‘There’s a spring there. I remember that it used to be a good place to find frogs. I think Grandfather had the bank thrown up to keep the water from the lawn.’ Grant strode towards the woodland, then stopped as his foot sank into mud. ‘And not very effectively, by the looks of it!’
‘We can skirt round.’ Kate was already leading the way and scrambled up the bank. ‘I thought if the bank was breached and the spring water channelled, then it would come out here. We could excavate a chain of ponds across this lawned area and puddle the bottoms.’
Grant had walked further along the top of the bank, but he turned to look back at her. ‘And what do you know about puddling bottoms, Lady Allundale?’
‘I read about it in a book I ordered on making artificial water features. You need a great deal of stiff clay, then it is spread across the bottom of the hollow and trampled down by lots of men in stout boots.’
‘Lots of men?’ Grant was frowning now.
‘I thought it would be valuable employment for the local people. But if you think it would be too costly, of course I understand.’ How foolish to allow her imagination to run away with her when she had no idea how far Grant’s resources would stretch. He had this estate and a London house to maintain, a son to educate and now a wife and daughter.
‘It sounds like an excellent idea. I was simply disappointed that when you said we, you meant a gang of hefty labourers. I had assumed you and I would be puddling in the mud.’
‘Us?’
‘Mmm.’ Grant seemed oblivious to her gasp of scandalised laughter as he looked around the boggy patch and then further into the woods to where a shaft of sunlight lit up one of Kate’s favourite places, a glade of soft grass spangled with wild flowers. ‘I like the idea of getting very wet and very muddy with you. I appreciate your eye for landscape as well, my dear. What do you make of that sunlit patch through there?’
‘It is lovely and usually quite dry underfoot because it is on a slight slope. I would not like to damage it if we do make the water garden.’
‘It merits further inspection.’ Grant held out his right hand. ‘Let me help you around the edge of the mire.’ Intrigued, Kate followed. ‘How very wise of you to bring a cloak,’ he observed as he turned to face her and she caught her breath at the wicked intent in his expression.
‘Why?’ Although she could already guess and his fingers were at the ties at her neck.
‘Because we do not want grass stains on the back of that charming walking dress, do we?’
‘Grant! In the open? What if someone sees us?’
‘Who?’ He looked up from spreading the cloak on the grass. ‘No one can see this spot from the house—I used to hide here often enough as a boy.’
‘I don’t know! Gardeners, gamekeepers. Poachers,’ she added wildly as her husband tossed aside his coat and began to untie his neckcloth.
‘The gardeners are scything the front lawns. The gamekeepers are chasing the poachers over there.’ Grant knelt down and gestured vaguely to the east. ‘I am tired of being serious and sensible. I am tired of duty. I want to be utterly frivolous with my wife.’ He held out his hand. ‘Do you want to be frivolous with your husband?’ he asked as his fingers went to the fastenings of his falls.
*
An hour later Kate flopped back
on to her crumpled cloak beside the long, naked body of her husband as he sprawled face down, half on and half off the cloak.
‘That,’ he observed without moving, ‘was excellently frivolous.’
‘I would never have thought it.’ Kate snuggled against Grant’s flank, glad of the heat of his skin. The breeze was cool through the trees, despite the sun almost reaching its height. ‘If I had been asked to describe you, frivolous would be one of the last words I would have thought of.’
‘I used to be wild, a rakehell in training, my grandfather always said.’ Grant rolled over on to his back. ‘When I was at university with Gabe and Alex and Cris they called us the Four Disgraces. That’s why he did not oppose my attending medical school. He said a few years in cold, dour Edinburgh delving into cadavers would sober me up better than anything short of a spell in the army and with less chance of him losing his heir.’
‘Did it sober you?’ Kate buried the chilly tip of her nose in the angle of his neck and shoulder and smiled as he muttered in protest. He stopped complaining when she slid her hand, palm down, across the flat planes of his chest and began to play with the curls of hair.
‘Coming home and finding my grandfather recovering from a heart seizure did that. I was needed here and I couldn’t expect him to carry the burden of the estate and all its business while I pursued an interest that could only ever be that—an interest.’
She sat up, but stayed close to his warmth as she admired the lean, masculine beauty of the body lying beside her. The only flaws were the raking scars from his right shoulder, disappearing down to his shoulder blade. That was what she had felt the first time they had lain together.
Kate leaned over and touched them. ‘You said you were in the army for a while. When was that?’ She could feel him bracing himself against the desire to shrug her hand away.
‘I volunteered in ’15, when Bonaparte escaped from Elba. I was at Waterloo and escaped with my life and a healthy horror of warfare.’
‘So you were wounded and these are battle scars?’
‘No.’