by Lauren Royal
“Odd woman, that. Most folk would be thrilled to wed a Chase, given your family’s connections to King Charles. And most fathers would insist on it.”
A comely serving maid plunked two more ales before them, fixing Ford with a leering grin. But he wasn’t interested. He flipped her a coin. “The Ashcrofts are different from ‘most folk.’ They’ve raised their daughters to make their own decisions. They have the most absurd family motto: Interroga Conformationem.”
“Question Convention,” Rand translated, looking amused. “Regardless, she should choose you. For security.” He took a long swallow. “Even without the Philosopher’s Stone, you’re hardly a pauper. Take her to Cainewood if she wishes to live in luxury.”
“I don’t want to live at Cainewood.” He was tired of living under his brother’s scrutiny. He wanted to be self-sufficient. “Anyway, it’s not luxury, per se, that concerns Violet. She’s not a frilly female, and she has her own money.”
“Ah. I remember. Given to her by that eccentric grandfather. To ‘leave her mark on the world.’”
“Yes. And having seen the state of Lakefield, she’s convinced herself I want her only for her inheritance. She won’t believe I love her.”
Rand shrugged. “It would be a good start to tell her.”
“Bloody hell, I have. Repeatedly. In every way I know how.” Closing his eyes, Ford lowered his head and raked both hands through his hair.
When he looked up, his friend’s features expressed sympathy. Or disbelief. Or maybe both.
“Man, you’ve got it bad.” Rand drained the ale and signaled for yet another. “I’ve never told a woman that.”
Ford cocked a doubting brow. “Never?”
“Not when I meant it, anyway.”
FIFTY-SIX
SO HE WASN’T going to be making gold anytime soon. Their minds numbed by several more ales, Ford and Rand had concluded that didn’t mean he had to give up on marrying Violet. All he had to do was convince her he loved her, not her money, which should be a simple enough task.
First, they decided, he had to keep showing her how much he loved her. He’d made a good start there, Ford explained to Rand in a drunken boast. Continued sensual assaults ought to eventually wear her down. It was only a matter of time before he became part of her the same way she had become part of him.
Rand groaned at that sentimental slop and ordered another round.
Second, Ford would change his priorities, put managing the estate first and relegate his science to a hobby. He’d already decided he was willing to do that and told both Violet and her mother as much. And it was infinitely more palatable than the alternative, which was losing Violet.
Love changed a man.
Of course, it would be a good while before the estate earned an income sufficient to pay all the debts, but in the meantime, Ford and Rand had reasoned, if he fixed up Lakefield, it wouldn’t keep reminding Violet of his temporary lack of finances.
Which was why he was now outside, hacking away at his garden.
Hilda approached, bearing a tankard of fresh lemonade.
“A gift from heaven.” He thunked his ax into the ground and held the cold drink against his forehead.
Hilda settled her hands on her wide hips. “Just what do you think you’re doing out here?”
“Cleaning up.” He gulped greedily. “Then I’ll plant.”
“Plant what?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll think about that when I get there.” He knew zero about plants, other than what some of them looked like extremely close up, thanks to Micrographia.
She eyed a ladder propped against the wall. “Are you planning to plant vines?”
“Excellent idea.” He sipped again, letting the sweet coolness flow down his throat. “That would save me from painting, wouldn’t it?”
“You’re going to paint, too?”
“That’s the plan. I sent Harry off for paint. Didn’t he tell you?”
“Since when does Harry tell me anything?” She took the empty tankard from his hand. “What was the ladder for, then?”
“I tried to fix the roof.” Turning away, he lifted the ax. “If you wouldn’t mind going into the laboratory—”
“Into your private domain?” She laid a hand on her pillowy bosom. “Be still my heart.”
“—you may find some foreign matter has fallen from above.”
He whacked at an overgrown bush. Or vine. He wasn’t sure which, but he was fairly certain the thing wouldn’t be termed a tree. “I’m going to have to ask Harry to find a roofer.” He whacked again, then turned sharply when he heard her snort. “Are you laughing at me?”
“Of course not, milord. That would be terribly disrespectful, wouldn’t it?” She cleared her throat. “You know, some of that may be salvageable if you prune it instead of killing it.”
He ran a grubby hand back through his hair. “Is that so? I had no idea you were knowledgeable about vegetation. I’m thinking perhaps you—”
“Think again.” She drew herself up to her full height of five feet. “I’m a housekeeper, not a gardener. It’s dirty work, that is.”
It certainly was, if the state of his clothing was any indication. Deciding he’d done as much to destroy that plant as possible, he moved to the next one.
“Why are you limping?” Hilda’s eyes narrowed. “Your breeches are torn.”
He started to wave the ax in a dismissive gesture, then thought better of it. He was reasonably proficient with a sword, but the ax was another matter. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Just scratched myself a bit up on the roof.”
“Fell through, you mean, do you not?”
On second thought, if the woman failed to curb her tongue, the ax could come in handy. His hand tightened on the hilt. Or the grip. Or whatever one called the wooden part of an ax. “Perhaps my foot did slip. I told you there might be foreign matter in the laboratory that needs to be cleared away.”
“Well, I hope your blood isn’t mixed with it.” Shaking her head, she walked away, leaving him in peace at last.
As soon as she disappeared around the corner, he plopped onto a stone bench, groaning when a tangle of twigs poked into his anatomy. He swiped a hand across his brow and eyed his handiwork.
He’d been chopping away for nigh on four hours, and the job looked bigger than when he’d started.
FIFTY-SEVEN
“VERY INTERESTING,” Violet said, staring at the dried top of a pineapple.
Lily smiled sweetly at their father. “What an exciting project.”
“It’s an ugly thing,” Rose said.
Father gave her an indulgent smile—or perhaps he hadn’t quite heard her. All plants were beautiful to him, and he’d been known to take offense on their behalf. “I’m going to plant it in a big pot and keep it here in the Stone Gallery at nights and all winter.”
Violet didn’t find the plan surprising, since he was already trying to grow oranges indoors. The long, narrow chamber, which was lined with windows and occupied the entire ground floor of the west wing, had been used in Tudor times to take exercise in inclement weather. But now one could hardly walk two steps without bumping into a plant.
Rowan’s foot tapped on the black-and-white marble floor. “How many pineapples will it grow?”
“I’m not sure.” Father frowned. “Maybe only one.”
“One? We’ll eat it in a trice!”
“But then I’ll have another top, and I can grow more—”
“And by the time Rowan is married with children,” Rose finished for him, “we ought to have a decent crop. Anyone want to go riding?”
It seemed a long time since Violet had exercised anything but her heart. “I’m game,” she said.
“Me, too,” Lily added.
“Me three.” Rowan scratched his head. “No, make that four.”
They all laughed as they trooped outside.
A few minutes later they were mounted on their horses and riding along the river. Violet took the le
ad and automatically headed toward Lakefield, hoping Ford was back from Oxford. She wanted to see him. She wanted to look into his eyes and decide if she was prepared to take the next step.
The sun felt warm on her skin, and Socrates’s white hide was tickly against her legs. She leaned into a turn, loving the wind in her hair, the fluid movements of the animal beneath her. Suddenly she felt like she’d been cooped up in the house entirely too long. The fresh air felt marvelous. She decided she should leave her books behind and get out more often.
“We should ride the other way,” Rowan said.
Lily pulled up alongside him. “Why is that?”
He shook his head ruefully. “I don’t want to see Jewel.”
Three days had passed since he’d drunk the chocolate, and he was still scratching. And doubtless still hearing Jewel’s laughter in his ears.
Rose laughed now. “Jewel went home with her parents, you goose.”
“Oh.”
“And anyway,” Violet soothed, “I’m sure she won’t…”
Her words trailed off as Lakefield House came within sight.
“Oh my,” she said, staring at the decimated garden. “What do you think happened?”
“A storm,” Rowan guessed. “With lots of blowing.”
Lily’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “I expect we would have felt the effects of that at Trentingham.”
Rose shaded her eyes with a hand. “Is that a hole in the roof?”
They drew nearer. “Oh my,” Violet said. “Is that—oh my.”
“On the ladder there.” Lily cocked her head. “Is it Ford?”
Rose drew breath and let out a very unladylike shout. “Lord Lakefield! Is that you?”
Her voice carried so well, even their father would have turned his head. Which the man on the ladder did, to reveal a face splattered with paint. His clothing wasn’t faring any better. As they rode closer and came to a stop near the house, Violet watched a white blob roll down his hair and land on one of his boots.
She burst out laughing.
Ford backed awkwardly down the ladder and limped over to look up at her on her horse. He crossed his arms, then dropped them, grimacing at the white handprints he’d just made on his clothes. “What’s so funny?”
At that, her sisters burst out laughing, too.
With a supreme effort, Violet controlled herself. “What,” she asked, “do you think you’re doing?”
“I told you I was going to fix this place up.”
Another little giggle escaped. “I didn’t think you meant to do it yourself.”
Rose snorted. “It looks worse than when you started.”
He glared at her a moment, then his lips twitched before he broke into a full-fledged grin. “My lady, I reckon you’re right.” He turned to address Violet. “May I speak with you for a moment? In private?”
She looked to her sisters, but this, after all, was what she had come for. So she shrugged and handed her reins to Lily, slid off Socrates, and followed Ford around the corner of the house.
The moment they were out of sight, he dragged her into his arms.
Her gasp of surprise was covered by his mouth. The familiar weakness stole over her, and her body went limp as her whole being focused on his kiss. His lips opened hers, and his tongue swept her mouth, gentle and demanding at the same time. He smelled of Ford and paint, of forbidden lust. She ached for the pleasure she now knew he could give her.
Breathless, nearly senseless, she pulled back, then looked down at her gown and gasped again.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll buy you another.”
“I’m more concerned with what my family will think.”
He ran a paint-stained finger down her arm. “They’ll think I couldn’t help myself, because I’m in love with you. Which is true.”
She shivered. “Ford—”
“Will you come over tonight? Will you let me show you how much I love you?”
“I cannot do that!” It was one thing to go to supper and inadvertently end up in a bed. It was quite another to plan such an assignation from the outset.
This wasn’t what she had come for. She’d come to look into his eyes.
But she did that now, and all she saw was temptation.
He grinned, his teeth as white as the paint. “How about if I scrub up first?”
“That—that has nothing to do with it. I cannot come here at night, Ford.” She brushed at her hopelessly stained skirts. “What would my family think?” she added, knowing well what they would think. They would most likely think it was perfectly all right. And they would definitely think she should marry him.
“You came once for supper with your mother’s blessing,” he reminded her—as though she hadn’t spent half her waking hours replaying that night in her head. “Besides, your family has no need to know.”
She was shocked speechless for a moment. “You mean I should…sneak out? I couldn’t!”
“Why not?” While she stood there with her mouth open, he elaborated, reaching to twirl a lock of her hair. “I’ll come and get you—I’d never ask you to make your way here alone.” Her scalp tingled. “Or if you’d prefer, I’ll sneak into your chamber instead.”
“No!” She’d be mortified if they were caught. “For one thing, from what I’ve seen here today, you can barely climb a ladder.”
“Too true.” Dropping the curl, he gestured at the house. “I think this project is finished. At least until I can hire some competent laborers.”
“That’s the first sane thing you’ve said this afternoon.”
He curved an arm around her waist and pulled her close again, nipping softly at her bottom lip with his teeth. “Wait until you hear what I have to say to you this evening…”
“Ford…”
“I’ll be there, waiting, at eleven o’clock.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Below your window.”
Greedy for a real kiss, she turned her head until her lips met his. And took what she wanted. And wanted still more.
“I am not climbing out a window,” she whispered when she finally came up for air.
FIFTY-EIGHT
DUE TO THE state of her gown, Violet’s sisters had teased her mercilessly all the way home. Never mind that she had a reputation for tripping, they’d refused to believe she’d stumbled and fallen against the paint.
When they arrived at Trentingham, she’d endured more teasing from Father and Mum.
And now, hours later, after a bath and supper and many feigned yawns as she took herself off to bed, she was not climbing out a window.
She was sneaking out the back door instead.
The faintest sound of a pebble hitting her window had sent her racing downstairs. She simply couldn’t help herself. Before sending her off to face her sisters in her paint-stained gown, Ford had given her one last kiss that had buckled her knees. She’d known then and there that she would find a way to meet him.
One night. A few precious hours. She was hopelessly in love—and equally determined not to let that influence her decision.
And the truth was, she was more confused than ever.
Had she not seen, just this afternoon, the very proof he wanted her for her money? Ford Chase, the man who’d refused to manufacture his watch because aristocrats didn’t go into trade, was reduced to painting his own house, tending his own gardens. If that wasn’t proof he was desperate, she didn’t know what was.
Yet his eyes, when they’d met hers at the end of that final kiss, had looked so honest, so straightforward, so sincere…pools of deep blue she’d have sworn reflected a true passion in his heart.
Confusion. It should have made her refuse to meet him.
But now that she knew the bliss she could find in his arms, she seemed helpless to resist. There were also practical reasons for agreeing to this night—she was a practical woman, after all. Perhaps by sharing herself with him again, she would uncover his genuine motives. And if those motives weren’t the ones she so desperatel
y hoped for, well, then at least she would’ve grabbed her happiness while she could, knowing it might have to last the rest of her life.
Besides all that, she had questions and wanted answers, and he was the only person she felt she could ask.
She’d only just slipped out the door when she found herself caught up and swung in a wide circle. “I knew you’d come out!”
“Hush!” she admonished in a harsh whisper. “We’ll be caught.”
“Then you’ll be forced to marry me.” Sounding not at all displeased with that possibility, he set her on her feet. “Come here, my darling Violet.”
“I’m here,” she whispered, searching his eyes, which looked black in the moonlit night.
Something in them changed as he murmured, “No, come here.” And he pulled her close, crushing her against his body.
She barely had time to rip off her spectacles before his mouth descended on hers, hot and needy. For a long, heady moment she almost wished they would be forced to marry. What a relief it might be to have the decision taken out of her hands. Then she ceased to think at all, just feeling instead. Feeling the things only Ford Chase had ever made her feel.
When he finally let her go, the book dropped to the grass between them. He bent to pick it up. “What’s this?”
She turned hot, thankful for the cover of darkness. “Aristotle’s Master-piece,” she mumbled, fumbling her spectacles back on.
He tugged her close again, running a hand down her back to her bottom. She felt all melty inside. “Hmm?” he asked. “Why’d you bring a book?”
“I…well…there are things I don’t understand.” She licked her lips. “I was hoping you could explain them.”
“Me? Explain philosophy to you?”
“It’s not philosophy, Ford.”
UPSTAIRS, CHRYSTABEL let the curtain drop closed. “She’s not alone, Joseph. Ford was waiting.”
“I told you Violet was too smart a girl to go wandering off by herself. Even if she wasn’t bright enough to realize we’d notice. Now come back to bed.”
