One Thing Leads to a Lover (Love and Let Spy #2) - Susanna Craig Page 0,77

and then to Rebecca. “Thank you for the invitation.”

The strange feeling in her chest—the one that didn’t quite know whether it was pain or pleasure—swelled a bit more, forcing her to draw a sharp breath. Wanting him was one thing. But wanting his company? His companionship?

Magpies weren’t meant to be kept as pets.

Less than hour later, the seven of them set out from the back terrace, the bursting hamper carried between Langley and Charles Hurst, Jamie with an armload of sturdy quilts on which they were to sit. No small army of servants to accompany them. No crates of china and silver. No furniture except the small collapsible chair Pip was struggling to keep folded as he walked along with it under one arm.

Amanda was astonished her mother had agreed to the proposal of luncheon outdoors. Even the offer of a chair hardly raised it to her notion of respectability. Mama did not look displeased, however, as she walked along arm in arm with Rebecca, the afternoon light filtering through her parasol and bathing both ladies in a warm glow.

When they reached their destination, Amanda helped Jamie unfold the quilts and spread them in the shade of a willow tree. Pip set up his grandmother’s chair, muttering to himself and sucking on a pinched thumb. Meanwhile Langley and Mr. Hurst unpacked the hamper: hand pies and cheese and fresh-picked strawberries; bottles of white wine and lemonade.

Amanda chose a place and arranged her skirts about her before accepting a glass of wine from Mr. Hurst. Soon, they were all seated together. Langley lounged easily with one knee drawn up to his chest, one leg outstretched, near enough to her that she caught an occasional whiff of his shaving soap. Her traitorous body urged her to lean closer still to him, to draw in a deep lungful of that spicy scent, which conjured powerful memories of…oh, heavens. Had it really only been the night before last?

Though the food was excellent, the real attraction of the outing for most of the group was the river, here hardly more than a tranquil stream. Soon enough, the boys were declaring the day unbearably hot, a condition that could be remedied best through dipping their bare feet in the Thames. Even Mama and Rebecca expressed a desire to stroll down to the water. A few moments later they rose and left, one on either of Mr. Hurst’s arms.

“Shall we join them?” Langley asked.

“Do you wish to?”

He appeared to think seriously about his reply. “No.”

Uncertain what to make of the response, Amanda took refuge behind closed eyes, leaning back and tipping up her face to the blue sky mostly hidden behind willow branches. “It’s lovely here.”

“An excellent reprieve for Jamie and Philip,” he agreed. “In my experience, growing boys are better off away from the London air.”

As the leaves shifted in the breeze, sunlight dappled her eyelids and painted her face with splotches of warmth. “Not just growing boys.”

When he did not reply, she finally worked up the courage to look at him. He held a juicy strawberry, the green hull pinched between forefinger and thumb. When he offered it to her, he did so in a manner that suggested he expected her to nibble it from his fingers.

A newly familiar hunger pulsed deep inside her—nothing at all to do with fruit.

“I shouldn’t,” she whispered.

“I know.”

Then, with a wicked smile, he popped the berry into his own mouth, his even, white teeth separating the fruit from its stem as precisely as any knife. After flicking the hull beyond the edge of the blanket on which they sat, he held out that same hand to her. “Walk with me, Lady Kingston.”

His fingertips were stained pink with juice. Instead of pressing her lips to their sweetness, as she longed quite desperately to do, she did something still less wise. She laid her palm across his and accepted his assistance to rise.

“Should we tell the others where we’re going?”

His warm gaze hardly left her face as he darted a glance toward the river. “I hinted to your friend Mrs. Hurst that I hoped to find a moment today to discuss your intentions for the boys’ lessons while we’re on holiday. If anyone notices we’re gone,” he said as he turned her back toward the house, “she’ll say that’s what we must be up to.”

“And are we going to discuss the boys’ lessons?” she asked a few moments later, blaming her slight breathlessness on the upward slope of the path leading