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He sat up slowly, frowning down at her. “What are you talking about?”
“I heard that you are intent on making a fine match at Court,” Anne answered. She, too, sat up, drawing her rumpled bodice over her bare bosom. The breeze felt suddenly cold on her skin. “A wealthy lady. One of the Queen’s own attendants, perhaps?”
“I did not think you were the sort to listen to idle gossip,” he said tightly. He reached for his shirt, and shook the leaves and dirt from its wrinkled folds before pulling it over his head.
“Is it idle? Are your parents not eager for you to marry, then?”
“Of course they are. I am their heir.”
Their heir—and she was nothing. She had nothing to offer him and his family but her love and ardor, and whatever meager portion her stingy uncle would give her. Yet her love was as strong and fine as any Spanish steel. As she looked at him now, his dark green eyes, the frown on his handsome face, those feelings burned and made her reckless.
“And you?” she demanded. “Do you have a lady in your sights? Someone well-dowered and well-connected…”
He seized her around the waist, dragging her to him. She braced her hands on his shoulders. “I have you in my sights, Anne Percy.”
Did he mean—could he mean what she thought? Hope flowed in her heart, as bright and forceful as the passion. “I have no dowry.”
“You have more than riches. You have yourself. Your beautiful, stubborn, changeable self. Truly I have never known anyone like you, Anne.” He lowered his head to kiss her neck, softly licking at that one spot he knew made her wild.
Anne shivered, and held onto him tightly. “Then we can run away! I know a priest who can marry us—he is in hiding but we can find him quickly. Then we can go north, live someplace quiet where no one can discover us…”
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