After a quick wash I pull on my trusty trousers and a soft shirt the colour of the bluebells that carpet the woods near Langton each spring. I grab my hat and go downstairs. Everything is quiet and there is no sight of the others. Without really knowing where I am heading I begin to wind through the gardens, following the paths that cut between the yew hedges until I reach the stone fountain in the centre.

I suppose part of me knew that I would find him there. He is sitting on the broad stone ledge that borders the fountain, a book in his hand. He looks relaxed, rumpled, his long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. I clear my throat and he glances up.

“Hello,” I say. He lays down his book and gets to his feet. I recognize the book as a mystery story full of sensational twists and turns – I have read it myself, picked it up from behind Mother’s plant pots in fact.

“I didn’t have you down for a mystery reader,” I say.

“It’s one of her best,” he says easily. His voice is warm. It feels intimate, as if the way he speaks to me is different now.

He drops back on to the stone seat, patting the space beside him companionably, but I remain standing, looking down at him, my hands clasped behind my back so that he can’t see me twisting them anxiously. “About last night…”

“Ah yes,” he says. “It’s been on my mind as well.”

“It has?”

“I’ve thought of nothing else.” The corner of his mouth tugs up. “Klaus really does not have the build to be wearing a toga in public.”

I bite back a laugh. “I was talking about the kiss.”

“Mmmmm,” Ben murmurs, his eyes moving to my mouth. “Now that was quite the revelation.” He stretches, looking pleased with himself. “A good introduction to kisses, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

I feel a flicker of annoyance. After all, I had something to do with it too.

“Well, yes,” I say briskly. “It was adequate.”

“Adequate?” His mouth drops open.

“Yes.” I wave my hand. “I’m sure that next time it will be more…” I pause, pursing my lips, schooling my features into something thoughtful.

“More what?” he demands icily.

“I don’t know,” I muse, “just … well, more.”

He surges to his feet, laughter and outrage writ large on his face and I enjoy a moment of victory before I find myself kissing him. Again.

I don’t know who kisses who first this time, but it’s as if there was no gap between this kiss and the one last night. His hands cradle my face and just like that, all of the want, all of the blissful, delicious sensation of last night surges instantly through my body at his touch, like a fuse immediately alight.