A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)

“Lyddie’s down at the stream with the others,” he whispered. “We have some time to ourselves.”


She leaned back against his chest, and his hands slid to cup her br**sts. They were emptied of milk now—soft, and sensitized at the tips.

“I don’t want to wake the baby,” she protested feebly, and insincerely.

“We won’t,” he said, taking her hand and tugging her toward the adjoining bedchamber. “We’ll be very, very quiet.”

She gave him a mischievous smile. He knew as well as she, it was difficult for her to be quiet when they made love. Being in Toby’s arms—it was the safest place in Bel’s world, and the one place she released all her inhibitions. He delighted in making her cry out in bed. Sometimes he made her scream. Oftentimes lately, he made her laugh.

And sometimes, like this afternoon, when a sleeping child was nearby and they needed to be very, very quiet—he loved her so gently, so sweetly, he made her weep silent tears of pleasure and joy.

Afterward, she lay in his arms, breathing deep, labored breaths scented with his comforting masculine spice. The afternoon sunlight gilded the sculpted contours of his shoulders and chest and painted amber streaks through his light brown hair.

“You are beautiful,” she told him.

“Darling,” he replied, “I was about to speak those exact words to you.”

Together they floated in that magic, idyllic space between wakefulness and sleep.

“Toby,” she asked softly, “will we always be this ridiculously happy?”

“Probably not.” His voice was drowsy. “Will you still love me anyway?”

“Yes.” She hugged him tight. “Oh, yes.”

No sooner had she whispered the words than the baby woke crying. A quarter-hour after that, in came Lyddie with tears in her eyes and two scraped knees. Then an express arrived from Wynterhall, bearing news that meant Toby must leave at once … some sort of crisis with the sheep.

Their afternoon idyll was over, the perfect enchantment broken—

But the love remained, beneath it all. Always.