Minerva blinked; as Letitia sat, she glanced at Penny and Clarice.

“There is nothing worse,” Penny declared, “than idly waiting, kicking one’s heels, with nothing to do.”

“Especially,” Clarice added, “when there’s obvious employment in which our particular talents might assist-namely, your fair.” She sank onto the sofa. “So share-what’s on your list that we can help with?”

Minerva took in their patently eager expressions, then looked down at her lists. “There’s the archery contests, and…”

They divided up the tasks, then she ordered the landau to be brought around. While the others fetched bonnets and shawls, she grabbed hers and rushed down to speak with Retford. He and she discussed entertainments for the castle’s guests, most of whom would remain about the castle that day, then she hurried to join the others in the front hall.

On the way to the fairground-the field beyond the church-they went over the details of the tasks each would pursue. Reaching the field, already a sea of activity, they exchanged glances, and determinedly plunged in.

Even delegating as she had, getting through her list of activities to be checked, organized or discussed took hours. The Alwinton Fair was the largest in the region; crofters came from miles around, out of the hills and dales of the Borders, and travelers, tradesmen, and craftsmen came from as far afield as Edinburgh to sell their wares.

On top of that, the agricultural side was extensive. Although Penny was overseeing the preparations for the animal contests, Minerva had kept the produce section under her purview; there were too many locals involved, too many local rivalries to navigate.

And then there was the handfasting; the fair was one of the events at which the Border folk traditionally made their declarations before a priest, then jumped over a broomstick, signaling their intention of sharing an abode for the next year. She came upon Reverend Cribthorn in the melee.

“Nine couples this year.” He beamed. “Always a delight to see the beginnings of new families. I regard it as one of my most pleasurable duties, even if the church pretends not to know.”

After confirming time and place for the ceremonies, she turned away-and through a gap in the milling throng, spotted Royce. He was surrounded by a bevy of children, all chattering up at him.

He’d been about all day, directing and, to their astonishment, often assisting various groups of males engaged in setting up booths and tents, stages and holding pens. Although he and she had exchanged numerous glances, he’d refrained from approaching her-from distracting her.

She’d still felt his gaze, had known that at times he’d passed close by in the crowd.

Given he was absorbed, she allowed herself to stare, to drink in the sight of him dealing with what she’d come to realize he saw as his youngest responsibilities. He hadn’t forgotten the footbridge, and therefore the aldermen of Harbottle hadn’t forgotten, either. Hancock, the castle carpenter, had been dispatched to oversee the reconstruction, and reported daily to Royce.

Every local, on first setting eyes on him-a tall, commanding figure in his well-cut coat, buckskin breeches, and top boots-stopped and stared. As she watched, Mrs. Critch-ley from beyond Alwinton halted in her tracks, and all but gawped.

His father hadn’t attended the fair in living memory, but even more telling, his father would never, ever have assisted-have counted himself as one of this community. He’d been their ruler, but never one of them.

Royce would rule as his ancestors had before him, but not distantly, aloofly; he was one with the noisy horde around him. She no longer needed to think to know his views; his sense of duty toward those he ruled-to his people-infused all he did. It was a fundamental part of who he was.

Confident, arrogant, assured to his toes, he was Wolverstone, marcher lord incarnate-and using that power that by birth was his to wield, he’d rescripted the role, far more thoroughly, more fundamentally and progressively, than she’d dared hope.

Watching him with the children, seeing him turn his head and exchange a laughing comment with Mr. Cribthorn, she felt her heart grow wings.

That was the man she loved.

He was who he was, he still had his flaws, but she loved him with all her heart.

She had to turn away, had to battle to suppress the emotion welling inside so she could smile and function and do what needed doing. Irrepressibly smiling, she lifted her head, drew breath, and plunged back into the crowd, immersed herself in all she’d come there to do.

Later.

Later she would speak with him, accept his offer-and offer him her heart, without reservation.


“It’s entirely thanks to you three that I’m heading home before dusk, let alone in time for afternoon tea.” At ease in the landau, Minerva smiled at Letitia, Clarice, and Penny, all, like her, exhausted, but satisfied with their day.

“It was our pleasure,” Penny returned. “Indeed, I think I’ll suggest Charles investigates getting some ewes from that breeder, O’Loughlin.”

She grinned, but didn’t get to mention Hamish’s background, distracted instead by Clarice’s account of what she’d discovered among the craft stalls. By the time they reached the castle, she’d been amply reassured that her friends hadn’t found their assumed duties too onerous. Alighting, they went indoors to join the company for afternoon tea.

All the ladies were present, but only a handful of the gentlemen, most having taken out rods or guns and disappeared for the day.

“It seemed wise to encourage them,” Margaret said. “Especially as we want them to dance attendance on us tomorrow at the fair.”

Smiling to herself, Minerva quit the gathering and climbed the main stairs. She wasn’t sure she’d dealt with everything within the castle itself; she’d left those lists in the morning room.

She was reaching for the knob of the morning room door when it opened.

Royce stood framed in the doorway. “There you are.”

“I’ve just got back. Or rather”-she tipped her head downward-“just finished afternoon tea. Everything seems to be proceeding smoothly.”

“As, under your guidance, things always do.” Taking her arm, he moved her back, joining her and pulling the door closed behind him. “That being the case…come walk with me.”

He wound her arm in his, setting his hand over hers. She glanced at his face-uninformative as ever-as she strolled beside him. “Where to?”

“I thought…” He’d led her back into the keep; now he turned down the short corridor to his apartments-not entirely to her surprise.

But he halted a few paces along, looked at the wall, then put out his hand, depressed a catch; the door to the keep’s battlements sprang open. “I thought,” he repeated, meeting her gaze as he held the door wide, “that the view from the battlements might entice.”

She laughed, and readily went through. “Along with the peace up there, plus the fact it’s entirely private?”

Perhaps she could tell him her decision up there?

“Indeed.” Royce followed her into the stairway built into the keep’s wall. Once she’d climbed to the top of the steep flight and pushed open the door, letting light flood down, he closed the corridor door, then took the stairs three at a time, emerging to join her on the open battlements.

They were the original battlements, the highest part of the castle. The view was spectacular, but by long tradition was enjoyed by only the family, more particularly those residing within the keep; guests had never been permitted up there, on the walks where, over the centuries, the family’s most trusted guards had kept watch for their enemies.

The breeze was brisker than in the fields below; it tugged and flirted with Minerva’s hair as she stood in one of the gaps in the crenellations, looking north, over the gardens, the bridge, the mill, and the gorge.

As he neared, she lifted her face, shook back her hair. “I’d forgotten how fresh it is up here.”

“Are you cold?” He closed his hands about her shoulders.

She glanced into his face, smiled. “No, not really.”

“Good. Nevertheless…” He slid his arms around her and drew her back against him, settling her back to his chest, enveloping her in his greater warmth. She sighed and relaxed into his embrace, leaning against him, crossing her arms, her hands curving over his as she looked out. His chin beside her topknot, he, too, gazed out over his fields.

The unfulfilled impulse that had prompted him to take her to Lord’s Seat lookout weeks before had prodded him to bring her here-for the same reason.

“All you can see,” he said, “as far as you can see, all the lands beneath your gaze are mine. All that lies beneath our feet-that, too, is mine. My heritage, under my rule, under my absolute authority. The people are mine, too-mine to protect, to watch over-their welfare my responsibility, all part of the same whole.” He drew breath, then went on, “What you see before you is the greater part of what my life will be. What it will encompass. And you’re already an integral part of it. The day I took you to Lord’s Seat, this is what I wanted to show you-all that I want to share with you.”

He glanced at her profile. “I want to share all of my life with you, not just the customary parts. Not just the social and familial arenas, but all this, too.” Tightening his arms, laying his jaw against her hair, he found the words he’d been searching for. “I want you by my side in everything, not just my duchess, but my helpmate, my partner, my guide. I will welcome you gladly into whatever spheres of my life you wish to grace.

“If you consent to be my wife, I will willingly give to you not just my affection, not just my protection, but the right to stand beside me in everything I do. As my duchess, you will not be an adjunct, but an integral part of all that, together, we will be.”

Minerva couldn’t keep the smile from her face. He was who he was, manipulative to his toes; he’d eloquently laid before her what he knew to be the most potent inducement he could offer-but he was sincere. Totally, unquestionably, speaking from his heart.

If she’d needed further convincing that she could have faith and go forward, that she should accept his suit and become his duchess, he’d just supplied it; all he’d said was predicated on, based on, built upon an “affection” he believed was sound, solid, as unshakable as the foundations of his keep.

She already knew the counter to that emotion lived, strong and vital, in her. To have such a fate, such a challenge, such a destiny offered her so freely…that was more than she’d ever dared dream.

Turning in his arms, she looked into his face, met his dark eyes. They were as unreadable as ever, but his lips twisted wryly.

“I know I shouldn’t push-shouldn’t press.” He held her gaze. “I know you still need time to assimilate all I’ve said, all that’s happened between us, but I wanted you to know how much you mean to me, so your deliberations will be…fully informed.”

She smiled at his phrasing; despite his undoubted intelligence, he hadn’t yet realized that love didn’t need that much thought.

He smiled back. “And now I’m going to give you all the time you want to decide. I won’t say more, not until you tell me I should.”

Lowering his head, he brushed her lips lightly in an undemanding caress.

It wasn’t something he meant to do, but there was enough in his tone to remind her that, from a man like him, granting her time was a gift.

Her declaration hovered in the forefront of her mind, yet his unstated boon-unneeded though it might be-deserved some acknowledgment; as their lips parted, she rose on her toes, pressed her lips to his, parted them-invited. They were alone, private; no one could see.

Lifting her arms, she wound them about his neck, pressed herself to him. His hands fastened about her waist, held her for an instant, then he laughed softly, angled his head, and took the kiss deeper.

Took her deeper, into the familiar richness of their mutual desire.

For long moments, they savored-each other, the warmth of the exchange, the inherent comfort.

Then the fire took hold.

Neither had summoned it; the flames were suddenly simply there, greedily licking all around them, tempting, luring…

Both hesitated, sensing, seeking the other’s direction…

Both surrendered. Grasped. Seized.

His hands, spread, moved over her back, his touch posses sive and sure. She sank her hands into his hair, held him to the suddenly rapacious kiss, and flagrantly demanded more.