He cast aside the mangled blade of grass and idly reached to capture both my hands in one of his, drawing them forward so that he could see my wrists. 'You're not wearing the bracelet,' he observed.

I flushed crimson, pulling ineffectually against his grasp. 'I cannot wear it,' I protested. 'Faith, I cannot accept it, it would not be seemly. I meant to return it to you.'

'I will not have it returned.' He looked seriously offended. 'I bought it for you as a present, and I would have you wear it.'

'My uncle would doubtless not approve, my lord,' I reminded him gently. Releasing my hands he rose to collect the grazing horse, gathering the trailing reins in his fist.

'I care not,' he told me. 'What business has your uncle in my affairs?'

'None, my lord,' I had to admit, 'but he takes a great interest in mine, and I would not wish to rouse his ire.'

He turned at that, looming tall against the gray stallion, his expression serious. 'If Jabez Howard dares to mark you in any way, I will hear of it.'

I stood up, too, and faced him squarely. 'I am flattered, my lord, but it is none of your concern. I am not your responsibility.'

'You are wrong, mistress,' he informed me in a voice as smooth as honey. 'You are very much my responsibility. I have made it so.' He advanced on me, one hand steadying the horse's saddle. 'Come, I'll ride you back.' 2o I looked up at him nervously. 'I do not ride pillion behind any man, my lord.'

'Ride alone, then,' he invited, smiling at my discomfort.

I glanced up at the heavens for assistance, and noted with vague relief that the sun was yet low in the eastern sky. 'It is too early for me to return,' I apologized. 'My uncle gave instructions that I was to walk until midafternoon.'

Richard de Mornay narrowed his eyes in disbelief. 'It is a pretty household you've fallen into, and no mistake. No matter.' He brushed off my objection. 'You may ride with me to Crofton Hall, and pass the afternoon as my guest.'

I was sorely tempted by the offer, but in the end I shook my head, taking a small step backward and nearly tripping over the fallen tree trunk in so doing.

'I am grateful for your kindness, my lord,' I told him weakly, 'but I think I had better not.'

' 'Tis your decision,' he assured me, swinging himself into the saddle with fluid grace. He brought the horse closer, reining in sharply so his muscled thigh was scarcely a handsbreadth from my face, knowing that the heavy log at my heels prevented any retreat. 'I've told you once I would not force you to my will,' he reminded me, drawing one finger along my upturned jawline. "When we become lovers, it will be because you desire it as much as I.' His Finger brushed my lips, the fleeting phantom of a kiss, before he raised his hand to his hat and bid me a polite good day.

The gray horse, for all its size, moved with great speed and agility. I watched the trees swallow them up and then stood listening for some minutes to the sound of the receding hoofbeats. I suppose I could have moved, had I wanted to, but I really did not want to. I just stood there in the dappled shadows, trying to hold the moment for as long as I could, all the while feeling it slipping away like sand through my open fingers ... slipping ... slipping ...

My vision blurred, and the moment vanished.

I was standing alone by the edge of the lazy river, where only a scattering of knee-high shrubs and the occasional willow remained to hint at the grandness of the forest that once followed the river's shores. The river was set now in a kind of hollow, steeply banked on either side, and I could see nothing but the water and grass and the blue sky above me. I had no idea where I was.

Scrambling up the sloping bank, I looked out over the fields and attempted to get my bearings. Far off to my left, I could see the fenced pastures and crooked roofs of a small village that might be Exbury. It was difficult to tell from this unfamiliar angle. There was a stone fence in front of me, too, not three feet away, and some distance beyond that a small whitewashed cottage, neatly kept, with gaily blooming flower boxes at every window. A miniature forest of crooked, gnarled apple trees stretched away in orderly fashion on the far side of the house, and several newly shorn sheep stared placidly back at me from their side of the stone fence.

I knew whose property it was even before Iain Sumner came whistling round the side of the cottage and paused outside the leaning back shed, fiddling with something mechanical that I couldn't identify at that distance. His back was to me, muscles taut against the fabric of his cotton T-shirt, his red hair washed almost fair by the strong light of the morning sun.

I must admit, when I jumped the fence and began wending my way through the incurious sheep, my only intention was to walk over to Iain and beg a cup of coffee, but as I drew closer to the cottage, with him remaining unaware of my presence, a tiny niggling devil stirred inside me.

Here was my chance, I thought, to pay him back for all the times he had startled me out of my wits by sneaking up on me. I would never have a better opportunity. I slowed my steps to deaden the sound of my approach.

When I was still a few yards away, I saw the reason for his inattention. He was busy working on a heavy wooden block and tackle, the kind that I had often seen strung up in barns. Blue smoke from a cigarette curled above his head as he bent forward, using both hands to make an adjustment to the unwieldy contraption.

I was less than four feet away, now. One more step, and I could stretch out my hand and touch his shoulder. My hand was actually half raised when Iain lifted his head and angled it slightly, plucking the cigarette from his lips with capable, grease-stained fingers.