Mignonne thought she would be learning about croquet but her heart had other plans

Robert laughed. "Don*t be so impatient," he said. "It takes firmness of wrist and a true eye. Let me show you how to hold the mallet."

He bent Mignonne*s shoulders and showed her how to position her feet apart for the proper stance. Standing behind her, he closed his arms around her. His fingers shaped her wrists and placed her hands on the mallet.

She could feel the texture of his crisp linen coat through her soft crepe. Her ruffled sleeves fell back, baring wrists and fingers that tingled with his touch. His tanned face was close enough to inhale the warm fragrance of her porcelain skin. His breath felt sweet on the nape of her neck.

Softly, be brushed his mustache across her spine. Stiffening, they stood still, holding the mallet. Then, ever so gently he kissed the curve at the back of her neck.

Feelings she had never experienced were bubbling up like the geyser spring. Turning in his arms, she looked into his face. He was as shaken as she.

People were chattering and milling about all around them. It seemed strange, special, that although they had contrived moments in the moonlight, they had waltzed in each other*s arms, they had felt only a sense of waiting. Now, amid a crowd, in broad open daylight, in a moment unplanned, unexpected, binding currents passed between them.

There was no more holding back. Whether it brought joy or pain, Mignonne knew in that moment that she was deeply in love with Robert Edgefield.