Her tracks weren’t difficult to follow. What she was doing in the woods he found harder to fathom. At first he was sure she had headed for the ancient oak, taking the trail from the road and approaching the tree from the far side. Was she picking up or leaving a message? Then her trail wandered off in another direction—which was a relief. He found her handkerchief and tucked it in his pocket. She obviously was not an experienced country walker. Evidence pointed to her bumbling her way through difficult terrain when an easier path was nearby, but where she went he followed.
He found her standing transfixed in a flower-filled meadow. The sight of her captivated him. He was content to gaze upon her, but the yellow flowers turned into butterflies that swirled around him and seemed to push him in her direction.
“What a magical place,” she whispered in an awed voice. “I expect a unicorn or fairies to appear.”
“What would the fairies be doing?” Shermont asked.
“Waltzing with the butterflies,” she answered before thinking.
Slowly she turned to face him.
He made an elegant leg, bowing low and sweeping the air with his hat before tossing it aside. “May I have this dance?”
A flight of butterflies swirled around them, casting a magic spell and urging them closer.
To Eleanor it seemed the most natural response in the world to place her right hand in his and step into his arms—as if she belonged there. He held her gently, and their first steps together were tentative, formal. Then she stumbled on the uneven ground, and he caught her up close with an arm around her waist.
As one, they waltzed around the field of clover to nature’s music, the breeze in the trees and the warble of a lone songbird. Neither spoke, afraid to break the enchantment of the moment. Slowly, imperceptibly, they came to a stop as the wind gradually subsided. Neither moved.
He held her in his arms and never wanted to let her go. He placed her right hand over his heart. He traced the line of her jaw with his fingers and tipped her chin upward.
The rapid beat of his heart throbbed beneath her palm, and her pulse echoed its rhythm. Breathless, she slid her hands across his shoulders to the back of his neck.
Shermont wrapped both arms around her waist and tightened his embrace. He waited to read the “yes” in her eyes before he leaned forward. He stopped with his lips a breath away from hers. “I have wanted this every minute since the moment we first kissed,” he whispered.
His kiss started gently, exploring the shape of her lips, breathing in her scent, tasting her.
Eleanor gave in to her craving to run her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. The warm honey in her veins became lava, pooling in the pit of her stomach. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself to her tiptoes, pressing her breasts against his rock-hard chest, grinding her hips against the bulge she felt against her belly.
Before her passionate response undid him completely, he thanked his lucky stars she was no inexperienced schoolgirl. Eleanor was all female. Her kiss demanded he give in to his raging desire. He ravaged her mouth, holding her tight against his body, trying to get closer … closer. Her mewls of pleasure egged him on. Groaning her name, he slid his hands down to cup her sweet bottom. He lifted her and could have sworn the minx tried to wrap her legs around his waist, until her clothing prevented further movement. He trailed kisses down her throat to the tops of her breasts, and she tipped her chin up and leaned back.
Eleanor wanted more. She wanted naked skin against naked skin. She wanted to taste and lick and breathe in his essence. She wanted his delicious mouth on places currently inaccessible. She wanted to strip off her clothes along with his—if he couldn’t undress fast enough. She released his shoulders and placed her hands on his cheeks, raising his face so she could look him in the eye.
“Put me down,” Eleanor said, her voice husky with need, her request a command and a promise.
He gave her a cocky grin and set her back on her feet. He stepped back. “As you wish,” he said, but his amused tone implied that he was game. “What do you want me to do next?”
Before she could describe any of the wicked fantasies that flashed through her brain in nanoseconds, she heard someone calling her name from not too far away. “Damn.”
He raised both eyebrows.
“Someone’s coming.”
He cocked his head and recognized Digby’s voice. Yet one more reason he disliked the man. Shermont nodded in the direction of the calls. “He’ll be here in a minute. Two at the most.” Shermont cupped her face in his hands. “Promise you’ll meet me later.”
“I’ll try,” she said.
Her response was less than he’d wished to hear, but she left room for hope. He moved to block the coming man’s view of Eleanor.
She straightened the neckline of her dress, picked up her dropped bonnet and plopped it on her head. “Am I a terrible mess?” she asked.
When he looked she was nervously smoothing her skirt. Her bonnet was on crooked, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were bright, and her lips showed signs of being well kissed. And left wanting more. “You are lovely,” he said as he straightened the brim of her hat.
She appreciated the sweet gesture. After all, he had to be as frustrated as she was. She ducked her head and had to turn away before she jumped into his arms and to hell with anyone who came upon them.
Trying to regain her composure, she took several deep breaths and blew them out slowly to the count of ten. She quickly had reason to be thankful for Teddy’s calls as she noticed Deirdre, Mina, and Huxley crossing the meadow from the opposite direction with waves and wide smiles. How long had they been in the glade?
“Aren’t they beautiful,” Mina said, twirling around in a circle with her arms held wide in the midst of the swirling butterflies.
“Colias croceus of the Pieridae family, also known as the clouded yellow,” Huxley said. “This is apparently one of the sporadic mass migrations we refer to as Clouded Yellow Years.” The butterflies seemed as delighted with him as he was with them. They landed all over his coat, folding up their wings to show the greenish underside with the white dot before taking off again to join the merry dance of their friends.
“We saw a few when we were looking for wildflowers and followed them here,” Deirdre said. “We knew Uncle Huxley would love to see them. He said they were attracted by the clover—”
“Their favorite food,” Huxley interjected.
“We know of a huge field of clover beyond that hill and just had to go see. The butterflies are even thicker over there.”
“Millions,” Mina said. “So many you can hear them flapping their little wings.”
“We should plan a trip to the coast,” Huxley said. “There are probably even more there. Maybe week after next.”
“I thought butterflies only lived a day or two,” Eleanor said.
“Migratory species live for six, eight, ten months, some even longer,” he explained. “How else could they fly hundreds, even thousands of miles?”
“Do you want to go see the clover field?” Mina asked.
Before Eleanor had a chance to answer, Teddy stomped up with a scowl. “What in the world possessed you two to wander off alone like that?”
Although he spoke to his sisters, Eleanor had the strange feeling he was really talking about her and Shermont.
Mina and Deirdre apologized immediately, cowering together.
“If I can’t trust you at a simple picnic,” Teddy continued, building up a head of steam, “how can I take you to London?”
“No, Teddy. Please don’t say that,” Deirdre begged.
Eleanor could not stand it. She stepped between the girls and put her arms over their slumped shoulders. “It’s my fault. It was my idea, and I acted as their unofficial chaperone.”
Teddy narrowed his eyes and looked at her as if he could see the imprint of Shermont’s lips upon hers.