Let It Be Love (30 page)

“Oliver, Lady Chester.” She shrugged. “Your holiday traditions are not a well-kept secret. Besides, I took Lady Chester’s place this year, remember?”

“That I will never forget,” he muttered, and released her arm. “If you would prefer the library, Judith’s is small but serviceable. However, I thought you would like this.”

For the first time she noticed her surroundings. It was as if she had stepped into a garden, and a distinctly tropical one at that. The outer walls, from what she could see that wasn’t completely obscured by greenery, were made of glass, as was the ceiling. The air was moist and there was the faint sound of water coming from somewhere. The room was softly lit with gas sconces, flagstones were laid underfoot and the stars twinkled overhead.

“Oh, my.” She gazed around in amazement. “This is…”

“Magic.” He grinned as if he were responsible. “Welcome to Judith’s conservatory.” He nodded at a pathway. “You should see the rest. There is a banana tree in here somewhere. I must admit I know scarcely anything about plants, but Judith does go on and on about them, so I daresay I’ve picked up a fact or two. Come on.”

He held out his hand. She hesitated for a moment, then placed her hand in his. He led her down the path lined with palms and ferns and plants she didn’t recognize, most blooming in a profuse manner that defied the season. “Judith had this built shortly after her husband died, long before I knew her. It’s been ten years since his death and she’s never talked about him. At least not to me. I’ve always thought she poured the affection she had for him into all this.”

She glanced at him in surprise. “What a romantic notion.”

“I have any number of romantic notions,” he said in a dry manner. “I am a most romantic chap.”

They reached an open area dominated by a tall fountain, made of white marble and simple in style yet elegant nonetheless. The water splashed from one level to the next with a joyous abandon, the drops sparkling like fine diamonds or stars freed from the night sky.

“It’s lovely,” she said softly. “Truly lovely.” From here one could well believe one had left the bonds of earth entirely and stepped into a grotto straight from Paradise itself. “It must be enormous.”

“Not really. I don’t think it’s much larger than a fair-sized parlor, but it does give the illusion of size. Perhaps because it’s so”—he glanced around wryly—“full.”

“It is indeed,” she murmured. Everywhere she looked, there was something new and unique to see: huge hibiscuses in bloom, numerous varieties of orchids and she caught the distinct scent of jasmine in the air.

“Miss Fairchild. Fiona.”

She pulled her attention from what appeared to be a gardenia although much larger than others she’d seen, and turned toward him. “Yes?”

He squared his shoulders. “I owe you an apology.”

“For?”

“For…” He shrugged helplessly. “Everything.”

She studied him for a long moment. Her immediate inclination was to forgive him—for everything—and throw herself into his arms. That, however, did not seem like an especially good idea. She drew a deep breath.

“Not at all, my lord, it is I who owe you an apology.”

His brow furrowed. “What? Why?”

“I put you in the untenable position of taking on a…a responsibility you had no desire for when I asked you to marry.”

“But it was entirely my fault. I should never have jumped to the conclusions that I did, and even though I thought your proposal was…”

She smiled encouragingly.

“Well, something that it wasn’t, I should never have accepted. Even as part of a hoax”—he shook his head—“it was unforgivable of me and I am not certain my behavior since then has been substantially better.”

“I see.” She wandered around the fountain, unsure as to what to say or do next. Better, perhaps, at the moment, not to say anything at all. She pulled off a glove and reached forward to catch a few drops of water on her fingertips. “What do you mean by your behavior since then?”

“I mean all that I’ve done, everything I’ve said.” He ran his hand through his hair in obvious frustration.

“It’s difficult to explain.”

“Try.”

“You scare me, Fiona.” He blew a long breath. “I have never been scared by a woman before, and I must say it’s damnably—”

“Frightening?” She bit back a smile.

“Yes,” he snapped, then sighed. “I have been thinking a lot about you and I and this situation…indeed, I have thought of little else since yesterday, little else since the moment we met really, and—”

“As have I.” She shook the water from her fingers and straightened. “Would you care to know my thoughts?”

“I’m not sure,” he said slowly.

She raised a brow.

“Go on.”

“Very well. To begin with, I see now I should have shared my dilemma with my aunt immediately upon my arrival rather than taking Oliver into my confidence. By this time she would have found me an acceptable match, and one as well with whom I could be happy, at least given the enthusiasm with which she has herded every eligible man in my direction tonight.”

“So I’ve noticed,” he muttered, a distinct touch of annoyance in his voice.

“It’s great fun to be sought after, you know.” She grinned. “I have had a wonderful time this evening.”

“I’ve noticed that as well.” No, more than a touch of annoyance. Even jealousy. She resisted the urge to smirk with satisfaction. “However, it is too late to rectify that mistake.”

“It is?” His expression brightened.

She nodded and meandered around the fountain to examine a lovely deep red blossom she could not identify. “I have no intention of asking another gentleman to marry me.”

“You don’t?”

She cast him a wry look. “In that, I have learned my lesson.”

He circled the fountain toward her. “Then…”

“Furthermore, I have decided, as much of the work is already done, that we should continue with our plans regarding
A Fair Surrender . Regardless of whatever else might happen, it’s something of a pity not to finish what we’ve started. Beyond that, I cannot imagine you would put your money into something that would not prove profitable eventually. It would be foolish to abandon a project that might be my financial salvation, as far-fetched as we both know that is, until such time as there is no other choice.”

“That would be foolish.” He nodded eagerly.

“However, you do understand I do not expect that salvation to come from you.” She pinned him with a firm glance. “I will not take your money.”

“Of course not,” he murmured, then paused. “Even if it means you shall have to marry Whatshisname?”

“Mr. Sinclair.” She nodded. “Yes.”

“I see.” He considered her for a long moment and she held her breath. “Now may I tell you what conclusions I’ve reached since yesterday?”

“Please do.”

He stepped closer and took her ungloved hand. A shiver ran through her at his touch. “Fiona.” His gaze met hers. He raised her hand to his lips. “I should like permission to call on you.”

She stared at him. “Call on me?”

“Yes. In a formal manner.” He turned her hand over and kissed her palm. “As men do in my position.”

“In your position?”

Something wonderful simmered in his blue eyes. “Men who are interested in more than friendship.”

“Oh?” She gazed up at him. Her heart thudded in her chest.

“I wish to do this properly.” He released her hand and drew her into his arms.

“This is not especially proper,” she murmured, but did not pull away. His gaze never left hers. “I want to do all those things men are supposed to do.”

“You have already sent me flowers,” she said weakly.

“And you have not yet thanked me.” His lips met hers.

“Thank you,” she whispered against his lips.

For a long moment his lips on hers were little more than a gentle caress. Then he pulled her closer and she slipped her arms around his neck. He pressed his lips harder against hers and desire far too long suppressed erupted between them.

Her mouth opened to his and his tongue met hers in a demanding, greedy manner that she met and matched with greed and demand of her own. Sheer desire surged though her and she clung to him, unable, unwilling to let him go.

He pulled her tighter against him and she reveled in the hard feel of his chest crushing hers and the thud of her heart beating against his and resented the endless layers of clothing that kept her flesh from his. And wanted nothing more than to tear the clothes from his body and hers, right here beneath the stars with only the plants and the flowers to bear witness and the scent of jasmine in the air. It was completely scandalous and quite irresistible.

Dimly in a distance muffled by rustling plants and the sound of trickling water, she heard the murmur of voices. A part of her mind not fogged with desire realized they would be discovered, which could lead to Jonathon being forced to marry her. And a forced marriage would not serve either of them well. Abruptly Jonathon released her and stepped away. At once she turned toward the nearest flower and slipped her glove back on over her damp fingers, all the while studying the blossom as if she had never seen anything like it before, which, in truth, she hadn’t.

“And this is a
Zygopetalon, an orchid found in the Southern Americas,” Jonathon intoned in a dull manner as if he were a scholar and learned in such matters. It was most impressive, even if she suspected he had no idea what he was talking about. “In colder regions, I believe.”

“Actually,” Judith’s voice sounded behind them, and Fiona breathed a sigh of relief, “it grows specifically at higher altitudes in Peru, Bolivia and Brazil. This particular specimen is from Brazil.” Judith moved next to Fiona and studied the flower with the obvious affection of a true collector. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She leaned closer and whispered in Fiona’s ear, “I am not alone, my dear, and I would not have come if I had known the two of you were here. But never fear, we shall weather this storm and benefit from it.”

Judith met her gaze and there was a distinct hint of mischief there. She turned away from the orchid and Fiona followed suit.

“Miss Fairchild,” Judith said in a light manner, “I believe you know the Contessa Orsetti?”

“Signorina Fairchild!” The bosomy Italian matron beamed and held out her arms as if to engulf Fiona.

“Contessa.” Fiona forced a matching smile, dutifully stepped to the older woman and took her hands.

“What a delightful surprise.”

“My dear, dear Fiona.” The contessa jerked her close and kissed the air by one side of Fiona’s face, then the other. “How grand it is to see you again. I should have called on you, but…” She heaved an overly dramatic sigh, her bosom rising and falling in emphasis. “One has so many responsibilities and obligations.”

“One does indeed,” Fiona murmured, and carefully extricated herself from the older woman’s grasp.

“You look”—the contessa studied her critically—“well enough, I suppose, given this ghastly climate.”

She glanced at Judith. “How do you survive your dreary English weather?”

“One wonders.” Judith smiled politely.

The contessa turned to Jonathon and narrowed her gaze in suspicion. “And you are?”

“Allow me to present the Marquess of Helmsley, Contessa,” Judith said. “Lord Helmsley is a very old friend of mine.”

“Is he?” The contessa held out her hand to Jonathon in an imperious manner. Jonathon politely took her hand and raised it to his lips. “A pleasure to meet you, Contessa.”

“Lord Helmsley was kind enough to show Miss Fairchild my orchids until I was able to escape my other guests and join her,” Judith said blithely, as if her request to have an unmarried woman shown anything by a gentleman without a chaperone present were the most natural thing in the world. “Miss Fairchild is interested in my orchids and Lord Helmsley is something of an amateur botanist.”

“A botanist?” The contessa studied him as if she didn’t believe Judith for a second. “You do not look like a botanist.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” he said smoothly.

“Hmph.” The contessa snorted and the faint mustache above her lip quivered. “Do tell me, then, Lord Helmsley, which is your favorite?”

“My favorite…orchid?” he said slowly. It was painfully apparent, at least to Fiona, that aside from Zygopetalon, Jonathon didn’t know one orchid from another.

“Yes, yes, which do you like best?” The contessa waved impatiently. “Let us say, of those that are here.”

“It’s difficult to select just one,” he murmured.

“Do your best.” The contessa snapped her fan. “Quick, quick, which is it to be?”

“If I am forced to choose…” he paused as if giving it considerable thought. “I should have to say the Columnea schiedeana, there behind you. A native of Mexico.”

Fiona stared. How on earth did he do that?

“And one of my own personal favorites.” Judith flashed Jonathon a congratulatory smile, and the faintest touch of jealously stabbed Fiona. It was ridiculous, of course, Judith was lending her assistance to Fiona. Still, Jonathon and Judith were such very good friends.