Enchanted in Regency Society. Ann Lethbridge

belly as he followed her into the surf. He collapsed on his side, grabbing his shirt to clean her skin. The scent of sweet-smelling straw and lovemaking in his nostrils, a harmony of breathing and slowing hearts, a paradise on earth. Blissful, sated, sweat cooling on exposed flesh, he gazed up into the ancient beams. If he stayed in England with her at his side, perhaps his inner demons could be vanquished.

      With a smile, she nestled deeper in the crook of his arm, her straw-coloured hair trailing over her breasts like a silken veil. He ran a fingertip across her arm where it lay across her stomach, her hand resting on his hip. A beautiful, extraordinary woman.

      His eyes drifted closed. When he came to and looked at her next she had turned on her back. His first thought was to kiss her awake and make love to her again. But tears were sliding from under her long, golden lashes and running down her face.

      He reached out and captured a tear on his thumb and brought it to his lips. He tasted salt. What made her cry in her sleep? His stomach roiled as he forced his mind to recognise what his heart would not. She wasn’t happy.

      It was like a knife twisting in his chest, this sense of impending loss.

      Yet perhaps it was as well. What if this thing inside him caused her harm? He’d never forgive himself.

      Would he harm a woman he only wanted to protect? The legends spoke of blind rage. He was almost sure he’d experienced it first-hand three times now, the sensation of control and memory slipping away. His gut churned.

      Her eyes opened and she looked at him with a slight frown, as if she was trying to recall where she was, then her eyes cleared and she smiled.

      ‘Why are you crying?’ His voice sounded tight and hard.

      ‘I didn’t know I was.’ Her laugh shook. She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘A bad dream? I don’t recall.’

      A wave of guilt washed over him. He should have given her the money she needed and made her leave, instead of killing any dreams she must have of her noble patron.

      He only wanted to give her happiness. In his selfishness, he had tried to win her heart, to make her want to stay, but if she cried for Castlefield after a day as perfect as this one, she’d never been his. Sadness rose up inside him, painful and dark.

      He had spent years learning to control his deeper emotions, building a wall to keep out anything that might disturb his calm as a matter of survival. She had pierced that wall and he must make it whole again. He would tell her he was tired of her, send her away.

      But not yet. Not today.

      ‘Come, Dan will return soon. Let me help you dress.’

      On the drive back to the village, Ellie rested her head on his shoulder, her body rocking against him with the horses’ steady rhythm. Unconsciously he pulled her closer and she snuggled into him, nuzzling his neck. His heart felt tattered, torn to shreds, and he welcomed the pain.

      They pulled up outside her front door. ‘Goodnight, Ellie,’ he whispered into her hair. He tipped her chin and brushed her lips with his thumb, aching for more.

      ‘Goodnight, Garrick. Thank you for a wonderful day,’ she murmured.

      Tomorrow, he’d gather the strength of will to set her free. After all, she’d never been his to keep and a man with a stain on his soul didn’t deserve happiness.