“I missed you,” I whispered against the side of his lips, feeling the prick of his beard stubble pressing against my skin, making me shiver just the tiniest bit.

“I do love hearing you say those three words to me.” He pulled his lips away enough to look me in the eyes.

“You do?”

“Very much. You’re the first person to ever say them to me in this sort of context, and I find hearing the words coming off your pretty lips, Miss Hargreave, to be, quite… something of the marvelous.”

I wrapped my arms around him and gave him the hug I wished I could’ve given him when Mr. Finnegan was telling me the story of his life an hour ago. He pulled me in closer, pressing firm kisses to my head, and we just stayed that way for a bit. Hugging each other in the field with a horse and two greyhounds milling around amongst the wildflowers.

On the Jane Austen novel swoon scale? A solid ten.

IVAN

It was safe to say that Owen, my sixteen-year-old stable hand, and Marjorie’s oldest son, was crushing hard on Gabrielle as he saddled Athena and brought her around to the mounting block where we waited. Better get used to it, lad. No use fighting your feelings, but just remember she’s already taken. I almost spoke out loud but thought better of it, because I didn’t want to mortify the boy for no reason. Young blokes can’t help themselves from admiring a beautiful woman. Especially when she looked like Gabrielle in her smart red jacket and bespoke jeans that fit like sin over her mile-long legs I wanted wrapped around my hips—or my face.

Not Owen’s fault his cheeks turned dark pink whenever she asked him a question or thanked him.

I took over for helping her mount up and seating her though. Nobody needed to be putting paws on her but me, thank you very much. Still the handsy, depraved bastard as before. Nothing had changed.

With the dogs following the whole way, I led her on a stroll by the coast first, since the day was sunny, we could appreciate the rarely possible view across the sea. “Is that the coast of Scotland I’m seeing?” she asked, pointing.

“From right here on the eastern coast of County Down on a clear day, I can see the Isle of Man. On a sparkling clear day, I can see the Rhinns and the Mull of Galloway in Scotland.” I showed her where to look and she nodded her head excitedly as the cliffs of the peninsula came into view for her.

“This is just breathtaking. I realize it doesn’t always look like this, nor is the scene always this perfect.”

“Quite breathtaking today, I agree.” Again, she didn’t know I was referring to her and not the view, which was perfection on a normal day, but today the picture-perfect view had some competition. In the form of Gabrielle on Athena with her long hair blowing back in the breeze in tandem with Athena’s mane and tail. They shared the same mahogany color, too. A goddess on a mythical steed. A woman who could ride. What more description of perfection was there? I looked forward to doing this with her often, something we could enjoy together when we needed a break.