Chapter 13 #2
He offered her his arm—a mark of decorum to anyone watching—and she took it with equal civility. They promenaded down the path, and she angled her head this way and that, pretending interest in the flowers.
Beneath her lashes, she slid him a look. “I suppose we can arrange something soon.”
“Not soon enough.” He paused. “I am leaving for London tomorrow.”
She fought back her disappointment. “Oh.”
“I’ll only be gone a few days. The meeting is rather important. Sir Joseph Paxton summoned me.”
She’d never heard of the bloke. “He is a personage of note?”
“In certain circles, yes. He designed the Crystal Palace and the surrounding grounds and received a knighthood because of his contributions.”
Owen’s lack of pretension made it easy to forget his accomplishments.
And that his social status was so far above hers that he moved in an entirely different sphere.
He rubbed shoulders with swells and men of learning, while she ran with a gang of guttersnipes.
She wasn’t ashamed of her station; she was proud of surviving the streets.
Yet she found herself embarrassed by her ignorance.
She cleared her throat. “You are friends with Sir Joseph?”
“I consider him my mentor. He has taught me much about designing landscapes. Before him, I’d had no formal training and was mainly mucking about in the gardens of my family and friends.”
“You have a natural talent,” she averred. “Even with my limited knowledge, I can see how beautiful and unique these grounds are.”
“Thank you, but I cannot take all the credit. Most of the work was done by nature’s hand.”
“Nature’s and yours,” she pointed out. “The way the two meld together so seamlessly is part of your genius.”
“A genius, am I?” Self-deprecating humor flashed in his eyes. “You once commented upon my keen intellect as well. Methinks you are pouring on the butterboat—for what reason, I wonder?”
“I have no ulterior motive.” At least, not when it came to this.
“I like the way you place equal value on wild and cultivated plants. The way you coax order from the land rather than impose it. While the garden has clearly been planned with care, it is not too rigid or formal—which leaves room for surprises. Like the rosemary tucked beside the climbing roses and the thyme spilling over those stones. Embellishments that are both pretty and practical.”
“You noticed all that.”
The warmth of his regard brought her perilously close to blushing.
“I recognized the herbs,” she said. “Pell House has a garden in the back. As Mrs. Thornton has been sending us delicious meals, we try to return her generosity by harvesting fresh herbs for her.”
“You must have special powers,” he said with feeling. “Mrs. Thornton is not easily won over.”
Finn grinned. “Like a hedgehog, she is prickly until you find her soft side.”
“Hmm.” He looked doubtful. “Speaking of surprises, I have one to show you. If it will not distract you from your task.”
Crikey. She’d forgotten that she was supposed to be gathering impressions.
“My work has become so second nature,” she said glibly, “that I find myself conducting various tasks at once. During this conversation, for instance, I have noted lingering spiritual reverberations that suggest a séance upon this property will prove fruitful.”
“Then if you do not mind a detour, come with me.”
He led her off the combed path toward a towering hedge of yew.
The green wall was over ten feet tall and several feet thick.
It seemed quite impenetrable, until he led the way to a patch of foxgloves.
She saw with growing curiosity that the bright spires concealed a narrow gap in the hedge.
Owen lifted a bough of yew that dipped over the entrance, giving her a clear view of the passageway.
“What is on the other side?” she asked.
He smiled. “Go through and you shall see.”
With a shiver of anticipation, Finn entered the cool, covered passage.
She felt a strange sensation of familiarity…
as if it was not the first time she’d traversed this tunnel.
She touched the dense wall of vegetation and remembered the feathery brush of the yew needles against her fingertips.
The muffled dimness teased at her memory as well, and when she came out on the other side, the rose garden that greeted her was dazzling—but not entirely a surprise.
The fragrance of the weighty blooms felt like…like…
Coming home. It feels as if I’ve come home.
“What do you think?” Owen asked.
Slowly, she turned to look at him, and for a dizzying instant, his handsomeness belonged to a different face. A different time. Her heart galloped.
“Are you all right?”
She blinked—and realized that Owen was studying her, his brows pinched.
“Y-yes,” she stammered. “I’m perfectly fine.”
Perfectly fine for someone who belongs in Bedlam.
She told herself that the sudden blaze of light after the tunnel must have disoriented her senses. Just like the lack of sleep and hazy dawn had led her to imagine the woman in the woods. Or maybe she was going mad. That explanation was less disturbing than the alternative.
Don’t be ridiculous: there is no such thing as ghosts.
“Let me show you the roses,” he said.
“Yes, please.”
Taking his arm and a calming breath, she strolled over stones carpeted by moss.
Enclosed by the yew, the rose garden was a world unto itself.
The sky seemed bluer, and the birds and insects that had found this sanctuary formed a vibrant choir.
Even the air felt different against Finn’s skin, sultry and humid.
Floral fragrance saturated the space, and she could almost taste the roses: honeyed and fruity, like jam.
“Did you, um, plant the roses?” she asked.
“Most of them. The garden suffered from years of neglect, and despite my efforts to salvage what I could, most of the bushes had to be torn out. Except for these.”
They arrived at a majestic arch of tangled grey canes.
She realized that they were the ancient, thickened branches of the roses.
The arbor itself had long ago disintegrated, but the thorny, twisting stalks had formed a dome, from which huge blooms were suspended…
almost as if they were floating in space.
Tilting her head back, Finn studied the gloriously untidy roses.
Unlike the tamed blooms she’d seen earlier, these each had their own unique shape.
Made up of layers upon layers of ruffled petals, in shades ranging from deep cerise to light silvery pink, the flowers were profusions of scent and color—a heady experience that enveloped the senses.
“How extraordinary,” she breathed.
“Yes.”
Owen was looking at her, not the roses, and the pulse in her throat leapt.
When he came near, she knew she should retreat.
Instead, she swayed toward him, drawn by the intensity of his regard and the rightness of this moment.
She felt as if she belonged here…with him.
He cupped her jaw, and she angled her mouth for his kiss.
She tasted him and the roses, and the flavor was one of not only hunger but possession.
His and hers.
She kissed him with a craving that went deeper than lust. The need that simmered in her blood had the resonance of memory.
Her wanting of him was a bottomless well, as if she’d been waiting an eternity to be with him again.
As if she couldn’t wait another instant to be flesh to flesh, heart to heart, joined in the way they were meant to be.
Wild with desire, she pressed herself against him, feeling his rigid arousal prodding her skirts.
“Bloody hell, Finn.”
He was the one who broke the kiss. Resting his forehead against hers, he took several serrated breaths. She knew he was barely holding himself in check because she felt the same way. Shivering, she traced the bulging outline of his erection and heard him suck in a breath.
“I promised you discretion,” he said in a thick voice. “Otherwise…”
His words broke her sensual reverie.
Anyone could find us. I am supposed to be gathering impressions. Instead, I am lost in Owen’s kiss—
Coming to her senses, she dropped her hand, but he caught it.
“Otherwise, I would have you here,” he said in a gravelly voice. “I would lay you down on this bed of petals, Finn, and make love to you. I wouldn’t stop until you screamed my name in pleasure.”
Her heart and her pussy fluttered as he brushed his mouth over her lace-covered knuckles.
“Then I would start over again.”
The heated promise in his eyes stopped her breath.
“I shall be back in four days,” he said. “Wait for me?”
She breathed the answer in her heart. “Yes.”