And he knew in his heart of hearts that he did not want to. But he felt the difference between tonight and Saturday. There was very definitely a difference.
He reached down a hand for hers and looked into her eyes, shadowed beneath the brim of her cap. “Come,” he said.
She looked at his hand for a few moments before placing her own in it and her foot on his boot. She felt it too, then. She knew this was different. But like him, she knew it was too late to go back. And perhaps like him, she did not really want to.
She sat before him on the horse’s back. Without turning her head to look at him, she took off the cap and stuffed it in a pocket of her jacket while she shook her hair free. She took a handkerchief from the same pocket and scrubbed at her face with it. Unwise moves, both. She was making herself beautiful for him.
Ah, Marged.
Then, still without looking at him or saying a word, she leaned sideways against him and burrowed her head into his shoulder.
He gave his horse the signal to move.
Perhaps she should not have stopped and looked back. He had made no move to seek her out or to speak with her tonight. Perhaps he had not wanted any further involvement with her. She was as bold as any man in many ways, but she had never taken the initiative in seeking out any man. Perhaps she had made a mistake.
But she knew she had not. She had known as soon as she turned that he was watching her. And she had known by his gesture, slight as it was, that he wanted her to come. And she had known as soon as she was at his horse’s side and looking up into his eyes that he wanted her to ride with him again.
But she knew more than that. She knew that it was different tonight. She knew that tonight he had beckoned to her as a man and that she had come as a woman. She knew that a great deal more had happened on Saturday night than had been apparent and that a great deal more had happened during the intervening days than she had realized. She knew tonight that she had desired him on Saturday and every day and night since. And she knew quite consciously that she desired him tonight. She leaned her weight against him and nestled her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes and felt the heat of him and the strength of him. She smelled the clean smell of him.
She did try for a few moments to tell herself that she could not possibly desire a man she had never seen without the grotesque disguise, a man she did not know. She did not even know his name or his occupation or his marital status. She tried to tell herself that the daughter of the Reverend Meirion Llwyd could not possibly be indulging in and reveling in these feelings of pure physical desire for a man who was not her husband. She had never had feelings quite so intense even for Eurwyn.
But she did not fight for long. For the first time she understood the temptations that led women into sin. And sin did not even feel sinful tonight. Besides, they were just feelings. No one would be hurt by them. He would take her home and kiss her again and she would have the rest of the night in which to dream of these moments. Not as many as last time—they had worked much closer to home tonight.
She knew he was feeling as she felt. There were the physical layers of a disguise between them, but when her eyes were closed she knew that there were no barriers at all between their hearts. Or perhaps she was glamorizing the situation too much, thinking of hearts. But she knew that he desired her. She knew that she had not merely made a fool of herself by turning back to him.
She did not know where they were. She had kept her eyes closed. When his horse slowed and then stopped, she opened them and found that they were in darkness, among trees. Just south of the river, she guessed. Close to home. She wished they had five more miles to go. Or ten.
He lifted his shoulder, bringing her head closer to his. She closed her eyes again when she realized he