Chapter 32
Juliet paused just below the rise, silent as the beech trunk she hid behind.
Overhead, brilliant green leaves, fresh from their buds, shushed in the morning breeze.
She lifted her nose, sniffing the air. Hawthorn blossoms, sweet but musky, almost almondlike, blended with the earthy scent of moist dirt beneath her feet.
Both lovely, but not what she wished to inhale. Had she been wrong?
Crouching, she studied the ground. Ahead, a branch lay snapped in half. A yard in front of that was a flattened patch of wood anemones, their white petals crushed by a heel. Her lips quirked. Perhaps she wasn’t as far off as she thought.
She pressed onwards, upwards, landing each step as quiet as a fox on the hunt.
Stopping at the next tree, she pressed a hand to her belly, pushing back a sudden grumble.
This time, on this quest, the hunger pang was of her own making, so unlike last year.
Bother! She should have at least grabbed a piece of toast on her way out of the manor.
Maybe she should turn back. It wasn’t as if this pursuit was of life-or-death importance or—
She jerked up her head, inhaling sharply. There. A hint of bay leaf. The musty tang of old leather and aged paper. Faint, yet unmistakable.
Appetite forgotten, she crept up the remaining stretch of ridge, then hesitated as she spied her prey.
Henry stood with his back towards her, surveying the vast fields in front of him, looking every bit the lord of the manor as he had that night she’d first encountered him in the woods. Strong. Steady. So handsome it ached deep in her ribs.
And completely unaware.
Grinning, she left behind the trees, easing each step soundlessly into the soft spring growth. The thrill of catching him off guard sent a charge through her.
Then died a quick death as his low voice carried on the next waft of breeze.
“Juliet,” he said simply.
Dash it all!
She stomped up to him, a pout to her lips. “How did you know I was there?”
He turned to her, chuckling. “I always know when my wife is nearby.”
She huffed. Saucy bounder. But even so, she shoved down a smile. “What are you doing out here brooding so early in the day?”
He shook his head, wind tousling his hair. Which was completely unfair. She ought to be the one running her fingers through it.
“I am not brooding but rather counting my blessings.”
She arched a brow. “And you cannot do that inside the house?”
“No. I am far too distracted when you are within arm’s reach.” A sultry gleam glittered in his eyes, one that never failed to inspire a twinge low in her belly.
She wagged her finger. “I know exactly what is on your mind, sir, and do not think to—”
He lunged.
She shrieked.
Then was instantly quieted by the press of his mouth against hers.
As always, she leaned into him, thoroughly captured by the depth of his love for her. This man. This moment. She would never tire of such a God-given gift.
It wasn’t until she was breathless that he pulled away with a rakish tilt to his head.
She poked him in the chest. “You do not play fair.”
“No,” he drawled while snatching up her hand and planting a kiss on the tip of her finger. “Then again, neither do you.”
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his side, pivoting slightly at the far-off sound of hoofbeats.
Down in the valley, two riders sped along. A black-coated man brought up the rear, mounted on a magnificent ebony stallion. Ahead of him, not by much, the blue skirts of a woman rippled against the flanks of a bay, her laughter as bright as the May morn.
Leaning her head against her husband’s strong shoulder, Juliet glanced up at Henry. “Do you think Edwin allows her to win every race, or is your sister truly that good a horsewoman?”
Amusement rumbled in his throat. “Charity is an excellent rider, though I know firsthand a husband is wont to please his wife.”
She melted against him with a sigh.
The breeze carried the scent of wildflowers, and somewhere nearby, a lark sang. She closed her eyes, committing it all to memory—the warmth of her husband’s hand, the strength of his embrace, the promise of the road ahead.
Long ago, on a day of dust and wind, she had been reborn into a hard-cracked survivor. Yet here, now—with her husband’s lips at her temple and the future spread vast before them—she was something more. Not merely existing but truly living.
And loving.
And home.