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suggested that he should ask some of the others, he answered lightly, ‘How can I
not
dance with someone who is a student of Turnip Townshend? How could anyone else be my amber-eyed harvest maiden?’ Somehow he danced her away from the others, into the shadows offered by the outbuildings, and there, while the music still played, he kissed her.
    She’d glimpsed his dark smile seconds before he lowered his head and brushed his lips against her own. His strong arms cradled her close and soft yearning had flooded her.Nothing less than a tremor shook her body as his warm, firm mouth caressed hers, and she felt his tongue lightly trace the parting of her lips, then flicker against her moist inner mouth.
    Her hands were trapped, pressed flat against the hard wall of his chest. She could feel the heat of his skin through the fine lawn of his white shirt. Feel the ridges of sculpted male muscle under her fingertips. His hips and thighs were moulded to hers, so close she couldn’t help but be aware of his desire, hard and powerful, where he held her tight.
For her. He wanted her
….
    Verena recognised her own answering desire at the pit of her stomach. Hazy, heated images filled her mind. The whispers she’d heard, about what women and men did together; her sister Pippa’s sighs of rapture as she hinted at nights in her new husband’s arms….
    It was Lucas who drew away. But he still held her hands. And whispered,
‘Verena
. Remember this night, because I will’.
    The sounds of music and merrymaking drifted through to her as if from a great distance. For a moment all she could do was gaze up at him. Every inch of her skin where he had touched her was aching with acute awareness, as she saw something so dark, so rawly male in his expression that it almost frightened her.
    Then they were interrupted. A crowd of his friends were coming to see where he was. ‘Best get back to the others,’ Lucas said lightly. And it was over.
    That kiss was nothing to him
, she told herself. It was just an evening of joyous celebration, when everyone was dancing and drinking a little more than they should.
    It was just a kiss. But later, as she prepared for bed, she looked at herself in the mirror; for the first time in her life she wished that she was a tantalising society beauty, froma wealthy family, because then, then, he might love her in return.
    Love. She’d thought that being courted—being
loved—
would be sweet and pleasant—and easily resisted.
    But no. What she felt for Lucas was a dark, a dangerous, a living thing. Her whole being throbbed with need. She longed to be in his arms, to feel his lips on hers, and more, for he’d awakened her body, and her heart.
    * * *
    Lucas called at Wycherley briefly before he left the next day. He was in uniform, and obviously in great haste, but he gave her the little music box. As she opened it, and the tender tune filled her heart, he took her hand and said, his eyes searching hers, ‘I’ll be away for a little while, Verena. Can I ask you something?’
    She had been tormented by the knowledge that soon he would be sailing away to Portugal, to war with the French, to terrible danger. ‘Of course,’ she breathed. ‘Anything’.
    ‘Will you keep your trust in me, whatever you hear? Will you remember we are friends?’
    Friends
. Her heart plummeted, but she managed to say lightly, ‘Good friends indeed. And we owe you so much, Lucas! Next time you are home, you will see the Wycherley farms
transformed!’
    He nodded almost curtly. ‘As long as you yourself do not change, Verena. As long as
you
stay the same’. Then he took her hand and pressed his lips to it. She wanted to fling herself into his arms and cling to him and never let him go.
    As he’d walked towards his waiting horse, he had turned to her once last time, as if he was about to say something else. But then he mounted up, gave a half-salute, and was gone.
    She thought—
everybody
thought—that he’d gone backto the