"While it is tame, it is also very..." he hesitated, "very appealing. Surprisingly so."
As she spoke, they rounded a curve and came upon the iron gates of Sulgrave. A pull at the bell eventually produced a gatekeeper, who let them in after the prince showed his authorization from the lawyer handling the property sale.
The house appeared only in glimpses as they cantered up the winding, tree-lined drive. Near the top of the road there was finally a clear view, so they reined in their horses. The manor was set on a gentle rise, and its red brick glowed with warmth in the noonday sun. The house was long and low, not grand but well proportioned and rich in classical detailing.
Sara turned her head to make an approving comment, then held her tongue. Peregrine was staring at the house with an intensity best described as hunger, as if he had caught a glimpse of his soul's desire. It was fortunate that the seller was not present, or the price would have doubled, for Sara had a powerful suspicion that no inadequacies of kitchen or drainage would prevent the prince from buying Sulgrave Manor.
Sensing her gaze, he turned his head, his brief fierceness veiled. "What do you think of the house?"
"It's very handsome. About two hundred years old, isn't it?" When he raised his brows in question, she said, "Those curving Flemish gables are the clue. They were very fashionable in the mid-seventeenth century."
"I knew you would be invaluable today. I would not know a Flemish gable from a Grecian temple."
"I'm surprised that the agent handling the property did not come with you to explain everything," she remarked as they started their horses forward again.
"He wanted to, but I preferred to see the place without him peering over my shoulder and telling me what to think."
"That would have been an exercise in futility on his part," Sara said with amusement. "It seems to be a working estate, not just a house. Why is it being sold?"
"The property was owned by an elderly widower," Peregrine explained. "His heir lives in America and has no desire to return to England. I'm told that the house needs refurbishing, but is basically sound. Besides the home farm, there are several tenant farms, about two thousand acres all together."
They followed the drive around the house to the stables. Though no farm workers were in sight, the yard was well kept and there was a pleasant scent of fresh hay. Peregrine dismounted in front of the stables' open double doors. After tethering the gray stallion, he came over to help Sara down from her horse.
Her right leg had progressed from pain to numbness, and she had to use one hand to lift her leg over the pommel. Sara clenched her teeth as she slid into the prince's grasp, but she was not prepared for the shaft of pure agony that blazed through her thigh and hip. She gave an involuntary cry as her right leg buckled under her, and she began falling.
Instantly Peregrine caught her, pulling her tight against him. "Your leg isn't working?"
She nodded, biting her lip to keep from crying out again. He turned her so that her back was against him. Then he wrapped his left arm securely around her waist and leaned over to massage her thigh, his fingers kneading deep into the cramped muscles.
Sara was unable to prevent herself from moaning as waves of agony pulsed through her. "I'm sorry," she said, on the verge of tears. "I didn't think it would be this bad."
"No need to apologize," he said, his deep voice calming. "If you did not demand much of yourself, you would still be in an invalid chair."
Under his expert ministrations, the pain began subsiding to a bearable level. Sara's breathing steadied, though she was grateful for her companion's solid support.
After he had massaged away the worst of the pain, Peregrine moved his hand down to her knee and began working his way upward. His touch was lighter as his hand moved back and forth across her thigh with slow, thorough strokes. Sara began to feel sensations that were more than the recovery of abused muscles and joints. Even through the heavy layers of riding habit, her body tingled under his probing fingers as pain was replaced by pleasure.
When he reached the top of her leg, stroking from her hip around to her inner thigh, warmth uncurled deep inside her, and a longing she had never known and did not understand. Sara inhaled, shockingly aware of the intimacy of what he was doing. As the mysterious warmth expanded through her body, she wanted to melt back against him, limp and receptive. Instead she pulled away, saying, "I think I can walk now."
Peregrine caught her arm, steadying her as she put weight on her right leg. Sara faltered but managed to stay upright, waiting for the renewed pain to subside before she tried another step.