‘Oh, please don’t give me that old line,’ she scoffed. ‘If we were still operating according to those outdated laws, then I’d be sitting in some cave wearing a piece of animal skin and you’d be out clubbing some poor animal to death before breakfast. Though come to think of it—you do hunt, don’t you, Titus? So maybe that much hasn’t changed.’
He was smiling, even though her outrageous statement only reaffirmed her general unsuitability for rural living. But despite knowing that, part of him couldn’t help but admire her feisty defiance because most women tended to lie or to play down their sexual experience. And wasn’t that one of the things he had most liked about her—her honesty and her straight talking?
‘I think you’d look rather good wearing a piece of animal skin,’ he murmured as he brought the car to a halt. ‘And if you could just stop talking for a moment and look over there, you’ll see the sea.’
Following the direction of his gaze, Roxy turned to see a coastline which was unfamiliar to her and that first glimpse of the wide, pale sands and the lacy froth of the water almost took her breath away. The flat landscape made the horizon look limitless and the huge sky gave off a spectacular light and suddenly she could understand why painters and writers had always gravitated to this part of the world.
‘Oh, Titus—it’s amazing!’ she breathed as she scrambled down onto the hard sand.
He locked the car and they set off together, though he frowned when he discovered she had no gloves and warmed her frozen fingers between his palms before insisting she wear his own rather battered leather ones. He buried his bare hands deep in the pockets of his jacket as they strode along. But the wind was so strong—buffeting at her with the persistence of an over-enthusiastic puppy—that she looped her arm in his and felt him squeeze his elbow against her, as if he approved. And Roxy’s heart missed a beat. Wasn’t it strange, she thought wistfully, how walking arm in arm along a windy beach could somehow feel just as intimate as lying naked in bed together?
They walked until the sun began to sink low into the pearly grey of the winter sky before setting off back towards the car.
‘Would you like to go for tea in Burnham Market?’ he asked. ‘Reputedly the prettiest village in the whole of England. It’s not exactly the season for afternoon tea, but I’ll have a word with someone and see what they can do.’
‘I’d … I’d love to,’ said Roxy, feeling stupidly shy—because hadn’t she thought that he’d brought her to the deserted beach because he didn’t want to be seen with her?
The village was quiet and it wasn’t difficult for Titus to commandeer a table by a roaring log fire, in the heart of a cute old pub. Whatever ‘word’ he’d had with the owner had obviously been a very effective one since before long a pot of steaming tea, scones and jam and a plate of delicious-looking cake was presented to them.
Titus poured tea and Roxy sat back in her chair and at that precise moment she felt more contented than she could ever remember feeling. And contentment had a seductive charm all of its own. The warm flicker of the fire spread over her flushed skin and she tingled from the effects of the fresh air and exercise. It felt so right, she thought—just being with him and feeling so at ease with herself. To watch the glint in his pewter eyes as their gazes locked in silent communication, and he smiled at her in a way which was making her feel positively mushy. Recklessly, she blocked out the warning bells which were beginning to ring inside her head and instead she feasted her eyes on the man opposite her.
Afterwards, he took her into a small and very old-fashioned women’s clot
hing store and asked to see a selection of gloves.
‘Certainly, Your Grace,’ murmured the shop assistant. And if she wondered who the Duke’s blonde companion was, her face didn’t show it.
Roxy left the shop with her hands snug in pale mauve cashmere—not the most practical of colours, but she had loved them on sight. She flexed her warm fingers and shot him a glance. ‘That was very sweet of you. Thank you.’
‘They’re just gloves, Roxanne,’ he said repressively.
But to Roxy they felt like much more than that. They were a gift from the man whom she’d fallen in love with. They were a tangible reminder of this perfect afternoon—when an impossible dream had seemed almost within grasping distance. When they’d walked along a beach and she had allowed herself to start imagining a ‘for-ever’ moment which was never going to happen.
‘They’re actually very pretty gloves,’ she said lightly. ‘And I’m just minding my manners by thanking you.’
He smiled. ‘Then you must forgive me for my rather boorish response.’
It was dark by the time he dropped her off near her cottage and she turned to look at him, trying not to sound too eager.
‘Aren’t you coming in?’ she asked. ‘Amy’s out tonight.’
His initial impulse was to hurry her inside and to ravish her, but Titus hesitated. This afternoon had left him feeling … unsettled. It had all been a little too comfortable. He liked to think of Roxy as his cherry-nippled, imaginative lover and not a woman whose cold hands he had warmed and then drunk a cup of companionable tea with.
‘I’m think I might drive up to London,’ he said.
‘London?’ Roxy’s expression didn’t alter. She wanted to demand why he was going to London and who he would be seeing there. But she had no right to ask him, she realised. No rights at all. She dredged up one of those smiles she always turned on when a member of the paparazzi used to spring out at her from behind the bushes. ‘That’s nice.’
‘Mmm. There are a few things I need to do—but I’ll be back in time for the party.’
‘That should come as a relief to the guests,’ she said drily.
His lips gave a flicker of a smile and he almost regretted his decision as she got out of the car and brushed a strand of dark-blonde hair from her eyes. But he told himself that this was something he needed to do. Distance was necessary when you started seeing danger signs ahead. Start sitting by log fires with a woman and the next thing you knew, she’d be organising your diary for you.
‘I’ll see you Saturday,’ he said.
‘Yes, you will.’
Roxy watched the tail lights of the car disappear and went into the cottage, where she sat down on the sofa and stared at her new gloves and a strange and terrible kind of certainty washed over her. She had tried to fight it but she could fight it no more. She loved him. She loved him. It was as simple and as complicated as that.