He leaned against the doors, a devilish smile curving his lips. “Now I have you. And right where I want you, too.”

Chapter 23

We leave at first light. And I’m very sorry about your new rug.

Mr. Devon St. John to his brother Marcus, the Marquis of Treymount at Treymount House in Mayfair

“Wh—what are you doing?” Harriet asked, uncertainty and excitement warring for expression.

“I am making sure we aren’t interrupted.” Chase tested the bar once, then turned and walked toward her, his boots crunching on the hay-strewn floor, his thigh muscles rippling with each step.

Heaven help her but he had the most beautiful thighs…the memory of those thighs between her own made her close her eyes, a heated shiver rippling through her.

He reached her side and traced his finger down her cheek. “Since that first night I arrived and your brothers and sisters tried to convince me that I had a liking for the barn, I’ve been wanting to visit the barn with you.”

He captured the ties that held her hat. He twined the faded blue ribbons around his fingers and then gently drew her forth.

Her eyes widened and she leaned away, one hand bracing the hat in place. “I—I don’t think that is necessary.”

She was hot and disheveled, her hair falling in wisps from beneath the hat and sticking damply to her neck and cheek. Her flushed skin held a dewy moisture that begged to be tasted.

In all his years, Chase had never been so close to a woman engaged in such physically demanding labor. He tugged the bonnet ties a bit harder, pulling her forward another reluctant pace.

The neck of her washed-out dress was damp, as if beads of sweat had trickled to rest there. He marveled at her. This plain little woman would practically fade from sight when dressed in white muslin, sitting in a parlor. But here, in a musty barn, damp from her exertions, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling with mischief…she was beyond beautiful.

She was bold and lovely, loud in actions and brave in thought. She was, in a word, the most amazing woman he’d ever met.

He released one ribbon of her hat and ran the back of his finger over her cheek. “You are incredible.”

The air about them thickened, deepened, as if the heat had slowed the pace of the earth. She licked her lips as if they were suddenly dry. The movement of her pink tongue was almost more than he could bear.

She glanced wildly around, as if to find rescue from the fields, or perhaps the sheep. “We—I—you—”

He raised his brows.

She flushed, deeply, the color creeping up her neck to flood her hot cheeks with even brighter streaks of red. “We should get a drink of water.” She turned stiffly on her heel and marched to the bucket of water that hung from one of the loft poles as if on her way to the guillotine.