The sound of gurgling water got louder as he approached the stream. It cut through the eastside of the property. The waist-high grasses that grew along the bank were tan and brittle. A layer of frost covered their feathered ends and he brushed his hand over them as he walked past. He moved instinctively toward the bend in the stream. Their tree still stood tall, its gnarled branches stretching out over the water.
“Tell me what you read about Italy,” Olivia had demanded that long-ago day. She’d rolled over onto her side and propped her head up with one hand.
“Well, the pope has his own tiny city right in the middle of Rome. He rules over it like a king.”
She’d plucked a tall piece of grass and used it to tickle him behind one ear. “Phooey, I don’t give a hoot about the pope. Did the book say anything about the ruins of the Colosseum? Or the canals in Venice? Did it describe the color of the Mediterranean Sea?”
He glanced over at her. “No, yes, and no. His description of Venice was quite nice. They get around the city on boats. And he talked quite a bit about its heyday during the Renaissance. But it was really more history than a travel log.” He’d set his fishing pole aside and lay back into the soft grass next to her. The dappled sunlight through the tree above them made a streak across her nose and cheek. He leaned in and brushed a kiss to the freckles there. “We will just have to see for ourselves one day.”
She had smiled up at him. “Promise?”
Max kicked a stone and it skidded across some ice and landed with a plop in the middle of the stream. He had broken that promise. He turned from the gurgling water and continued to walk. Seeing Olivia again had him turned inside out. He needed to exorcise the ghosts of who they used to be from his thoughts.
A while later he crossed back toward the house. The early morning walk had frozen his toes but rejuvenated his spirit. Mr. Bromley should arrive on the noon coach, and Max planned to meet him and get him settled at the local inn for now. Once Olivia had a chance to meet and assess Mr. Bromley’s qualifications, they could settle him into the house set aside for the land steward.
The house was the one Olivia grew up in, and with her father gone, Max had no idea what state it was in or whether it was ready to be occupied. However, he wouldn’t make the mistake again of arranging the estate’s future without discussing plans with Olivia first. He didn’t want to upset her like he had the other morning.
He paused as he reached the front drive and stared up at the stone façade of the Hall. In fact, all he wanted was to keep her happy. He sucked in a deep breath of frigid air. Being near her again made him realize that his feelings for her hadn’t faded. Even though he had buried them deep, all it had taken was one smile, one touch of her hand to unearth the love he’d always felt for her.
There had not been another woman who had come close to touching his heart in the last eight years. He kept his lovers at arm’s length. Easy to do when one had to move on to the next job, the next country. Now he realized it had been easy to keep those relationships shallow because his heart had always been here, with Olivia.
The question was, what was he going to do about it? They were no longer the same two young lovers, wide-eyed and eager for each other. She had chosen Henry over him, and that scar still ached. She was his cousin’s widow, which made his feelings all the more complicated. He had new responsibilities to care for and a new role that didn’t quite fit yet. How did one go about being the Earl of Rivenhall? All he knew how to do was dig around in dusty libraries and back-alley markets.
He bounded up the wide stone stairs and pushed the door open himself. The footman hurried forward to take his coat, hat, and gloves. “Thank you, Stuart, is it?”
Stuart nodded his head. “Yes, sir.”
“Good morning, Lord Rivenhall.” The soft lilt of Livvy’s voice rang out.
Max turned. Olivia walked down the stairs toward him; blue muslin skirts swirled around her ankles. After seeing her only in black for the past few days, the color was a shock. A darker blue velvet bodice snugly encased her ample bosom and ran down the length of her arms ending in white lace cuffs. His eyes roamed down her lush figure to the velvet-edged ruffles that adorned the bottom of the skirt. Realizing he was gawking like a randy schoolboy, he quickly moved his gaze to her face. The blue color complemented her dark brown eyes and gave her cheeks a rosy glow.
“You look as fresh as a summer day.”
Her hand lifted, and she ran a finger over the lace trim of the neckline, and his eyes followed its path along the soft swells of her breasts. Lord, he wished he could sweep her up into his arms and bury his lips between those alluring, silken mounds. He swallowed back the impulse. He was most certainly going to hell for having such lustful thoughts about his cousin’s wife.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “I decided it was time to end the official mourning period. It has been one year and three days.” Her gaze flicked up to the landing above as if she might like to bolt upstairs and change back into black.
He held out a hand. “Will you join me for breakfast?”
Olivia nodded and descended the last few stairs. She lay her hand in his and then gasped. “Your hand is freezing.”
“I’ve just come from walking outside. I’ve worked up an appetite.” He led her to the breakfast room.
“Did you wear your coat and gloves this time?” Her mouth quirked up at the corner.
“Yes, I swear I did. I am grateful to my grandmother for insisting that I outfit myself with a winter wardrobe before leaving Paris.”
He held out a chair for her, and as she slid in he caught a whiff of her scent. It held a light tang of something that reminded him of fresh-baked biscuits. He stepped back quickly and moved around the table to his seat.
“How is your family? You said they have been in Paris?” she asked.
“Yes, for the past four years since my father passed away. My mother always liked Parisian society. She and my grandmother were not happy that I stayed with them for only two weeks.” He grimaced. “I hadn’t been home in two years previous to that. I feel a bit guilty for having such a short visit, but when I realized that it had already been so long since Henry died, I felt that I must make all possible haste to England.”
Olivia nodded. “How long was the journey from Italy?”
“Two months.” He didn’t mention that it had taken him an entire month to recover from the attack. The scar left behind from the knife to his side still caused him pain if he twisted his torso to the left too quickly.
“I did not realize how far away Venice is.”