The Heir - Catherine Coulter [68]
Dr. Branyon clasped her hand in his and led her to the other side of the pond. He found a likely spot, spread his coat upon the springy moss and grass, and bowed to her. “Allow me to assist you, Ann. I want you to be very comfortable.”
She sank down gracefully onto his coat and smoothed the flounce of her pink gown over her ankles. Then she pulled up the gown to her calves. She wanted him to see her ankles. “These are new stockings,” she said. “Do you like them?”
He swallowed hard. He stared at her feet, at her ankles, not really seeing the damned stockings.
“Perhaps I should have brought a picnic lunch,” she said, for he was standing motionless as a tree, just staring down at her legs. It pleased her inordinately. She thought to pull her skirt higher, but there were too many years of rules and embarrassment holding her back.
He blinked. “I believe that after eighteen and some odd years, I want no piece of chicken to come between us. Your stockings are lovely.”
“Oh, I thought you were looking at the ground.”
He laughed. “No, you didn’t. You know very well that those damned water reeds hold no interest at all for me.” He sat down close to her. She felt suddenly warm, and with unsteady fingers untied the bow below her left ear and lifted off her bonnet.
Dr. Branyon picked up the bonnet and gently tossed it off to one side. Slowly he lifted his hand to her face, letting his fingers trace over her smooth cheek, her straight nose, and come to rest lightly against her pink lips. “Your ankles are lovely, your hair is lovely, but most of all, you are so utterly beautiful inside, it makes me wonder if I can ever come to deserve you.”
“You deserve me? Oh goodness, Paul, it’s the other way around. No, you are perfect. I haven’t yet seen your ankles, but I know that I want to run my fingers through your hair and just stare at you. May I stare at you for the next fifty years?”
Now this was something utterly delightful he hadn’t expected at all. He’d prayed for something like this, but he hadn’t expected it. “Are you proposing to me?” He gently slipped his hand behind her neck, over the thick coil of heavy blond hair, and drew her to him. He thought she looked like a young girl readying for her first kiss. He had the good sense and patience to realize that her gesture was a tentative one, even though she had just proposed something to him. He prayed it was marriage. She was staring at his mouth and not answering. He kissed her gently, barely touching his lips to hers, savoring the taste of her, the softness of her mouth. He felt a fluttering response in her and lightly rested his hands on her shoulders and pushed her onto her back. Her eyes flew open and he read uncertainty, perhaps fear. Probably fear. He was moving too quickly. Immediately he released her and balanced himself on his elbow beside her. He had been certain for years that the earl had not treated her well. Yet, there was an air of fragile innocence about her that even her husband had failed to extinguish. Perhaps when they were married, she would speak of him.
“Did you mean to propose to me, Ann? If you want to stare at me for that long a time, surely marriage is the only solution, the only way to prevent our neighbors from gossiping about us.”
She smiled up at him, a lazy, impish smile, now devoid of uncertainty, and said, “Indeed, I fear that I must, Paul. I would be a terribly loose woman were I to kiss a man I did not intend to wed.”
“Then I must kiss you again to double ensure your compliance.”
She was laughing when he kissed her, and his tongue entered her mouth. She could not help the shock of fear that