And once the boys had taken possession of their puppies, they competed to have the best-trained dogs. As for Finn, he was at first dubious about the roly-poly little creatures who seemed to adore him and follow him around, but within the week he’d resigned himself to their attentions, even to letting them chew on his ears and feet and tail and clamber over his body. Until he’d had enough, and rose and with great dignity stalked away.

It was late summer. The weather was glorious, and they taught the boys to swim, the boys and Hart dressed in just their drawers, and George in drawers and a chemise. The boys were young enough not to notice how the garment clung, molding to her every slender curve, but Hart couldn’t take his eyes off her. His body reacted predictably, but with the boys present, he had no option but to stand waist deep in the cold water and think of unexciting things. And wait until evening came and he could take her to bed at last.

Some days they rode out without the boys. They would swim, and picnic, and make love in the grass. He’d never made love in the open before. Neither had she. But it was glorious—as long as he remembered to take a rug.

Time flew. Venice faded completely from his mind.

“They’re gaining so much confidence—have you noticed?” George said to him one afternoon as they watched the boys putting their ponies through their paces. “Phillip has been almost naughty several times.”

Hart gave her an incredulous glance. “You’re happy that he’s becoming naughty?”

“Of course. It’s healthy in a small boy. He was so painfully well-behaved and responsible before.”

Hart frowned. “You say ‘responsible and well-behaved’ as if they’re bad things.”

She grinned, understanding. “In an adult, responsibility is admirable—even necessary—but in a small child it’s . . . it’s unnatural. Poor little Phillip is afraid of making mistakes—even small, insignificant ones. But how can anyone learn if they don’t try things and make the occasional mistake?”

“Then I suppose you’re positively delighted with Danny,” he said sardonically.

She laughed. “Danny is making progress too. He’s not nearly so prickly and he’s really only rebellious if he’s uncertain or on edge—haven’t you noticed? But he learns from Phillip—the respect and care both boys have for each other is wonderful—and they both look up to you enormously, Danny especially. He is starting to model himself on you, you realize.”

“Model himself on me?” Hart watched the scruffy urchin urging his pony over low jumps with loud yells more suitable to a savage. He could see no evidence of any modeling. “I hardly think so.”

“It’s true,” she said tranquilly. “Both boys admire you tremendously. And they’re both making wonderful progress.” She raised her voice. “Oh, well done, Danny. Now you, Phillip.”