Chapter 13
Thirteen
As Owen led Finn into the sun-drenched garden, apprehension gripped him.
Usually, the outdoors brought him relief—like removing his cravat or boots after a long day—and this was especially true of the gardens at Bottoms House.
When he’d first seen the grounds, they’d suffered from decades of neglect.
Ivy and weeds had taken over, forming a tangled jungle that had suffocated other plants.
Paths had disappeared, water features dried up, and the gazebo had been a rotted mess.
Nature had taken over with gleeful chaos.
At loose ends, Owen had been wandering the grounds in search of a distraction when the kindly gardener had taken notice and put him to work.
He’d enjoyed the physical labor, and no one was more surprised than he was to discover that he possessed an aptitude for landscaping.
More importantly, the work brought him solace and satisfaction—the sense of purpose he’d been missing.
These grounds had been his first project, and he was proud of how they had turned out.
The debris had been cleared, the ivy woven into an elegant tapestry for the manor’s walls.
New boxwood hedges created neat borders, and the combed paths offered a meandering tour of the garden’s delights.
There were sections of cultivated roses, lavender, and foxglove, along with patches of wildflowers to provide color and fragrance.
The restored gazebo and fountain added points of interest.
Owen didn’t think of gardening as an art.
To him, it was more of a negotiation. He had no desire to conquer the wilderness; he merely wanted to shape, coax, and balance it where he could.
Sometimes nature agreed with his ideas; sometimes it had ideas of its own.
He’d found beauty and joy in the ongoing compromise…
and secretly wished that people were as easy to live with as plants.
As Finn stalked beside him, he was keenly aware of her dark mood. The years of captivity had made him attuned to bodily cues in the absence of language; even though she hadn’t spoken a word since they’d exited the manor, her irritation was as clear as the water bubbling in the nearby fountain.
Does she regret our night together?
The possibility was disheartening. For him, their lovemaking had been a revelation.
In the past, he’d sought out depravity because it silenced his demons and anchored him in his skin.
Other than the sharing of pleasure, he hadn’t thought much about his partners—hadn’t known them beyond the biblical sense, nor wished to. The transaction had felt safe…simple.
Finn was neither.
Yet with her, it wasn’t just bodily sensations he felt but…more.
He wasn’t sure she shared that feeling. She’d only promised him one night and left without saying goodbye.
He understood her need for discretion, of course, but now that they were alone, he yearned for their budding intimacy.
He wanted to flirt with her and ask if he could see her again.
She, on the other hand, seemed like she would rather be anywhere but here with him.
He winced as she kicked a pebble off the carefully combed path, catapulting it into the grass.
They arrived in silence at the part of the walk bordered by a boxwood hedge.
As he struggled to broach the topic of their relationship, she ran her gloved fingertips over the trimmed top.
With simmering heat, he remembered the sensual way she’d touched him.
The memory faded when she closed her fingers around some tiny leaves and tore them from the bush.
With mounting horror, he saw the bald spot she left in the border even as she seized another fistful of the hedge.
Hastily, he angled himself between her and the bush.
She looked at him, as if finally noticing his presence. “What are you doing?”
“Protecting this innocent boxwood. It has done nothing to deserve your ill temper.”
“I am not in an ill temper.” In the shade of her black bonnet, her flashing eyes contradicted her. “Kindly move aside.”
“Not until you tell me why you are angry.”
“I’m not angry,” she said through her teeth.
In for a penny.
“If you regret our assignation, say so. I will not plague you like some untrained puppy.”
He had more pride than that…he hoped.
She dropped her gaze, muttering, “I didn’t say I regretted anything.”
He felt a stab of relief. That was something, at least.
“Then why are you so cross?” he asked.
“Why are you so nosy?” she retorted.
His own temper sparked. “If you wish to be left alone, just say so.”
He hated this kind of silent tension, which had nearly destroyed his relationship with Ethan.
Owen had tried to apologize to his brother—but how could mere words make up for the harm he’d done?
For what he’d taken from Ethan, who’d only tried to help him?
The things left unsaid had made being in the same room an exercise in torture.
By some miracle, Ethan had eventually forgiven him.
While Owen was grateful, he knew he didn’t deserve it—and he would never forgive himself.
Yet the present situation was different.
As far as Owen knew, he hadn’t done anything to deserve Finn’s cold shoulder.
While he was quick to grasp the mechanics of gardening—the optimal levels of moisture and light for various plants, what needed to be pruned—the workings of the female mind remained, to him, nature’s greatest mystery.
“Did I do something to annoy you?” he asked bluntly.
“No.” Finn expelled a breath. “It is not you, all right?”
“But you are annoyed?”
He didn’t know why he was pressing her. His habit was to avoid conflict. He had enough warring within himself that he didn’t seek it out with others.
“I just…I just wish things had gone as planned.”
It took him a moment to comprehend. His tension eased somewhat as he understood the cause of her mood.
He supposed it would be annoying to be constantly doubted.
To be questioned and judged as a fraud. Then again, given the havey-cavey nature of her profession, surely she would have developed a thicker skin when it came to skepticism.
“If my brothers and Grantley offended you, I apologize on their behalf,” he said. “I can assure you that it was nothing personal. They are protective in general and of their wives in particular. They simply want to shield the ladies from disappointment and false hope.”
It wasn’t often that Finn felt ashamed. Yet there was something about Owen that prickled her conscience—that made her examine her behavior more closely than was comfortable.
The fact that he stood between her and the hedge like some valiant warrior, protecting the latter from her thoughtless destruction, made her want to smile… and apologize.
She was out of humor. Since losing control of the situation, she had been acting like a spoilt brat, venting her temper on Owen.
He’d done nothing to warrant her shabby treatment, and still he stood there, trying to explain the very reasonable reaction of his family—who she was using as a means to an end.
She couldn’t feel guilty about choosing Iris over a bunch of strangers, but she did regret lying to Owen.
Whereas Jimmy had fled at the first sign of her ill temper, Owen regarded her with concern.
Blooming hell, he cared about what she was feeling, even if he didn’t fully trust her (and really, why should he?).
No male of her acquaintance had ever been this kind and generous.
Yet there he was, this absurdly handsome lord, with his sunlit hair falling into his eyes because he’d forgotten his hat, awaiting her response with patience and grace she did not deserve.
“Why are you so blooming decent?” she said in exasperation.
He frowned. “I’m not.”
“You are.” She sighed. “I was in a bad temper, and I should not have taken it out on you.”
“Apology accepted.” His unaffected nature was so blasted winning. “If you will accept mine on behalf of my brothers.”
“There is no need to apologize. Dealing with skepticism is part of my job.”
“That sounds tiresome.”
You don’t know the half of it.
She tilted her head. “I thought you didn’t believe in spiritualism?”
“My mind is not entirely closed to the notion,” he hedged. “I have experienced enough of life to expect the unexpected. More importantly, I believe that you believe that you are here for a reason.”
That reason is to steal a priceless parure from under your kin’s noses.
Guilt twisted her insides. Never had doing the right thing felt so wrong.
“In truth, I am rather relieved that my family was the cause of your displeasure and not me,” he went on.
“You did not displease me. Quite the opposite,” she said. “I do not regret the other night.”
When she reached for his hand, he closed his fingers tightly around hers.
“I am glad. I should like to see you again, Finn.”
You cannot allow this to go on. It is too big of a risk, and for what? Mere pleasure—
“Another night together.” He read her so easily. “That is all I am asking for.”
His sincere request overwhelmed her defenses.
“One night. And we must be discreet—”
“Always.” His sensual smile quickened her pulse, but he released her hand with a squeeze. “On that note, we had better continue the tour to avoid suspicion.”
She jerked her gaze toward the manor. Sure enough, the curtains of the drawing room gave a telltale twitch as if someone had been watching them.
Sweet Jaysus. How did I miss that?
The answer was obvious: Owen was a dangerous—and delicious—distraction.
She strove for a brisk, business-like tone. “You are right, of course. I must survey the grounds in preparation for the séance.”
“I want to kiss you so damned badly.”
At his ardent non sequitur, her heart stumbled into her ribs.
“That is inconvenient,” she managed.
“The truth often is.”