Sleepless at Midnight (23 page)

Heaving a sigh of resignation, he made his way down the rose-lined pathway. When he reached the far border, he stopped, looking around, listening. Although nothing seemed amiss, he once again felt as if he were being watched. He glanced down at Danforth, noting the dog’s alert stance. Did he sense an intruder?

Matthew waited nearly a minute, but when Danforth didn’t issue so much as a warning growl, he decided it was time to get to work. He trusted Danforth’s canine senses to pick up on any intruders. If he’d brought the beast with him the night he’d seen Tom Willstone, perhaps the man would still be alive.

With the same patience he’d used for the past year, Matthew began digging a trench along the base of the shrubs, hoping this one would yield the results he sought. As he rammed the shovel into the dirt, his mind wandered to the precise thing he was trying not to think about. Her.

And not to just any thoughts about her. No, his mind instantly drifted into sensual waters that did nothing for his concentration. Halting his digging, he leaned on the shovel’s wooden handle and closed his eyes. And instantly imagined her in the bath. All wet, satiny skin, lounging in a tub of steaming water. Pictured her looking up at him with those beautiful eyes, then slowly rising from the water, like the Botticelli painting she so closely resembled. The feel of her skin, her hair, her wet, swollen sex, the flowery scent of her, the erotic sounds she’d made, were all branded in his mind. He’d gone to her bedchamber intending only to stay a moment, just to see the look on her face when she realized he intended to pay her back in kind. And then leave.

Isn’t that what he’d intended?

He opened his eyes and shook his head. God help him, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he’d taken one look at her and been completely captivated. Thoroughly seduced. And utterly unable to walk away.

It was those damn eyes. So huge and liquid and soft. Like golden pools of honey a man could simply drown in. And every time she looked at him, that’s exactly what he felt like a drowning man. Yet it was so much more than just her eyes. It was…everything. It was just…her. Never had a woman affected him so strongly so quickly. He tried to recall any woman who’d fascinated him as this one did, who filled every corner of his mind, whom he ached to touch as he did this one, who eroded his control so completely, and he failed utterly. Which, given his circumstances, was very bad indeed.

An agonized groan vibrated in his throat. How had this happened? How was it possible that this woman, who was nothing like the sort of woman he’d always imagined himself with, nothing at all like the sort of woman he’d always pursued in the past, was the only woman who had ever affected him this way? This profoundly?

Bloody ridiculous, that’s what it was. And bloody annoying as well. Yet also bloody undeniable. Still, this inexplicable attraction to her must simply be because she was so completely opposite of every woman he’d ever been attracted to. Which meant that this…attraction or whatever one wanted to call it, was merely some odd aberration that would hopefully go away. He cheered a bit at the thought. Yes, surely it would go away. It was merely the result of too many sleepless nights. Too much worrying. Too much pacing in front of the hearth rug. Too much hole digging.

And surely another factor was that he’d been too long without a woman. No doubt any woman who’d arisen from a steaming tub of water and stood before him wet and naked would have aroused his ardor. His inner voice guffawed and called him a bloody idiot. You’ve walked away from other women, it reminded him. But you couldn’t have walked away from Sarah in that tub if a gun were held to your head. He shot his annoying inner voice a frown and told it to shut the hell up. Damn it, such thoughts were not serving his purpose well. Heaving a frustrated sigh, Matthew set his boot on the flat end of the shovel to begin another trench. He’d just lifted the first mound of dirt when Danforth, who’d been sitting quietly, suddenly stood. The dog lifted his nose, his nostrils twitched, and his entire body tensed as if ready to spring into action. A low rumble sounded from his throat, and in the next instant he raced down the path.

In a flash, Matthew retrieved the knife from his right boot, and with the weapon in one hand and the shovel in the other, he ran after Danforth.

As he neared the end of the rose garden, he heard a crashing in the underbrush followed by several deep woofs. Seconds later Matthew rounded a corner in the path and skidded to a halt. And stared. At Danforth, who, instead of cornering and holding at bay a potential threat, was a tail-wagging, tongue-lolling bundle of canine happiness as he gazed up adoringly at Sarah, upon whose shoe he happily sat. Sarah stood with her back pressed against the thick trunk of an elm. She patted Danforth’s head with one hand, clutched a fire poker with the other, and was making frantic shushing sounds.

Danforth, clearly sensing his presence, turned his head. He appeared to be grinning. Matthew could almost hear the beast saying, Look who I found! What jolly fun!

Hmmm. This new trick of Danforth’s of finding Sarah in places where she wasn’t expected clearly he’d taught him that. And was damn glad he had.

She looked up and stared at him over Danforth’s head with a nonplussed expression Matthew wagered matched his own. Surely he should have been annoyed at finding her here. Spying on him. Yes, the frantic pounding of his heart was the result of just that pure annoyance. It might seem like anticipation, but it most certainly was not. And this sudden heat coursing through him? That might feel like a rush of desire, but it was certainly nothing more than irritation. And certainly he wasn’t imagining her naked. And wet. And melting in his arms.

Reaching up, she pushed her glasses higher on her nose then frowned. “Lord Langston? Is that you?”

Good God, the woman was daft. “Of course it’s me. What are you doing here?” Rather than answering his question, she asked one of her own. “What is wrong with your face?”

His face? He reached up and encountered his forgotten handkerchief. With an impatient gesture he yanked the linen down and glared at her. “There is nothing wrong with my face. What are you doing here?” he asked again.

She lifted her chin. “What are you doing here?”

Without taking his gaze from her, he stalked forward. When he stood directly in front of her, he issued a quiet whistle that Danforth instantly obeyed by rising and then moving to stand next to him.

“I am working in my garden,” he said in a perfectly calm voice.

Her brows shot upward and she nodded her chin toward the blade he clutched in his hand.

“Indeed? What sort of gardening are you doing with that knife? Stabbing your night bloomers to death?”

“What are you doing with my fire poker? Searching the underbrush for blazing logs?”

“I brought it with me for protection. You’ll recall that a man was killed not far from here.”

A shiver of dread, accompanied by a good dose of anger that she’d come out here alone, rippled through him. “I do indeed recall, which therefore again begs the question you’ve yet to answer: What are you doing here?”

“Walking. Enjoying the night air.”

He moved a step closer to her. Her eyes widened but she didn’t attempt to move away. “After your bath?”

“Yes. Believe it or not, bathwater does not render one incapable of walking.”

“If it was night air you sought, you could have achieved your goal without leaving the comfort of your bedchamber,” he said silkily. “You could have opened your windows and paced about your room and not have risked running into a murderer. You are either very brave or very foolish.”

“I assure you I’m not foolish. I brought the fire poker, which I was fully prepared to use” she shot him a pointed glare “and still am, if necessary. I also knew that with you and Danforth so close by, I wasn’t in any real danger.”

“And how did you know Danforth and I were close by?”

“I saw you from my window. Now it is your turn to answer my question, which you’ve ignored. What are you doing with that knife?”

“I carry it for protection against intruders.”

“I was harboring the impression that I was a guest, not an intruder.”

“My guests are all asleep at this hour.”

“As opposed to wandering about in the garden.”

“Precisely.”

“Then perhaps you should write up an instruction manual for your guests, as I was not aware I was required to retire at a certain time.”

“An instruction manual is an excellent idea. I’ll be certain to include a chapter on how guests should not spy on their hosts.”

“In that case, I’d suggest also adding a chapter on how hosts should not deliberately lie to their guests.”

“So you admit you were spying on me?”

She hesitated, then jerked her head in a nod that sent her glasses sliding downward. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“In order to find out why you’d lied to me.”

“And what exactly do you think I lied about?”

“The reason for your nocturnal visits to the garden.” She hiked her chin up a notch. “Whatever you’re doing out here has nothing to do with night bloomers or any other sort of gardening.”

“Upon what are you basing such an accusation?”

“Tell me, my lord, are your tortlingers planted in this area of the garden?”

Matthew hesitated for a beat, cursing himself for neglecting to ask Paul. “No.”

“How about your straff wort?”

“No. As I’m sure you can tell, this area of the garden is reserved primarily for roses.” Ha. So there. Even he knew enough about roses to fool a self-proclaimed gardening expert.

“So then your tortlingers and straff wort are elsewhere in the garden.”

“Obviously.”

“You’d be willing to show them to me?”

“Of course. But not now.”

“Why not?”

“Because right now I’m going to escort you back to the house then continue with my business, which is none of your business.”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind. Because I’m not leaving. What you’ll do instead is explain to me what you are doing out here. Without uttering any further falsehoods.”

“I don’t like being called a liar, Sarah.”

“Then I strongly suggest you stop lying.” She paused for several seconds then said, “There are no such things as tortlingers and straff wort.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She repeated her statement, very slowly, as if he were a half-wit. Matthew went perfectly still, then inexplicably had to fight the urge to laugh. Not at her, but at himself. Bloody hell. She’d given him ample rope and he’d very neatly hanged himself. He wasn’t certain if he was more annoyed or amused or impressed.

“I see,” he said, unable to squelch his grudging admiration.

“Then I’m sure you can also see that I am due a satisfactory explanation for your nocturnal garden visits.”

“Actually I don’t see that at all. What I do on my own property is none of your concern. Just because we’ve seen each other naked doesn’t mean I’m obligated to offer you explanations.”

“It is my concern if you don’t wish for me to believe that during your visit to the garden several nights ago you were digging a shallow grave for Mr. Willstone.”

“Is that what you believe, Sarah? That I killed Tom Willstone?” Before she could answer, he moved one step closer to her. “Because if I did kill him, surely you realize that there’d be no reason for me not to kill you.” Another step closer. Now less than two feet separated them. “Here. Now.”

Her gaze never left his, and for the space of one heartbeat it felt as if she’d looked into his soul.

“I don’t believe you killed him,” she said softly.

“Really? As you said, you saw me that night with a shovel, and there’s no point in not admitting I’ve lied about my gardening expeditions. So why don’t you believe I killed him?”

She again studied him for several long seconds before replying. And he gritted his teeth to keep from falling into the damn vortex of her gaze.

Finally she said, “Because I listen to my heart. And my heart tells me you are a man of honor. That you would not, could not, kill anyone. That a man who still so strongly carries the guilt of his siblings’ deaths, who still mourns their loss after all these years, is incapable of ending someone’s life.”

Her words seemed to burn a hole through him. There was no question that she meant what she’d said, and damn it, her unquestioning belief in him left him…humbled. Vulnerable. Unsettled and confused. He would have expected such belief from Daniel, his closest friend, but not from a woman who barely knew him. Even his own father hadn’t believed him to be a man of honor. Yet she did.

He had to swallow to find his voice, and then only managed to say, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Reaching out, she laid her hand on his arm. “Tell me what you’re doing out here. Please.”

The debate of whether to take her into his confidence was swift, decided by a combination of the concern in her eyes, the warmth from her hand, and his sudden weariness at keeping his doings secret. If he told her, given her expertise with plants, then he could simply ask for her help, which is exactly what he’d wanted to do.

After tucking his knife back in his boot and jabbing his shovel’s tip into the soft dirt, he drew a deep breath and began, “During the years prior to my father’s death, we only saw each other upon occasion, and each of those meetings were tense and awkward. He always made certain I was fully aware of his disapproval that I wasn’t worthy of the title. And that it was my fault that James, who had been worthy and more of a man than I’d ever be, was dead.”

Just saying those words stung him, hurt him, as they had every time his father had flung them at him. “Three years ago, after one such tense meeting, our normal round of arguments turned uglier than usual and all communication between us broke off. I didn’t hear from him again until he summoned me as he lay on his deathbed.”