“Perhaps…perhaps we should eat.” She moved out of his arms, stopping to retrieve her lost scarf.

Devon watched her open the leather bag that held their food. She hadn’t agreed, but she hadn’t refused him, either. For now, he would have to at least pretend to be agreeable to that.

He laid out their lunch while Kat fed apples to the horses, talking to them in a soft voice as if they were children. Thunder and Lady loved the attention and nickered in return, searching for more apples among Kat’s pockets.

Devon watched from the corner of his eye. When he caught himself envying the attention she was bestowing on the horses, he shook his head ruefully. He was so randy he was beginning to act like a lovesick swain, something he never did, even when deep in the throes of a new love.

Thank goodness none of his brothers was about or they’d tease him mercilessly. Especially Marcus who, at the age of thirty-nine, was becoming something of a tyrant.

Devon gestured toward their lunch, now spread upon a blanket. “The wind is picking up, and it is beginning to look more like rain. We should eat quickly.”

She smiled, finally leaving the horses. “Aye, Captain!”

He realized that her color was still high, and he wondered what she had been thinking. “I don’t believe I like being called ‘Captain.’”

“Oh.” Some of her smile faded.

“But you may call me ‘Admiral,’ if you’d like.” He made a magnanimous gesture. “Or ‘Admiral, sir,’ if it trips off your tongue any better.”

Laughter gurgled in her throat, and some of the tension left her face. “I hope you’re not pulling rank on me to get the largest apple tart.”

“All is fair in love and…tartdom.”

She giggled, and Devon found himself reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face.

She jerked back at his touch. Devon frowned. “You just had a strand of hair on your cheek.” His gaze narrowed. “You don’t trust easily, do you?”

Kat’s face heated, and she said with a slight touch of defensiveness, “I trust people. I trust Malcolm and Donald and Annie and Simon and Neal and, oh, all sorts of people.”

“Just not me.”

She bit her lip, wishing she knew what she did feel. Her instincts were at war with her head, and she wasn’t sure which to believe. Her head told her that Devon was a rake and just wanted a few moments of pleasure. That there was nothing but pain at the end of that road.

Meanwhile, her instincts told her that she could trust him, that he wouldn’t attempt to lure away her heart. That he’d been honest—painfully so—and didn’t deserve her mistrust.