Elisabeth Fairchild (29 page)

Authors: The Love Knot

BOOK: Elisabeth Fairchild

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She lifted her free hand to touch dripping hair that rained moisture onto his nose. She leaned forward, over the basket and kissed away a raindrop as it rolled down his cheek. “For the rest of my life, Miles, if you would still have me.”

He closed his eyes, savoring her kiss.

She touched her lips to his forehead, as a second raindrop moistened his temple. Eyes still closed, he clutched her to him, but the basket got in the way of his fervent clasp. He opened up his eyes to shove it brusquely aside. He seemed determined to share his moisture.

“Does this mean you mean to marry me, Aurora?” he sighed into the hollow of her neck. When he spoke he punctuated each word with soft, rain chilled kisses that trailed coolly down her neck and shoulder.

“It does,” she said softly, grasp loosening on the basket as his kisses sank lower still, testing the boundaries of her bodice. The basket slipped her grasp entirely when rain dripping from his hair wet the fabric covering her breast and he nuzzled the rigid peak of her nipple through the damp fabric.

“There remains but one question, my dear.”

He knelt before her and Aurora, startled, prepared herself for some new and devastating lesson in lovemaking he now meant to teach her from this position. She was shaken, even vaguely disappointed, when, by his actions, he made it clear his intent was not to assault her with some new form of passion, but to collect the fallen basket and its spilled contents.

“One question, Miles?” she made a game attempt to regain her composure.

“Yes.” He gazed up at her, eyes very blue, face looking faintly pink and fresh scrubbed because of the drenching he had suffered in racing to her side. Aurora’s breath caught in her throat so dear was this face become to her.

“What question?” she managed to stammer.

He held up the recovered basket, his gill flower blue eyes glowing with a look she could not quite define. The look reminded her of another time, another place.

“Indoors or out?” he asked.

Aurora smiled, aware as she had never been aware before that the sway she felt from this man was easily equaled by the sway she had upon him. He awaited her answer in breathless anticipation.

“In.” she replied with a very clear sense of what it was he asked of her, “I think our picnic would be best enjoyed indoors. Do you not agree?”

In the time it took the basket to slip his fingers and roll along the floor, spilling its contents for the second time that day, he had swept her into his arms and informed her without another word spoken, that he whole-heartedly agreed.

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Author Bio

Elisabeth Fairchild’s passion for history stems from her heritage: her mother a British war bride, her father a descendant of a U.S. Senator, Teutonic knights, and a Cherokee chief. The Fairchild name is ancient Anglo-Saxon, the family seat predated the Norman conquest, the coat of arms includes a knight’s helm and a griffin. As a child who loved books, Elisabeth fell in love with knights, ladies, winged creatures anne Austen’s works. At sixteen she was hired as a maid in a haunted 12th century castle. Currently, one foot firmly fixed in the past, Elisabeth explores castles, cathedrals and country houses from the viewpoint of a historical mentalist with old soul insight, a phenomenal floor-to-ceiling research library and an insatiable desire to understand women’s historical roles..

www.elisabethfairchild.com