All About Passion (29 page)

"Thank you."

Raising her hands, she framed his face, then leaned forward and kissed him, deliberately, sensuously yet without heat.

From beneath lowered lids, he watched her, and felt his hunger stir. Felt the barbarian rise, but for once, his appetite wasn't lust, not even desire.

Something else. Something more.

He kissed her back, and she returned the pleasure, and it was simply that—a shared moment of physical touching, caressing.

It had no purpose beyond that—the exchange of a gentle touch.

Eventually, she drew back and he let her. She smiled, happy and pleased. "So, how should we spread the news? It's only a few weeks away. Whom should we tell?"

"Harris." Gyles urged her to her feet and she rose. He stood, claimed her hand, then led her to the door.

"We invite the whole village as well as the tenants, and in Lambourn, there's no better way of making a general announcement than by telling Harris."

So they told Harris, and Gyles and she were now committed to the Harvest Festival. The next day, Francesca received a letter from Charles accepting her invitation to visit at the Castle. Franni, he reported, was absolutely delighted at the prospect of visiting there again. Francesca didn't know what to make of that. Perhaps, after all, Gyles had been right, and Franni's reaction at their wedding had simply been due to overexcitement. That suggested that Franni's gentleman was either someone else, or a figment of her imagination. Francesca could see no way of deciding, not until Franni, and Charles and Ester, arrived.

Putting the matter aside, she threw herself into preparations, both for the Harvest Festival and for her uncle's visit. She made lists, and lists of lists. One of the items on her list for today was dealing with the rejuvenation of the flower beds before the forecourt.

"It is simply unacceptable." Together with Edwards, she stood in the drive one hundred yards from the house, facing the forecourt and the empty, leaf-strewn beds along its nearest edge. "That is not an appealing vista and no fit introduction to the house."

"Mmm."

Dour and glum, Edwards stood, a great hulk beside her, and scowled at the offending mounds. Arms folded, Francesca turned to him. "You're the head gardener. What are your suggestions?" He glanced sideways at her, then cleared his throat.

"Flowers won't do aught. Not there. Needs trees, it does."

"Trees." Francesca glanced at the huge oaks surrounding them. "More trees."

"Aye. Pencil pines is what I'm thinking."

"Pencil pines?"

"Aye. See—" Rooting around in the leaves, Edwards found a stick. With one boot, he cleared a space on the ground. "If you see this as the house—just the front, like—as we can see it from here." He drew a rectangle to represent the house. "Then if we put three pines in each side, like this." With the stick, he drew in six pines, three on either side of the gap where the drive joined the forecourt, all in a line along the forecourt's front edge. "And stagger them in size, with the outermost the tallest, and the two flanking the drive the smallest, then—well, you can see."

He stepped back, gesturing to his sketch. Francesca bent over to study it. Slowly, she straightened, looked at the house, then back down at the sketch. "That's really quite good, Edwards." She stepped back, narrowing her eyes, trying to imagine it. "Yes," she nodded decisively. "But there's one thing missing."

"Eh?"

"Come with me." She walked back along the drive almost to the empty beds. Stopping, she scuffed back leaves along the drive's edge, uncovering stone. "This is the base for a carved stone trough—there's a similar base on the other side of the drive. Lady Elizabeth remembers the troughs filled with flowers on her wedding day, but they were removed at some point."

"Aye, well—I doubt we'd be able to get such things now. Takes a mite of effort to do such work."

"Oh, there's no need for new ones. The troughs are at the far end of the orchard, almost overgrown, but I'm sure they can be dug out."

"Mmm." Edwards's frown returned.

"There're also two matching troughs, smaller ones, that should sit on the top steps of the porch. They're presently in the field behind the stable."

"Used for horse troughs, they be."

"Indeed, but Jacobs is quite sure his charges do not need anything so fancy." Francesca met Edwards's eyes, overhung and half-obscured by his shaggy brows. "I'll make a bargain with you. I will allow you to put in the six trees, rather than plant the
entire beds
with flowers, provided you oversee the disinterring of those troughs—all four of them—and their cleaning and replacement in their proper positions. I've heard young Johnny likes planting and tending flowers, so, under your instruction, he can fill the troughs and plant the appropriate bulbs—I want tulips and daffodils, followed by other flowers as the seasons progress. I don't know what grows well at this time of year"—she smiled—"but I'm sure you and Johnny will."

Turning, she surveyed the presently bare beds. "Now, how soon do you think that can be done?"

"Mmm. I know where we can get the pines… I suppose we'd have it done in a week." Edwards glanced at her. "Be faster if we didn't have to do those troughs—"

"The troughs and trees all at once, please."

"Well, then, a week."

"Excellent." Francesca nodded, then smiled confidingly. "My uncle and his family will be arriving in a week's time, and I would like the house to look well."

The faintest tinge of color showed under Edwards's weathered skin. "Aye, well," he said gruffly. "We'll have the place all right and special for ye in a week then, p'raps sooner. Now—" Stepping back, he looked around.

"Now you must return to your trees." Francesca nodded a dismissal. Gyles had been watching from the shadows of the porch. Seeing Edwards lumber off, he strolled out and down the steps. Francesca saw him. Smiling, she came to meet him.

"Did you succeed?" Taking her hand, he drew it through his arm, covering her hand with his.

"Edwards and I have come to an understanding."

"I never doubted it could be otherwise."

They turned toward the bluff, strolling around the Castle to where Edwards's beloved trees gave way to shrubs and the occasional rose.

"I received a packet from Devil this morning." Gyles broke the companionable silence as they reached the old ramparts and the wide vista of his lands opened before them. "He and Honoria are back in London. He sent the latest parliamentary deliberations of note."

"Is Parliament sitting at present?"

"Yes—the autumn session is under way."

Gyles thought of it—his normal life until now, the ton largely back in residence, the usual round of balls, parties, and the even more important dinners, the jostling of the hostesses for prominence and the more serious discussions that took place behind the glittering facade. For years, that had been the focus of his life.

They paused, looking out over the land, ablaze in autumn's glory.

"Do we need to go to London—for Parliament?"

"No."

He'd thought of it, but not as
we.
He glanced at her, met her eyes briefly, tucked a whipping lock of her hair behind her ear, then looked back at the view.

His aversion to the idea of returning to London alone should have surprised him, yet it hadn't. He was, it seemed, getting used to the fact that, when it came to all matters pertaining to her, his barbarian self ruled. His true self would not be parted from her, would not even consider it. They stood side by side and he surveyed his domain, then he lowered his arm, closing his hand about hers. "Come. Let's go down to the folly."

Folly indeed.

Later that night, Gyles lay on his back in the dark warmth, and listened to the soft sigh of his wife's breathing.

Hands behind his head, he stared up at the canopy, and wondered what the hell he was doing. Where he thought he was going.

Where
they
were going.

The correction summed up his problem. He could no longer consider the future from his standpoint alone. No matter what tack he took, what frame of reference, she was always in the picture. In truth, her happiness was now more relevant than his, because his depended on hers. Was it any wonder he was struggling?

It would have been easier if she'd made demands. Instead, she'd left the choice to him, avoiding the pitfall of setting her will against his. He was conditioned and prepared for such battles; the outcome would have been swift and certain.

And he wouldn't now be lying here, engulfed in uncertainty.

She'd made her position clear. He ruled, he made the decisions—and if she didn't like them, she would go her own way.

He didn't doubt she would. At her core lay a stubbornness he recognized, an unswerving devotion to her cause.

A devotion he coveted for himself. Not just for his political ambitions, not just for his marriage, not even for the effect such a devotion would have on his life.

He wanted her devoted to
him
.

Wanted to see it in her eyes as she took him in, feel it in her lips as she kissed him, in her touch as she caressed him. All she gave him now, he wanted—forever.

He glanced at her dark head, felt the warmth of her body, relaxed and boneless against him. Felt an immediate urge to seize, to lock her to him.

Looking back at the canopy, he wrenched his thoughts back to his problem. He wanted her love, her devotion, wanted her exclusively focused on him. She was prepared to offer him that. In return, she wanted one thing.

He wanted to give it to her—wanted to love her—but… that, in and of itself, was the very last thing he wanted to do.

The ultimate contradiction.

There had to be a way around it. For his sanity's sake, he had to find it. Had to find an option that would satisfy her, but still leave him unexposed, emotionally invulnerable.

The alternative was unthinkable. Still was and always would be.

Chapter 13

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"Well, my. dear! Married life clearly agrees with you."

Francesca beamed. On tiptoe, she kissed Charles's cheek, then turned to greet Ester. "I'm so glad you could come. It hasn't been long, I know, but I've missed you."

"And we've missed you, dear." Ester brushed cheeks, then gave way to Franni. Francesca searched Franni's pale blue eyes; her cousin smiled blithely, stepped forward, and kissed her. Then she looked around. "It's a very big house, isn't it? I didn't see much of it, last time." They were on the front porch. Charles's traveling coach was being unloaded in the forecourt.

"I'll take you on a tour, if you like." Francesca looked at Ester and Charles, extending the invitation to them all.

"Why not?" Charles turned from shaking hands with Gyles. "I'd enjoy a guided tour about the ancestral home."

"Let's go upstairs and get you settled, then it'll be time for lunch. After that, I'll show you the Castle." Francesca started to gather Ester and Franni, but Franni slipped aside and went to stand before Gyles. She curtsied deeply. Gyles hesitated, then took her hand and raised her.

Franni looked into his face, and smiled. "Hello, Cousin Gyles." Gyles nodded. "Cousin Frances." He released her and waved them all inside. Franni joined Francesca and Ester, eagerly looking around her as they traversed the huge hall.

"A
big
house," Franni echoed, as they climbed the stairs.

"So we'll only be here three nights." Charles smiled at Francesca. It was evening, and they were all gathered in the family parlor, waiting for dinner to be announced. "Thank you for being so understanding."

They were standing by the
chaise.
Before the hearth, Gyles was chatting to Ester, with Franni hanging on his every word.

"Nonsense." Francesca squeezed Charles's arm. "If the waters at Bath really do help Franni, then of course you must seize the chance and take her there again." Charles had warned her in a last-minute letter that their visit would be curtailed; he'd just explained why. Bath's sulphurous springs had given Franni more energy, but while Charles and Ester were keen to travel there again, they'd only been able to get Franni to agree by linking the trip to their visit to Lambourn.

"Indeed," Francesca continued, "if you wish to take her there in the future, you must write and let me know. You'll always be welcome here." She smiled. "For however many nights."

"Thank you, my dear." Charles's gaze rested on Franni. "I confess we're more hopeful than previously. Both Ester and I were worried that your leaving and the excitement of the wedding might prove too much, might even precipitate some worsening of Franni's condition. Instead, since recovering from the laudanum the day after the wedding, she seems only to have improved. It's been a relief." Francesca nodded. She'd never understood the basis of

Franni's "condition," but if Charles and Ester were relieved and hopeful, she could only be glad. Irving entered and announced that dinner was served, much to Franni's delight. Gyles very correctly offered both her and Ester an arm; Charles and Francesca followed.

They settled about the table in the family dining room. Francesca watched as Irving and the footmen served. Franni seemed delighted with everything. She held forth to Gyles on all she'd seen during their extended excursion around the Castle. Gyles had lunched with them, then retreated to his study; Franni had been unconcerned. Now, beneath her cousin's artlessness, Francesca could detect no sign of unease, sorrow, or upset.

She must have misinterpreted, and Gyles was not Franni's gentleman caller after all. Charles, on her right, asked about a dish; Francesca replied. She chatted with her uncle and Ester, on her left. Franni sat beyond Charles, to Gyles's left, an arrangement dictated by custom rather than Francesca's wish. But it seemed her worry over her cousin's possible sensibility had been misplaced. If that were so, she was grateful, yet…

She turned to Ester. "Does Franni still rise very early?"

Ester nodded. "You might want to warn your staff."

Francesca made a mental note to mention the fact to Wallace.

"My dear, you must give me this recipe so I can take it home for Cook."