"Items one and two it is, then," he said with a smart bow. "But don't be surprised if I sneak up on you with number six."
"Really, Charles."
He leveled a long, hot stare in her direction. "And seven."
* * *
Their outing was scheduled for the very next day. Ellie wasn't particularly surprised by Charles's haste; he had seemed quite determined to do whatever it took to get her into bed. And she was particularly surprised at her own lack of resistance to his plan; she was well aware that she was softening toward him.
"I thought we might ride," Charles said when he met her at noon. "The weather is splendid, and it seems a shame to confine ourselves in a carriage."
"An excellent idea, my lord," Ellie replied. "Or it would be, if I knew how to ride."
"You don't ride?"
"Vicars rarely earn enough to afford mounts," she said with an amused smile.
"Then I shall have to teach you."
"Not today, I hope," she laughed. "I need time to mentally prepare myself for all of the aches and pains I am sure to acquire."
"My curricle is still not repaired from our earlier mishap. Are you up for a constitutional walk?"
"Only if you promise to walk fast," Ellie said with a mischievous grin. "I have never been terribly good at sedate strolls."
"Now why does that not surprise me?"
She looked at him through her lashes. It was a flirtatious expression that was new to her, yet it felt entirely natural in her husband's company. "You're not surprised?" she asked in mock astonishment.
"Let us just say that I have difficulty imagining you attacking life with anything less than complete enthusiasm."
Ellie giggled as she ran ahead of him. "Come along, then. I have yet to attack the day."
Charles followed behind her, matching her run with a gait that was half stride and half lope. "Hold up!" he finally yelled. "Don't forget that I am handicapped by the picnic basket."
Ellie stopped short. "Oh yes, of course. I hope Monsieur Belmont packed something tasty."
"Whatever it is, it smells delicious."
"Some of that roast turkey from yesterday?" she asked hopefully, trying to peer inside the basket.
He held it above his head as he continued down the path. "Now you can't run too far ahead. For I control the food."
"So you plan to starve me into submission?"
"If that is my only chance of success." He leaned forward. "I am not a proud man. I shall win you by fair means or foul."
"Does starvation count as fair or foul?"
"That, I think, depends upon how long it takes."
As if on cue, Ellie's stomach let out a loud rumble.
"This," Charles said with a slow grin, "is going to be very, very easy."
Ellie scoffed before she continued down the path. "Oh, look!" she exclaimed, stopping before a large oak tree. "Someone hung a swing from this tree."
"My father did it for me when I was eight," Charles recalled. "I swung here for hours."
"Is it still sturdy enough to use?"
"Judith comes here nearly every day."
She looked at him waspishly. "I'm a bit heavier than Judith."
"Not much. Here, why don't you give it a try?"
Ellie smiled girlishly as she sat down on the wooden board that Charles's father had used for a seat. "Will you push?"
Charles swept his body into a courtly bow. "I am your ever faithful servant, my lady." He gave her a starting push, and she began to fly through the air.
"Oh, this is lovely!" she shrieked. "I haven't been on a swing in years."
"Higher?"
"Higher!"
Charles pushed her until she thought her toes might touch the sky.
"Oh, that's quite high enough," she called out. "My stomach is starting to flip about." After she settled down to a more sedate swing, she asked, "Speaking of my poor, beleaguered stomach, do you really plan to starve me into submission?"
He grinned. "I have it planned to the last devious detail. One kiss for a piece of roast turkey, two for a scone."
"There are scones?" Ellie thought she might drool. Mrs. Stubbs might have problems with toast, but the housekeeper made the best scones this side of Hadrian's wall.
"Mmm-humm. And blackberry jam. Mrs. Stubbs said she slaved over a hot stove for a day to get it just right."
"Jam is not so very difficult," Ellie said with a shrug. "I've made it a thousand times. In fact..."
"In fact... ?"
"That's a wonderful idea!" she said to herself.
"I don't know why I'm dreading this," he muttered. "Well, in fact I do know. It could have something to do with the fire in my kitchen. Or the odd smells emanating from my orangery. Or perhaps the stew—"
"None of that was my fault," she snapped, stamping her feet on the ground and bringing the swing to a halt. "And if you thought about it for more than half a second, you'd realize that I speak the truth."
Charles decided he'd made a tactical error by bringing up her recent domestic disasters during what was supposed to be an afternoon of seduction. "Ellie," he said in his most conciliatory voice.
She jumped down from the swing and planted her hands on her hips. "Someone is sabotaging me, and I plan to find out why. And whom," she added, almost as an afterthought.
"Perhaps you're right," he murmured, not really meaning it. He just wanted to placate her. But as the words slipped from his mouth, they suddenly rang true. It didn't make sense that Ellie, who seemed so supremely capable in every way, would have set a kitchen on fire, singlehandedly killed every plant in the orangery, and mistaken salt for God only knew what else when she was preparing the beef stew. Even the sorriest dullard couldn't have accomplished quite so much in only a fortnight.