Page 27 of A Match Made in Heather

She rose gracefully, and the tartan throw slipped away to the floor. Once on her feet, she didn’t release his hand. Instead, her fingers warmly held his as she looked into his eyes, searching his face for answers.

She whispered, “Do you remember those days we spent together, before you left?”

In his answering silence, she swallowed softly, nervously, and his eyes dropped to her throat, riveted by the soft movement. He longed to place his mouth right there and feel her pulse against his lips, to prove that she was truly with him and not merely some ghost of his fevered imagination.

She inhaled a deep breath and asked tentatively, “Do you ever think about those afternoons we spent making love in the heather?”

His heart stopped as every muscle in his body went taut. He could barely breathe through the constriction of his chest and the knotting in his throat. Yet her emerald green eyes watched and waited for an answer . . .

“No,” he lied gently, not yet ready to reveal the truth to her.

Something flickered deep in her eyes. Her lips parted, and he waited for her to challenge him, to argue—

Instead, she slowly slipped her hand from his. “Good night, then.”

She left, disappearing into the darkness of the hallway.

Once he was certain she was gone, he reached into the small front pocket of his trousers and withdrew the old watch case. He carefully opened it. The timepiece’s workings had been discarded long ago, and in their place . . . the sprig of heather she’d pressed for him all those years ago, still tied with the now faded green ribbon.

Do you ever think about those afternoons we spent making love in the heather?

“Every day,” he whispered.

Day Fourteen

Two weeks until Arabel’s wedding

“Where is he?” Arabel demanded of Jamieson as she charged through the house, not finding Garrick anywhere. The nerve of that man! “Where is Lord Townsend?”

“East wing, miss, top floor,” the butler answered quickly, flattening himself against the wall to let her pass. Wisely so, given the fit she was in. Oh, when she found Garrick, what a piece of her mind she’d give him!

She hurried up the stairs to the second story landing and found the door barring the east wing unlocked. She pushed it open and slipped inside, welcomed by the loud noise of hammers and falling timbers.

With a stunned gasp, she halted in her steps and stared.

The roof was missing. Only the tall trestles of the attic remained, poking up into the sky like the ruins of the old castle on the hill. Blue sky soared where the ceiling had once been, and Arabel’s mouth fell open as she watched two swallows dart past overhead.

What on earth . . . ?

Blinking away her shock, she hurried toward the sound of construction. She reached the nursery and stopped in the doorway to gaze into the room. Rather, into what had once been a room. Now, it was only joists, with the walls knocked down and large pieces of ancient timber marking where the edge of the house had been. Half a dozen men worked at loosening the remaining timbers of the bare frame.

Then she saw Garrick.

He worked with two other men at wrestling a large beam into place. In rough tan breeches and a white work shirt beneath a plain brown waistcoat, his neck scandalously bare, he planted his worn brown boots against the floorboards, bent down, and wedged himself beneath the beam, his shoulder pressed against it. With a groan, he rose up, and his strong thighs shook with exertion as the men levered up the beam, his muscles outlined by the tight breeches. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and revealed sinewy forearms tensed with effort. Arabel stared at his broad shoulders as the muscles rippled across his back, all of her mesmerized at the sight of his hard body straining and flexing.

The beam slid into place. The men released it, slowly relaxing as they moved away from it, then slapping each other on their backs at a job well done. Garrick said something that made the workmen laugh, and he grinned, a wide and bright smile that spun through her, curling her toes inside her shoes.

He looked up and caught her staring.

For a stuttering heartbeat, they froze, staring back at each other. The heat in his gaze sparked a flame low inside her, one which burst into a wildfire when he slowly turned fully toward her to let her look her fill of him. Shamelessly, she did just that. Her eyes trailed over him, taking him in, all sweaty dirty from working and his hair shining in the afternoon sunlight. She slowly lifted her gaze to meet his, and he brazenly returned her stare, his green eyes dark and electric. Even though a knowing grin crooked arrogantly at his lips, she couldn’t make herself look away.

“Welcome, Miss Rowland!”

She startled as one of the men called out to her, breaking Garrick’s spell.

“A pleasant surprise t’ have ye up ’ere wi’ us, miss,” another man said with a polite tug at the brim of his cap.

“Aye,” Garrick agreed. As he sauntered forward to greet her, he teasingly tossed over his shoulder to the men, “Ye ken the lass is here t’ supervise?” His brogue came strong and clear, and he winked at her. “To make certain we men’re doin’ it right?”