by Lauren Royal
He stopped dead, looking around.
“Mum is through here.”
He blinked. Violet was gazing at him, the red-covered book he’d given her clutched to her chest. “I’m coming,” he said.
The next room was a laboratory.
True, it was nothing like his. While his had but a single small window over his work space, Lady Trentingham’s large windows afforded glorious views of the gardens and the river. While his had only one wooden chair for him to sit and work, hers had six upholstered ones, arranged in pairs with elegant inlaid tables between them. Clearly this room was used for socializing as well as work. But it was a laboratory nonetheless.
Forgetting the watch in his hand, he found himself drawn to the center of the chamber, where Lady Trentingham stood at a large, rectangular table, plucking flower petals and tossing them into some sort of contraption.
“Good morning, Lord Lakefield,” she said, beaming at him as though he were her long-lost son.
He wished.
“A pleasure to see you again,” he told her.
“Yes, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” If he wasn’t mistaken, her tone was slightly critical. “What is it you’ve brought us?”
“He hasn’t brought it for us, Mum, not exactly. Just to show.” Violet shoved her spectacles up on her nose, looking a bit flustered, and Ford wondered if that was due to her mother’s attitude. It certainly surprised him.
Perhaps the Ashcrofts would be more amenable to a match than he’d thought.
Violet set the book on a table. “Give me a moment to fetch the rest of the family.”
The room seemed immeasurably emptier after she left. Listening to her fading footsteps, Ford set his watch on another of the small marquetry tables. “What is that?” he asked Lady Trentingham, indicating the odd device.
Favoring him with a smile, she tossed a final few petals into the bowl. “Joseph has given me the last of this year’s roses. I’m about to make essential rose oil. Would you care to help?”
“Certainly.” He wiped his palms on his breeches, approaching the crude apparatus. “What is it you’d like me to do?”
“Just hold the bowl while I pour boiling water, then quickly set this other bowl on top. Upside down.” She demonstrated. “Ready?”
“Pour away,” he told her, gripping the bowl while she turned to take a kettle from the fire. He watched while she poured, noting how much steam escaped before she finished and he was able to place the second bowl over the rising vapors.
“It’s called distillation.” Replacing the kettle, she swiped the back of a graceful hand across her brow. “When the drippings cool, they separate into water—rosewater, in this case—and essential oil.” She indicated the tray below.
“I see,” he told her. It was a still. But although he could tell it would work, it was like no other still he’d ever laid eyes on. Her process would be more efficient with the heat supply directly beneath, the water and petals contained in a flask so the vapors couldn’t escape. And with tubing and a water-cooling method, the oil—
“Violet said you invented a new watch,” Rose said, walking into the room with her two sisters in her wake. Rowan came close behind, making a beeline for the table where Ford’s invention waited.
“Uh-uh-uh,” Violet said before he could touch it. She reached to clasp his wrist. “Wait until Father arrives.”
“But, Violet—”
“Here.” She fetched the book Ford had given her. “Lord Lakefield brought you this from London.”
“Micrographia,” he breathed, opening it to the middle. “Look at this.” He shoved a picture in Rose’s face.
“Ewww.” She wrinkled her nose. “What is that?”
“A blue fly up close.”
Violet smiled. “I met the author at Gresham College.”
The sudden blush on her cheeks made Ford wonder if she was remembering their kisses that night. He hoped so, which was positively absurd.
“That was very nice of Lord Lakefield,” Lady Trentingham said. She was beaming in Ford’s direction again. “What do you say to him, Rowan?”
Before Rowan could offer his thanks, Violet’s father barged in, his hands full of colorful flowers.
Lilies? Violets? Ford recognized only roses, and there were none of those.
“What’s this all about?” Lord Trentingham asked.
“Lord Lakefield has designed a new watch,” Violet said.
“Lord Lakefield has resigned? Resigned from what?”
The three sisters giggled.
“Quiet, everyone.” Lady Trentingham set down the bottle she was holding and walked over to her husband. “Thank you, darling.” She took the flowers and stuffed them into a vase she took off a shelf, one of many. “Lord Lakefield has an invention to show us. Would you care to see?”
“A new sort of watch.” As Ford lifted it, everyone else moved to huddle around.
“Look,” Violet said. “There’s an extra hand to mark the minutes, so you no longer have to guess. Isn’t it amazing?”
“Very impressive,” Lord Trentingham said.
“Brilliant.” His wife’s smile looked so genuine that Ford once again had the impression she might really approve of him.
“I want one,” Rowan said.
“Let me see,” Rose demanded, and Lily chimed in more softly with “Me, too.”
Ford handed over the timepiece, watching to make sure they’d be careful with it. But then his gaze was drawn to Violet. He hadn’t seen her in a week. Hadn’t touched her in a week.
Damnation, he still wanted her.
Their eyes searched, met, locked. Sparkling behind the lenses he’d made, hers were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. An unspoken message passed between them.
“If you’ve no objections,” he said slowly, “I would like to take your daughter for a walk.”
“Go ahead, dears,” Lady Trentingham said. “We’re watching the time pass!”
FORTY-ONE
WATCHING TIME. How much time, Violet wondered as they strolled toward the river, until Ford returned to London?
This last week had been so monotonous while he’d been holed up working on his watch. She could hardly remember what she used to do with her days before he’d arrived with Jewel in tow. But now the girl had gone home, and he was finished with what he’d come to do. Soon, he’d be leaving. He’d probably asked her out here to tell her that.
She crossed her arms and hugged herself.
“Cold?” he asked.
“Not really.” The August day was breezy yet warm, and the grass felt springy beneath her shoes. As they approached the bridge, she bent to pick one of the daisies that dotted the green. Idly she plucked the white petals.
He loves me, he loves me not.
But of course he didn’t. The new yellow gown she was wearing might be fancier than her old ones, but a dress couldn’t make her pretty. Since the reception at Gresham College, she may have been allowing Margaret to coax her hair into fashionable ringlets, but the curls didn’t hide the overly intellectual brain hiding beneath.
The only thing she had that a man would be attracted to was her money.
She tossed the daisy at the foot of the bridge as they started across. “Have you missed Jewel this past week?”
He gave her a melancholy smile. “I’ve surprised myself by missing her something fierce. I’ve written her two letters already. She loves getting mail.”
In the middle of the bridge, she stopped and turned to face him. “How thoughtful.”
He shrugged. “It’s partly selfish, to be honest. I’m hoping for letters in return.” Water flowed under the boards beneath their feet, and two swans glided near, but she had no food to toss to them. “I missed you this past week as well,” he said quietly.
Had he? She searched his brilliant blue eyes. “It felt odd not to be heading for Lakefield in the afternoons.”
“Then you missed me, too?”
She couldn’t deny it. B
ut what good would it do to confirm? Admitting her feelings would change nothing.
Reaching to raise her chin, he looked deeply into her eyes. Without closing his own, he moved in to kiss her. Tender and sweet, no more than a fleeting touch of lips. “I care for you, Violet. I’ve been trying to analyze why. But I think—no matter how much it pains me to admit this—there are some things one cannot analyze.”
She didn’t know how to respond, but her lips tingled. His fingers felt warm on her skin. When he moved toward her again, her gaze darted up to the perfumery’s windows. Her family lurked behind the glass, probably still exclaiming over Ford’s invention. A pale oval appeared behind a pane, then disappeared. She’d bet the Master-piece it was Rose, spying.
He raised that devilish brow. “Afraid we’re being watched?”
“I wouldn’t put it past my sisters.”
He nodded, and they strolled across the bridge and along the far bank of the river. Cattle grazed in the fields beyond, and a hawk circled lazily overhead. As Ford slipped his hand into hers, her gaze flicked once more to the window, and he chuckled beside her.
They walked in silence, listening to the whinnies of the horses in the field and the songs of two lovebirds in a tree. Violet focused on the feel of their joined hands, startling when he slipped his thumb inside to play upon her palm. The sensation sent a little thrill through her.
If only she could believe it was the same for him.
A small wooden gate marked the entry to the woods, and they paused only long enough to open it.
Here were new sounds: twigs crackling beneath their feet, leaves rustling overhead. Still playing with her hand, Ford led her to a tree stump and sat upon it, drawing her down to his lap.
It was most improper, but she didn’t want to move. Though they weren’t actually far from the house, the canopy of trees made this place feel secluded and private. She shifted sideways to face him, noting the faint circles under his eyes. “Looks like someone’s not sleeping,” she said quietly.
“I was up all night finishing the watch.” He raised their joined hands to brush his lips over her knuckles. “Didn’t even realize it was morning until Hilda offered me breakfast.”
“You should have slept, then, after you were done.”
“I couldn’t. I was too excited. I wanted to show it to someone.” He paused, pressing a slow kiss to the back of her hand while slanting a glance up at her. “I wanted to show it to you. Only you, Violet.”
Her breathing shallowed at the thought. Faith, she wanted to believe him. “I’m sorry, then, that I brought my family—”
“No. I enjoyed showing it to them, too.” Still holding her hand, he used his free hand to sweep the hair off her neck. “But you were the one I truly wanted to share it with.” He bent his head, his warm lips grazing her nape.
Pleasure rippled through her.
She wanted this. Whenever he touched her, especially like this, she wanted him. It was as though she had no control over her own body.
His mouth trailed the back of her neck, her collarbone, her shoulders revealed in the wide neckline of her new gown. She felt his breath, the heat of it sending a shiver down her spine. He drew off her spectacles and set them on her lap, then placed his hands on her cheeks. His mouth met hers, his thumbs gently stroking as he kissed her.
She was undone. Resistance fled, and she twisted to more fully face him, slipping her hands beneath his coat. His mouth turned wild and demanding, his tongue fencing with hers, an impassioned bid for possession.
And oh my, she thought with what little ability to think she had left, she wanted to be possessed. She strained closer to him, wanting. That curious warmth was spreading in her middle.
Great heat…greatly delights the woman.
He threaded his fingers into her hair, cupping her face in his hands as he tilted it back. His lips traced a path down her chin, her neck, a hot, damp swath of sensation. Then his tongue crept out, licking, stroking, dipping into the valley between her breasts. A bolt of excitement streaked through her, straight to a place she hadn’t had a name for until last week.
Her seat of womanly pleasure.
“Ford,” she breathed, her hands tightening where they gripped his sides. “What are you doing to me?”
Although she hadn’t meant him to answer, he stilled and raised his head to meet her eyes, a dazed expression in his own. “It’s you, Violet. You make me lose my head. I know I shouldn’t be doing this.”
He drew a long breath and slowly let it out. With a small, wry smile, he reached beneath his coat to remove her hands from his body. He set the first in her lap and lifted the second to his mouth, kissing her fingertips before he placed it atop the other.
“I think I may have fallen in love,” he confessed in a husky whisper.
Her world skidded, then righted itself. It wasn’t quite “I love you,” but close. He was saying all the right things, in just the right way to make her question all her old insecurities. When he looked at her like that, with those incredible blue eyes, she wanted to believe him more than she’d wanted anything, ever.
She just didn’t know whether she could.
She slipped her spectacles back on, determined to regain her control, to focus her mind on other, more practical things. “Where will you sell it?” she asked quietly.
His eyes cleared, a concern stealing into them, a disappointment in her lack of response. “Sell what?”
“Your watch.”
“My watch?” He sighed, then bent his head, his hair flopping forward like a young boy’s.
A hot stab of love sliced through her.
“I’m not planning to sell my watch,” he said. “I’m not equipped to manufacture watches.”
Stunned, she sat up straight and felt him tense in response. “Well, then,” she asked, “what do you plan to do with it?”
He straightened, too. “I’ll bring it to the next Royal Society meeting. I’m certain it will be a sensation.”
“And then…”
“That’s it. I have other projects I’m working on—”
“You’re serious, then?” She couldn’t believe it. “You have no plans for the watch?”
“I invented it. That was my plan.” When she tried to rise, his arms tightened around her. “I’m not a businessman,” he said softly. “I have no knowledge of that world. The creation was a satisfying end in itself.”
“I don’t understand you,” she said. True, the aristocracy in general saw trade as beneath them, but only a rich man had the luxury of doing what he pleased without thought to profit.
Or a man who planned to rely on his wife for income.
She didn’t want to think that of him. His words to her had sounded too sincere, his admission about the watch too uncalculated. She’d seen how much he cared for Jewel; she knew his heart was a good one. His steady gaze looked honest, not deceitful, and she no longer believed all his kisses were only a ruse.
But she couldn’t help wondering.
He stared at her for a long, silent moment. A bird fluttered from one tree to another. A cow lowed in the fields beyond the woods. She heard her blood pounding in her ears.
“I don’t understand me, either,” he agreed, and finally let her rise.
FORTY-TWO
“HAVE YOU AND Ford had a fight?” Sitting cross-legged on Violet’s bed that night, Lily patted May-dew on her face from a bottle she’d purchased in London. “He didn’t seem very happy when he came back for his watch.”
Violet paced her bedchamber, restlessly touching things at random. “No, we didn’t fight.”
She had no idea how to explain what had happened in the woods, because she hadn’t yet figured it out. The two of them had walked back in silence, as though they had nothing left to say to each other. But Ford hadn’t seemed angry. Before they’d reentered the house, he’d even brushed a kiss across her forehead at the door. And then sighed before he opened it.
She sighed now. “I still cannot believe
he isn’t going to do anything with the watch.”
Rose played with her hair, examining herself in the mirror at Violet’s dressing table. “Not everyone is as ambitious as you are, Violet.” She turned from her reflection, her tresses twisted up high. “Do you prefer it up or down?”
“Up,” Lily said at the same time Violet said, “Down.”
“Some help you two are.” Rose stood, fluffing her white night rail. Violet was struck anew by her younger sister’s stunning beauty, but quickly suppressed the stab of envy. “It’s not like you can change him,” Rose told her. “And why would you want to, anyway? You keep insisting you’re not interested in him.”
Violet plopped on her bed so hard the ropes creaked a protest beneath the mattress. “I just find it hard to believe he can invent something so important and not be interested in selling it. Or patenting it, at least. At the Royal Society event, I heard that Christopher Wren patented a device for writing with two pens. If anyone uses his idea, they have to pay for it.”
Lily scooted nearer and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Why is this bothering you so, Violet? It’s not your invention.”
“I just hate to see such brilliance go to waste.”
Blinking, Lily shifted to face her. “Perhaps Ford isn’t motivated by money, but it’s not as though he’s lazy. It’s only that he does things for other reasons than you would. He might invent something to make someone happy, or create something he hopes will be a benefit to mankind. His values may be different than yours, but that doesn’t mean they’re inferior.”
Violet wondered when young Lily had become so wise. “I never thought of it that way,” she murmured, more confused than ever.
Her two sisters exchanged a glance. “Did he kiss you again?” Rose asked.
“Maybe.” Violet stood and resumed pacing. She could feel her sisters’ gazes following her as she trod back and forth. Facing away from them, she stopped. “All right, he did.”
“And was it as wondrous as before?” When Violet failed to answer, Lily rose and came up behind her, settling her hands on her shoulders. “If you love him,” she said softly, “why won’t you consider marriage?”
