No sooner were the words out than Shanna realized what she had blurted. Aghast she clapped a hand over her mouth as if that would bring the words back, but it was too late. The slow dawning was already creeping over Milly’s face until she gaped in pained astonishment.
“You!” she barked. “You! Ooooh, nooo!” It became a mournful wail. Now sobbing harshly, Milly whirled and fled down the path toward town.
Lamely Shanna dropped her hand as she stared after the girl, recognizing with sickening dread that she had given over into Milly’s possession the secret she had so carefully guarded for these many months. Giving a groan of despair, Shanna stamped her foot in rage at her own foolishness. She turned listlessly and would have taken Jezebel into the stable, but she found herself face to face with an amused Ruark.
“Madame, I fear that you have just told the town crier.”
“Oh, Ruark!” Shanna flung herself against him in abject misery. “She’ll go straight to my father. Hell be in such a rage he won’t stop to listen. He’ll send you back to England to hang!”
“Gently, love. Gently.” Ruark held her close to him and whispered against her hair. “ ‘Twill do no good worrying about it. If she tells him, we’ll admit it. Your father is a reasonable man. He’ll at least allow us to speak our piece.”
His calmness and assurance began to affect her, and Shanna took refuge in his strong, encircling arms, heedless of the fact they stood in the open, where any chance glance would find them. Strangely the prospect of having to confess their marriage did not seem as repugnant as it had once.
“At least you won’t be bothered by Milly anymore,” she sniffed wryly.
Ruark shaded his eyes and peered off across the distant lawns. “And what of Gaylord? Where is the good chap? I know you left with him.”
Thinking of the knight’s ungainly horsemanship, Shanna chuckled gaily. “The last I saw of him, he was at odds with his mount. That was shortly after we left the stables, and he is even now probably struggling to turn the horse about so he can come home.”
“He seems to demand much of your time lately.” The words came out sharper than he had meant.
“Why, Ruark,” Shanna stood back and rubbed the butt of her quirt along the lapel of his jerkin, smiling up at him coyly. “You cannot seriously be jealous of Sir Gaylord.”
Scowling, Ruark half turned from her, and his tan darkened a shade or two. “I cannot stand his foppish manners, ‘tis all.” But in more truthfulness he admitted hoarsely, “And I can bear no one fondling or ogling you.” The golden flame in his eyes touched her with a warmth full of promise. “That privilege, madam, I claim as mine alone.”
“And so you do, sir,” she replied, teasing him. A smile curved the comers of her mouth as she leaned forward to murmur confidentially. “And very skillfully.”
Giving him a saucy look over her shoulder, Shanna danced quickly past him, leading Jezebel into the stables. With a low growl Ruark swooped his hand around, catching her upon the buttocks, bringing forth a giggling shriek from her, and as his hand lingered to caress her, Shanna skipped away and made a face at him.
“Oafish knave,” she flung. “When will you learn to keep your hands to yourself?”
“Never,” Ruark assured, leering after her swinging hips. He fell in beside her, taking the mare’s reins from her hands. Hooking an arm around Shanna’s neck, he brought her close against his side. “For all the times I must look at you and not touch, I vow I shall make up for them when we’re alone.”
His hand slipped downward over a soft, round breast, and his open, hungering mouth was upon hers, parting her lips, devouring the sweetness. The kiss was heady wine, sapping the strength from their limbs, and sudden, intense passion swept over them like a rampant river. Ruark’s voice was hoarse as he muttered against her trembling lips, “Your father will be gone until late. Come with me to the cottage.”
He met no resistance. Willingly Shanna nodded her head, and almost in a daze she felt his arm leaving her. Fused with warmth, she leaned against a heavy timber as he hurriedly attended the horse, glancing Shanna’s way often as if his eyes could not get enough of looking at her. Then the gate to the stall was closed behind him, and he was taking her slender hand into his.
It was nearly dusk when Shanna slipped into the manor and quickly ascended the stairs. She had made an effort to recoil her hair into a neat knot, but the gilded tresses had escaped her trembling fingers and she had been only half successful. Her cheeks still bore a rosy blush of passion. The manly scent of him clung to her, and her eyes were like soft, limpid pools of aqua. It was no wonder Hergus, in Shanna’s chambers waiting to attend her evening bath, gave a gasp at first sight of her mistress.