Free To Distraction by Stephanie Laurens Page B

held his gaze for an instant, then nodded. She moved to set down her cup on the small table beside Audrey. Audrey paused and glanced at her.
    “We’re going for a walk by the stream.” Phoebe met Edith’s eyes as her aunt looked up; she waited, the defense that she was twenty-five hovering on the tip of her tongue. But both Edith and Audrey merely smiled.
    “Yes, of course, dear.” Edith waved her away. “It’s such a glorious afternoon.”
    “A pity not to enjoy it to the full,” Audrey added. Then they resumed their discussion.
    Phoebe narrowed her eyes at the pair. Admittedly they would have had to swivel to glance at Deverell, as he was standing behind their chairs, but they should at least have looked at him in the way chaperones always did—warning him to behave himself.
    She was twenty-five and they weren’t going far, but still.
    Inwardly shaking her head, she turned to Deverell and promptly forgot about her godmother and her aunt. There was something in his face—a hardness edging the lines of cheek and jaw—that seemed somehow different.
    He stepped back and waved her along the line of trees. “It’s this way.”
    Luckily, they’d been at the end of the line of chairs; they slipped away beneath the branches without drawing theattention, or the company, of any of the other young people. She saw his watchful glance over her head and knew he didn’t want any others to join them.
    Neither did she.

Chapter 4
    T hey strolled through sunlight and shade, wending their way between the old trees that bordered the lawn and dotted the gentle slope leading away from the house. The stream burbled along the bottom of its own narrow valley formed by more steeply sloping banks; Deverell took her hand, steadying her as they made their way down, climbing over gnarled roots to the narrow path that edged the rippling water.
    Still swollen by spring rains, the stream was running high, splashing and gurgling over large rocks and boulders. The sound was a pleasant song; the zip of dragonflies and the high-pitched call of finches punctuated the bright melody. The lazy warmth of the afternoon had gathered in the valley; it wrapped around them, sinking to their bones. They walked along without words; she’d visited the manor many times but had never strolled this way.
    Then they rounded a curve, and she saw what he’d meantby “a pretty spot.” The stream widened into a large pool; the music of its passing fell away, muted as the babbling rush spread with a sigh into deeper water. The path, which had been hugging the stream’s edge, diverted inland a little way; between it and the water a group of trees clustered, their spreading branches overhanging the pool.
    Deverell led her beneath the green canopy. After walking in the sun, the cool air beneath the arching branches was refreshing. She followed him to where an old tree grew just a few yards back from the bank. Halting by the smooth bole, she leaned against it and watched as he stooped, picked up a flat stone, and with one flick of his wrist sent it skipping over the still surface.
    The stone sank just before the opposite bank. A flash of turquoise marked a kingfisher, disturbed enough to dart away downstream.
    He stood, hands on hips, looking out over the pool. She leaned more heavily against the bole and wondered what she was doing there.
    Tempting fate.
    As if he’d heard her thoughts, he turned and looked at her. Then, arms lowering, he walked back to her.
    He stopped a foot away. He looked into her eyes, searched them, then without a word raised his large hands, gently framed her face, tipped it up, and kissed her.
    It happened so smoothly, so easily, she had no time to panic. There’d been no hint of a threat in his movements or his touch; her lips had softened beneath his before she’d had time to think.
    Then she did, and mentally froze, waited, ready to tense and push him away. But nothing happened, nothing changed; his lips remained warm and pliant