The Promise of Change - By Rebecca Heflin Page 0,42
petulant child.
“It’s a surprise—”
“Again with the surprises?” She rolled her eyes.
“Why, do my surprises disappoint you?” he asked with a concerned look.
“No,” she replied quickly, “of course not, it’s just that you seem to have an affinity for them.”
“I do,” he affirmed, “so, just be ready by five, because we have a bit of a drive. Oh, and it’s a dressy occasion.”
“Dressy? Just how dressy?”
“I’d say a nice dress . . . something like you wore to the Oxford reception would be appropriate,” he replied with a gleam in his eyes.
Super. Since that was the only dress she’d packed that fell into that category, she now had some shopping to do. She hoped she could find something within walking distance. She recalled Queen Street had some lovely dress shops.
“Did I ever mention how spectacular you looked that night? I couldn’t believe my eyes when you stepped into the garden. I noticed more than one approving eye was turned in your direction.”
“Yes, and some disapproving eyes as well,” she returned. “How could I forget? But thank you.”
“It was all I could do to make some pretense of listening to those with whom I was supposed to be conversing. I am surprised you didn’t feel me leering.”
“That’s what that was. I knew I felt something,” she said, giving him a teasing look. “Ugh. Right now all I feel are my aching feet.” It was a warm day and they’d walked the grounds of Blenheim for what seemed like hours.
“Here,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to the shade of an ancient horse chestnut tree. “I can fix that, I think.” Pulling her down on the grass beside him, he pulled her feet onto his lap and removed her shoes. He massaged her tired, sore feet with the expertise of a masseuse.
“Let me guess, you were a massage therapist in your previous life.” She closed her eyes, leaning against the tree, enjoying the feel of his hands caressing her feet.
“No, but I used to watch my father massage my mother’s feet. I guess I learned a thing or two.”
The tree beneath which they sat was perched on a small hill above Blenheim’s extensive parkland, the River Glyme visible as it wound its way through the magnificent lawns, like a silver ribbon, sunlight glinting off the water. A warbler of some sort serenaded from the branches above.
“‘I shall soon be rested. To sit in the shade on a fine day and look upon verdure, is the most perfect refreshment.’”
“Well said, Fanny Price,” he said, his hands gently kneading her feet. “How many does that make today?”
“I do believe that was the first, but I thought you might appreciate that particular quote, Edmund,” she replied, waiting for a response, but none came. “At least I have no Mary Crawford to distract your attention,” she teased, although something clearly distracted him.
“Yes.” He had something infinitely more appealing to distract him, the sight and feel of her beautiful, shapely legs and silky skin. The soft moans of pleasure when he found a particularly sensitive spot and worked the tension from it.
He massaged her feet for a few more minutes, admiring the gold toe ring on her right foot, before his hands advanced to her ankles and then her calves. Lovely, lovely, Sarah. So fit, so trim, so sexy.
Her eyes flew open, but he wasn’t looking at her, he was looking intently at his hands on her bare calves.
“Were you an athlete in school?” he asked.
Odd question. “Yes, why?” she asked, curious, and not a little excited. His hands caressing her calves made it difficult to carry on a casual conversation.
“Because you have an athlete’s legs . . . beautifully-muscled.” He still frankly appraised her legs.
She gulped, blushing profusely. She sat up and removed her legs from his lap. “Thanks for the massage. My feet feel much better.” She slipped her shoes back on, and sat with her knees drawn up under her chin. So much for keeping him at arm’s length.
Her erratic heartbeat subsided now that his hands no longer stroked her legs, leaving disappointment in its wake.
He stood, holding out his hand to help her up. “We’d better go. I have to catch the train to London.”
“Oh. Right.” She’d almost forgotten that he was leaving tonight.
He obeyed the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her. Soft and tender, his lips found hers. She tasted of warm sunshine, smelled of sweet jasmine. He could get drunk off both.