Sweet Deception by Heather Snow

Author:Heather Snow [Snow, Heather]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance, Historical, Fiction
ISBN: 9781101592991
Google: fEWgG_aMUicC
Amazon: 0451237609
Publisher: Signet
Published: 2012-08-06T14:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

The loud growl from Emma’s stomach saved him. She, of course, turned red as a guelder rose berry, likely cursing her tummy’s inconvenient interruption. But for Derick, it was a godsend.

He’d nearly kissed her. Again. He’d come so close earlier, lost in some sort of damnable nostalgia, but luckily for him, she’d shied away. She hadn’t been going to shy away this time, however, and he wasn’t certain he could have stopped himself.

“We’ll need to do something about that,” he said, grateful for the chance to pull away. “Did I see a round of cheese over there?” He rose and walked over to the food arranged around the picnic basket.

“Yes,” she said, moving to rise herself. “I’ll just—”

“No, no, my mermaid princess.” He waved her off. “Let me serve you this time.”

Derick welcomed the mundane task of slicing through the large chunk of cheese, using the controlled movements to regain a handle on himself. But he could feel the grip slipping. He was tempted to just let it go. Hell and damnation, it was exhausting having to grasp so hard for it.

He had to, though. For Emma’s sake. He supposed he could retreat to the castle, but he was loath to leave this place. Since he’d crossed into the valley, he’d felt…bathed. Coated in some magical balm he didn’t understand. All he knew was that he felt a sense of peace that had eluded him for years, forever maybe. Whatever it was, he hadn’t expected to find it here—not in Derbyshire, not in England. Not with Emma.

Who just might be the noisiest person in all Britain. Behind him, she fidgeted, rustled the blanket, sat, groaned, fidgeted some more. A grin creased his face. What on earth was she doing? When he turned back with wine and a wooden plate of cheese, she was sitting rather awkwardly. Her legs were bent at the knees, but she was twisted at the waist so that her hip and bottom were partially off of the ground. “Rocks,” she said by way of explanation.

After handing her a cup and plate, he settled himself on the blanket as well, though he was careful to keep a respectable distance. He moved experimentally, but felt no rocks beneath him, only the cushion of the fabric.

“I am sorry about the pastries,” she said after swallowing a bite of cheese. She looked so shocked, so affronted that her attempt hadn’t turned out that he had to laugh all over again.

“Don’t be. They were…memorable,” he said, sipping his wine. “Besides, I find it rather relieving that you can’t cook,” he teased. “No one likes someone who’s perfect.”

“Me? Perfect?” She snorted, scooting to her left as if trying to find a comfortable, rock-less spot. She wiggled her bottom to test out a new position. He swallowed, trying not to watch. “There must have been something more in those pastries than butter, blackberries and all the wrong spices if you think something that deluded,” she said.

“I’m quite serious,” he protested, and realized that he was.

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