thought, that he should see her here for the first time in such a long time. So many years. If only he hadnât been so bloody noble before. It could have been he who had been her husband. He could have taken her at sixteen. He shouldnât have waited.
She was drawing closer. She looked the same on horseback, her back straight as a rod, her riding skirt flowing about her, an ostrich plume brushing her cheek. It wasnât red, but a pale gray. Odd that he would remember that. Heâd wondered, many times, what he would feel at this moment. Would he look at her and laugh at the romantic fantasies of a young man, fantasies that had staled in the intervening years? Would he still want to drag her to him and make love to her until they were both stupid with it?
When he saw her, he didnât want to do either. She was pale, and her pure blue eyes were wide on his face, pupils dilated. He wanted to hold her, to press her face against his shoulder, to stroke her rich hair, to pour out all the dammed-up words that were stored inside him.
âBurke.â
Her voice was soft, thin-sounding. Burke realized he was holding his breath and released it. He grinned up at her. He felt wonderful. All the questions, the doubts, had disappeared. She was Arielle and she was his. Her marriage to Paisley Cochrane meant nothing. She would belong to him. Forever.
He realized, had realized long before this meeting, that he couldnât rush his fences. She had no idea of the depth of his feelings. Lord knew, he hadnât either, until just this moment. He must go easy.
âHello, Arielle. Come down and join me.â As he spoke, he raised his hands to draw her out of her saddle. To his surprise, she pulled back. She kicked her booted foot free, slid out of the saddle, and tethered Mindle next to Ashes.
âI remember the first time I met you, you wouldnât allow me to assist you, but that was because my arm was in a sling. And this time, Arielle?â
âIâm not helpless,â she said. She wondered where those words had come from. She wondered why she was here.
âYou still have Titian hair.â
âWhat? Oh, that.â Her fingertips nervously touched her hair. âSomething I donât suppose
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