Chapter 8 #2
“I have a code, Miss Wayland. There’s only one innocent I’ll seduce.” Something flickered behind his eyes—gone too quickly for her to interpret. Though he said it with such significance that she could almost believe he meant what she suspected. But he could not… a wife?
She shook away the thought, but it settled in her mind, bouncing around even as she tried to banish it. “Do be sure to let me know who to caution.”
His laugh was heady beside her. “Consider yourself on notice, Miss Wayland.”
“You are very familiar.” The tremor in her voice was barely noticeable, even as her heart fluttered.
“I’d like to be… Recently, I’ve wished for the first time that my reputation was a little less earned.”
“Why?” she asked, breathless.
“Your father cares for you a great deal—he wants the best for his daughter. Rakes are rarely considered the best.”
“Oh yes, we’ve said a great deal on the subject of you. Above all, my father wishes for my safety and happiness, and that of my sister.”
“That is good to know. I hope I haven’t caused too much strife.” There was a worried note in his voice and in the curve of his brow.
“No more than Sophie causes on any given Tuesday.”
“But more than you usually do?”
“It would be impossible to cause less,” she said with a laugh.
“Are you a good girl, Miss Eliza?” Sinclair asked, his tone low and full of gravel, as he allowed his elbow to brush against her upper arm again. The gesture was easy, quick enough to be overlooked by their chaperones, but there was nothing accidental in the heat of his gaze.
She didn’t entirely comprehend his meaning, but her body understood there was something sensual in the words. Lust wasn’t a sin Eliza was typically familiar with, but it coiled in her lower belly now.
One corner of his mouth curved into a grin again—as though he knew the effect his words had on her.
“You don’t have to answer. I know you are.”
“I feel as though I ought to reprimand you,” she confided, confusion still swirling through her veins with something darker, richer.
“Please do,” he murmured, voice smooth as whiskey, with the same lingering bite.
Eliza tore her gaze from his to the hedge-lined lane before them, even as the flush heated her cheeks.
“Did I make you uncomfortable? Around you, it seems my mouth runs ahead of my mind.”
“I— No— Yes. Yes, you make me uncomfortable, but not unpleasantly so. Does that make sense? I feel as though it is wrong to admit such things.”
His smile drew her gaze. It was bright, even more so than the sun as it shot glorious beams where it peered between threads of cloud cover.
“If it helps at all, I know precisely what you mean,” he said.
“I find that difficult to believe.”
“You could not see yourself in that club—thrashing me so thoroughly and so smug about it. The thrill of victory written across your face…”
Something about the way his dark gaze roamed her face finally struck Eliza. Sinclair thought she was beautiful. Not pretty, not nearly as handsome as Sophie. He found her—Eliza—beautiful. Her chest ached, realizing her most secret, if shameful, wish.
“Ah, you’ve finally discovered it.”
“What?” she asked, heart fluttering like a butterfly’s wings.
“Yes, you are exquisite. It’s a shame you didn’t know it until now.
But I’m a selfish man, and so I’m glad of it.
You certainly would’ve been stolen away before I had my chance if you had known.
” Sinclair’s delivery leaned performative, and Eliza found herself a touch disappointed in the wake of her understanding.
She brushed the disenchantment aside. They did not know each other well enough to abandon artifice entirely. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
Sinclair stopped and turned to her, then waited until she faced him. “Play coy. But now you know the truth—I can see it in your eyes.” His gaze trapped hers. Everything in his expression softened. “Beautiful,” he asserted with a nod. Any pretense vanished with the nearly tender look in his eyes.
He shook his head before turning back to the path. “On the left ahead, there’s a pretty little tunnel created by tree branches. Are you tiring? Or would you like to join me?”
“I am well.”
“And your mother?”
Eliza had forgotten her mother’s presence entirely. She turned back to spot her mother and Lady Arabella trailing them about ten paces behind, appearing none the worse for wear.
“Take me to your trees, my lord.”
“As my lady commands.”
“I’m quite fond of flowers. A little less familiar trees,” she volunteered.
“Yes? Do you have a favorite?”
“I’m partial to sweet violets. But I’m not overly particular.”
He mouthed the words sweet violets before confirming, “The little purple ones?”
“Yes, the purple ones,” she said, feeling a smile unfurl at the sight of his earnest eagerness.
Sinclair stopped in his tracks, his countenance a touch befuddled before he shook away whatever thought had overtaken him. “Is that your favorite color as well, the purple?”
“I don’t know that I have a favorite color.”
“Surely you must. That silver shade you wore the night of the ball?”
“I believe that was called grey, my lord. Pewter at its most interesting.”
“That was not grey. I begged Bella to make the acquaintance of the lady in silver, and she knew precisely whom I spoke of. This gown, then. Green?”
“Teal,” she laughed. “I am truly not particular—oh…”
Arranged in parallel lines along the path, the trees hung over the pavement, branches entwined above it. Any tree would be lovely in such a configuration, but these…
“I know…” he whispered low beside her.
Deep rose flowers lined every single branch, leaving nothing untouched. They tangled together above the trail, allowing only the smallest patches of sun to peek through in random flecks. The gentle breeze rustled; the tiny petals dropped like pink snow.
She left his side, stepping toward the blooms to examine them closer. Hundreds of bees danced between the blush buds, their tiny, fuzzy bodies laden with pollen. With gentle fingers, she reached out to lift a branch to her nose for a sniff.
It confirmed her suspicion—not the almond, vanilla, and greenery scent indicative of the cherry tree, but not quite the honeysuckle, rose, and fresh laudanum aroma she’d read described the Judas tree, Cercis siliquastrum.
“Be careful,” Sinclair cautioned when a bee brushed her cheek. She didn’t know when he’d followed, but the heat radiating from him, a few inches behind her, was nearly enough to distract from the enchanting sight before her.
“They’re too busy to sting. Besides, these ladies and I are good friends.”
“Ladies?”
She turned back to him. Sinclair crowded her closer than propriety dictated, using the flowers surrounding them as a plausible excuse.
“Bees—the ones that do the pollination work—they’re all female. And they serve a queen.”
“Truly?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know all that?”
“I read it. In a book.” She glanced away, a defensive sensation rising in her spine. Her mother and Lady Arabella were occupied, tactfully examining a branch of their own.
“Do you read much?” he asked, reaching behind her to draw his hand along a branch.
“More than some, less than others.”
A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Informative. What do you prefer to read?”
“I’m not particular. But I read that in a book of horticulture.”
“So when you said you were less knowledgeable about trees, you were still far more knowledgeable than I—than everyone, save horticulturists, in truth?” There was a bemused curve to his mouth as he asked it.
“Yes,” she replied primly, reminding herself that he’d appreciated her win at the card table.
“Tell me everything,” he urged, almost… eager. But no one had ever been eager to listen to her discuss plants.
She laughed. “You cannot mean that.”
“I do.”
“Very well. But you must remember that you brought your fate upon yourself.”
“Who else should I blame?”
Eliza raised a brow. “You were warned.” She gestured toward the branch between them. “The Judas tree— Do you know it?”
“No, I assumed cherry.”
“I’ve never seen one before, save in a book. But it lacks the almond scent common among cherry trees. It’s fresher, lighter.”
Sinclair dipped his nose to sniff at the blossoms as he made a silent go-on gesture.
“There is a myth about their common name—that Judas hung himself for his sins against Jesus. And that the tree’s white flowers were so ashamed of their connection to him that they turned red for blushing.
But I rather think it’s a mistranslation of the French common name, Arbre de Judée—because the tree is so common in the Judea region.
It’s also sometimes called the love tree because of the heart-shaped leaves when they sprout.
” Eliza forced herself to stop there lest he grow so disinterested that he turned and walked away, desperate to avoid her prattling.
Her companion stared at her, head cocked to the side, with an unreadable expression. When his eyes narrowed playfully, Eliza’s heart skipped.
“There’s more, isn’t there? I asked for everything. You cannot hold back.”
“Lord Sinclair, you cannot tell me you truly find my prattling to be of any interest.”
He paused, considering her. “I cannot say that I shall take up horticulture. That talent belonged to my mother, and I was never inclined toward it, I’m afraid.
But I rather find your ‘prattling’—though I take issue with that characterization—quite charming.
And now I find myself in possession of only half of your Judas tree intelligence.
I won’t stand for such omissions in my education, Miss Wayland. ”
Eliza held his gaze for a moment before relenting, with an eye roll at her own self-indulgence. “Fine, I relent—but you shall regret indulging me. This is one of few trees with flowers that bloom on the trunk. That allows for better pollination.”
“And where should one plant it?”
Eliza tipped her head back toward the sky. “In moist soil with good drainage and full sun.”