“I feel the same way every time I’m able to escape town,” Alex agreed with a wry smile. “But then after a few weeks I find I’m bored almost to the state of tears.”

“Perhaps,” Emma said boldly, “you haven’t had the right company.”

Alex turned his head to face her, slowing his horse to a halt as he looked at her closely. Emma stopped her horse as well, returning his direct gaze. After a few long moments, Alex finally broke the silence. “Perhaps,” he said, so softly Emma could barely hear him. He tore his eyes from her and looked straight ahead, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Do you see that tree ahead?” he asked. “Up on the ridge?”

“The one with the peach-colored blossoms?”

Alex nodded sharply. “Yes. I’ll race you to it. And I’ll even give you a head start, since you’re trapped on that monstrous invention they call a sidesaddle.”

Emma didn’t say a word. Nor did she wait for Alex to yell “go.” She simply took off at breakneck speed. When she arrived at the finish line (or rather, the finish tree), one length ahead of Alex, she was laughing with delight, both at her winning the race and at the glorious feeling of complete abandon. Her hair had almost completely broken free of its topknot, and she reached up to unfasten the rest, unselfconsciously shaking her head to let the fiery locks roll down her back.

Alex fought the urge to let himself become captivated by her seductive movement. “You might have waited for the race to begin,” he said with an indulgent smile.

“Yes, but then I probably wouldn’t have won.”

“The point of a horse race is that the best rider should win.”

“The point of this horse race,” Emma replied, “was that the most quick-witted rider won.”

“I can see I’m not going to win this argument.”

Emma smiled innocently. “Are we arguing?”

Alex cleared his throat. “I can see I’m not going to win this discussion.”

“Can one win a discussion?”

“If one can,” he said in a resigned tone, “I am certainly not doing so.”

“You’re very astute.”

“You’re very stubborn.”

“My father has been complaining about it for twenty years.”

“Then I suggest we break for sustenance,” Alex said with a sigh. He dismounted quickly, taking with him the satchel with the picnic lunch that the groom had handed him.

“By the way,” Emma said as Alex reached up and slid her out of the saddle. “You never did tell me what the name of your horse was.”

“Cicero.” Alex flashed her a smile as he spread a brightly colored blanket on the ground.

“Cicero?” Emma looked over at him with disbelief. “I had no idea you were so fond of Latin.”

“I hate it.” Alex grimaced as he remembered hellish Latin lessons at the hands of his boyhood tutors and then later at Eton and Oxford. He sat on the blanket and started to pull food out of the satchel. “I detest it.”

“Then why did you name your horse after a Latin orator?” Emma laughed softly as she lifted her skirts slightly above her ankles, daintily settling onto the blanket across from Alex.

He smiled boyishly and tossed her an apple. “Don’t know, really. Just liked the sound of it.”

“Oh. Well, that’s as good a reason as any, I suppose. I was never terribly fond of Latin myself. It’s not as if you could actually talk to anyone with it— besides a few clergymen, I suppose.”

As Emma rolled the apple between her palms, Alex reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of wine and two elegant glasses that had been wrapped in a piece of flannel to keep them from breaking. When he looked back up, Emma was leaning down away from him, studying a small pink wildflower. He gazed down at her and sighed, thinking that he couldn’t imagine a more pleasant way to spend an afternoon than riding aimlessly around Westonbirt with Emma. That disturbed him. He didn’t like the fact that his happiness and peace of mind were slowly growing dependent on the bewitching, auburn-haired woman seated across from him. When she had come down the stairs earlier that afternoon, she’d looked so heartbreakingly beautiful he had thought he’d been paralyzed. And he knew that she felt the same attraction. He could see it in her eyes. Emma didn’t know how to hide her emotions.

But he had to admit to himself—it wasn’t just that he was attracted to Emma. Put simply, he liked her. Her wit was razor-sharp, she was as well educated—if not better—than most of the men he knew, and unlike most of the ton, she knew how to make a joke without insulting someone in the process. His friends and family kept telling him that he ought to snatch her up, marry her before someone else did or she went back to Boston.

But he absolutely, positively, did not want to be married.

But then again, he was going to go insane if he didn’t make love to her soon.

He looked over at her again. She was still examining the wildflower, pursing her lips in thought as she turned it over to look at its underside. Was she really worth the price of his freedom? Was anyone?

He ran his fingers through his thick hair. Lately he’d been getting kind of depressed when he didn’t see her at least once a day.

Emma suddenly looked up, her violet eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Alex?” she inquired, holding out the blossom she’d been examining.

Alex sighed as he met her gaze. He wondered if she’d mind if he threw her down on the blanket and tore off her clothing.