"You don't need to run after me," he replied gently. "I'm here."
Jo gazed up at him. A sly smile tugged at his lips, conveying deeper meaning behind his words.
"But what do you need to say that requires private conversation?"
"I wanted to tell you about what happened with Cuffe this afternoon."
His demeanor hardened. "Was there a problem? Did he leave early? I received a communication about a potential client that I needed to answer immediately. Otherwise I would have been there for his reading."
"Nothing unpleasant occurred," she said quickly. "I was about to sing his praises."
He let out a relieved breath and sat beside her. Although he was a respectable distance away, he was still too close for comfort. She could feel the warmth of his body radiating through the night air.
"Then tell me," he said softly, as his eyes trapped hers in their spell again. "I like hearing good things; I'm just not accustomed to hearing them of late."
Memories flickered again and she recalled a bench in a garden, his arm around her waist. In the sweet darkness of that summer night, Wynne drew her onto his lap and kissed her as time ceased to exist.
A glint of amusement flashed in his eyes, and Jo feared he might be thinking of that moment too.
She tore her gaze from his face and forced cool air into her lungs. "Let me see. Cuffe arrived at his appointed time and, as before, stood by the table. Today four patients were waiting."
"Four?" Wynne asked, obviously delighted.
Jo named them and continued. "He read three stories with the same dramatic flair. At one point he had the entire room silent and waiting to hear the end of the tale."
"I'm so pleased," he responded. "I don't know if Cuffe mentioned it to you, but since you gave your permission, he's been spending some of his time with Cameron transcribing the tales for himself into a copybook. And he's making great progress."
"He told me." She smiled. "But I have more to tell."
"More?"
As Jo collected her thoughts before telling Wynne what followed, she recalled the warm flush of happiness that flowed through her that afternoon as she'd imagined herself a part of Cuffe's future. But it was a foolish thought.
"When he finished reading, Mr. McDonnell approached with a stack of letters in his hand."
"McDonnell, the blacksmith? He can barely speak."
"I wasn't near enough to hear what was said or how the man communicated with him, but the two went over to a table. For quite some time, they sat beside each other as Cuffe quietly read each letter."
"McDonnell has a mother who is too old to travel to the Abbey," Wynne said. "I knew he receives letters, but I never thought he might not be reading them."
This morning, as she sat with Charles Barton, Jo kept an eye on the two at the table. She was impressed with how patient Cuffe was with Mr. McDonnell.
"Your son was there far longer than you required him to stay," she said, pleased to be able to put Wynne's mind at ease.
He waited for her to say more but she'd reached the end of her story.
"Thank you for coming out here."
A window opened in the drawing room and the melodies of a pianoforte drifted through the night air. It was time to go, but she stayed.
"Why did you need to tell me all of this tonight?"
If she were only strong enough to voice the truth of what was in her heart. The denial in the dining room wasn't for the sake of the McKendrys but for Wynne. Staying out here, she was adding fuel to an inferno that was building between them.
"I thought you'd want to know."
He leaned forward on his knees. His face moved closer. His intense blue gaze caught and held hers. "You could have mentioned it when we were all going in to dinner."
"It would hardly be my place to share something publicly about your son," she reminded him. "I didn't know the McKendrys' guests. And besides, the story should be yours to share."
A lie, in part.
"I saw you defend him and his mother quite publicly when you thought the Squire and his wife were being unfair. You didn't know them either."
"Now that was not exactly the same thing." She glared at him. "What are you trying to say, Captain Melfort?"
He entangled his fingers in hers. She watched the dance, forgetting to breathe until he withdrew his hand.
"I'm saying you had an ulterior motive for coming after me tonight."
He was daring her to speak the truth, but she was a coward. Jo wanted him, and yet she was too afraid to act, even hidden with him here in a maze of privet. She'd started a dangerous game, but she was an amateur. She didn't know how to finish it.
Jo resigned her wildly impulsive, half-formed plan, and turned toward the candlelit windows of the drawing room. It was time to go and she came to her feet. He immediately followed her lead.
"Mrs. McKendry will be wondering what's happened to me," she lied. "I should say good night, Captain."
"Not yet."
Her heart fluttered with alarm when he took a step toward her. He knew the truth. He saw through her. She could have shared the story about Cuffe tomorrow or the next time she'd seen him.
His height and strength gave him an overpowering advantage, but it wasn't Wynne that Jo feared. It was herself. She did have an ulterior motive.
"Cuffe has been here for over two months now," he said. "And despite me asking him on numerous occasions, not once has he come with me to see what I'm planning for Knockburn Hall. He's agreed to go tomorrow."
"I'm so glad to hear it," she responded brightly, all the while chiding herself for imagining a romantic liaison in the garden while he just wanted to tell her about an outing with his son.
"But he has one condition."
"A condition?" she asked, daring herself to look up into his eyes.
"You."
"Me?"
"Actually, we both want you to come," he said, lifting her chin when she tried to look away. She could not seem to find her balance in this conversation. All she knew was that her heart was about to hammer through the wall of her chest.
"Don't you think this might be the perfect chance for a father and son to share a walk together? You really shouldn't ruin it by bringing a stranger-"
"I want you there," he said, stopping her.
Jo knew this was her last chance to retreat to a safe haven of respectability. She couldn't do it. Her heart wouldn't allow any more denials. Not now. Waiting and wanting, her gaze fell on his lips.
He slowly lowered his head until his lips brushed hers, and the floodgate of memories opened. His kiss was warm and subtle, as gentle as their first time, yet it moved her in wholly unexpected ways.
The touch of their mouths reawakened feelings Jo had thought she'd never experience again. The pounding beat of her heart, the pooling warmth in her belly, the scorching fever of her skin.
And she welcomed them. She wanted more.
As if reading her mind, Wynne bent forward again and brushed his lips over the sensitive skin of her brow, her cheek, her chin. He was teasing her, pushing her to smash the constraints that bound her, to give in to the impulses that seemed so natural at this moment, to kiss him back.
Jo's undoing came when the tip of his finger caressed the edge of her ear and moved slowly down her throat to the neckline of her dress.
She kissed him.
Even as her lips pressed against his, she tried to fool herself with the thought that one kiss would be enough. It was rash, indulgent, an attempt to slake a thirst that she knew deep down would never be satisfied. But before she could withdraw from him, she felt his hand cradling the back of her head. And then he was kissing her with such passion that Jo felt overcome with a melting desire.
Whatever shred of control she'd been clinging to crumbled. She wrapped her hands around his neck, her fingers threaded into his hair. She nipped at his lower lip, challenging his control, wanting him to show her more.
He groaned as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing the corners of her mouth. Her lips opened to his advance, and she became aware of a pulsing heat emanating from her belly. She heard a satisfied sound in the back of his throat as his mouth became more demanding.
Jo couldn't get close enough to him. Her arms moved higher around his neck, her body pressing against his until no breath of air existed between them. She was running a race and stopping was not an option.
Wynne's hands slid down her back and over the curve of her bottom, pressing her against his arousal. She should have been frightened. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a muffled alarm was sounding. But she wasn't afraid. The mating of their mouths thrilled her. The touch of his capable hands as they caressed the sides of her breasts made Jo wonder if he might just take her here in the darkness of this garden.