Jamie bent his head and gave her a brief, nibbling kiss. “I’ve got to go back to camp for a few days, Duchess,” he said. “When I get ’ome again, will you be ready to give me a proper welcome?”

Bliss knew that welcome would also be a good-bye, but she nodded and smiled, tears shining in her eyes. “Aye,” she teased, mimicking his brogue. “Twill be a proper welcome indeed, me love!”

He laughed and wrenched her close, and this time his kiss was thorough, sending heat surging into every part of her body. Heat that burned away Bliss’s doubts and fears like dry grass in the path of a fire.

As it happened, Jamie changed his plans and returned to the sheep camp only long enough to explain the situation to Cutter. When he got back, he divided most of his time between Peony and Reeve, but Bliss was determined not to mind.

Five days had passed, during which Peony had largely recovered and Reeve had grown homesick for his wife and family. Bliss had slept beside Jamie every night for the best part of the previous week, aware of every sinewy, rock-hard muscle in his body, desire tightening within her, like a fiery coil. Now, her system had completed its mysterious cycle, and she could wait no longer.

She found her husband in the barn, in virtually the same spot where he’d nearly run Bliss through with a pitchfork, pitching hay for the horses. Since the day was warm, he’d left his coat in the house and unfastened his shirt to his midriff.

Bliss had bathed, put on perfume and her favorite spring dress, one that Jamie had shown a special preference for. Her curly cinnamon hair had been washed, then brushed and toweled until it was nearly dry, and fastened with combs that Jamie had given her.

He paused in his work, gave a low whistle, and shoved his decrepit hat to the back of his head when he saw her. The muscles in his bare forearms corded as he shifted the pitchfork handle so that it rested between his hands.

Bliss was filled with love and the knowledge that she would soon be parted from Jamie. There was a bittersweet ache in her throat when she said, “I need you, Jamie McKenna, and I won’t be put off until you’ve finished your blasted work.”

Jamie gaped at her for a moment, then laughed and tossed the pitchfork aside. “So it’s that way, is it?” he asked, putting his powerful hands on his hips.

Bliss drew nearer, sliding her fingers inside his open shirt and delighting in his groan of welcome. “Are my hands cold?” she teased.

“No,” Jamie answered, his lips moving closer and closer to hers, “but your feet are, as a general rule.”

Bliss giggled, but her amusement caught in her throat when Jamie’s mouth claimed hers in a kiss that stole her breath away and electrified all her senses. Her hands were trapped inside his shirt, while his molded her neatly to him.