Page 31 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

He considered. “There are a number of gossips in London,” he mused. “The worst is actually a young Town buck. A terrible young man, he does little save gamble and spread the latest scandal. I’ve seen him scramble across a ballroom in search of a juicy tidbit—just exactly like the books describe the movements of a capuchin monkey.”

“Oh, I’ve seen pictures of them—so darling!”

“Yes, well, picture one in breeches and a coat, chasingon ditsinstead of fruit.”

She laughed right out loud, imagining such a creature scurrying about, from group to group.

He watched her with an odd smile on his face.

“What is it?” she asked, suddenly feeling awkward. “Why do you stare?” She shrugged. “I like to laugh.”

“As do I.” His mouth quirked. “But not nearly as much as I like to see you do it.”

“I doubt many others in London will feel the same.” She sighed. “I know I will set a step wrong and set everyone to talking. It’s why I do not look forward to the marriage mart. The balls, the routes, the Venetian breakfasts. The crowds.” Pursing her lips, she confessed, “I’m afraid I just prefer plants to people.”

“I know just what you mean. And, I know just the thing. Follow me,” he indicated a direction. “It’s only a little way.”

She did, accompanying him around the corner and descending into an open courtyard. Huge pots stood artfully about, filled with fantastic topiaries. Two gorgeously carved trellises roofed with latticework shaded one entire corner.

Gwyn spun around and went from one living masterpiece to the next. “How lovely!”

“Yes. You should see it in the summer. It is a veritable bower of flowers.”

“I can imagine.”

“This is my aunt’s special retreat—Gryff’s mother.”

“Oh. I know her mobility is restricted, so I’ve just barely met her. But now I can’t wait to speak to her again!” She took a seat on a bench, pointedly leaving plenty of empty room. “I must say, I find myself growing quite jealous of Tamsyn.”

“Why?” He answered her unspoken invitation and took the seat next to her.

“She’s gaining so much, marrying into your family.”

He looked into her eyes and his demeanor grew serious and intent once more. “Dare I hope that I am included in that assessment?”

Silence stretched taught between them, fraught with possibility—but only for a moment.

“I should hope so,” she answered. “For that is how I meant it.”

The tension around his eyes eased, and suddenly his arms were around her. She hadn’t an inkling how it happened, but she didn’t care. Her own hands were griping his coat.

A sudden breeze whirled through the courtyard. It teased a stray curl and she felt it tumble to brush her cheek.

He watched it fall, as mesmerized as if it were a miracle in the making, then he leaned in and reached for the curl. He traced a finger down its length and then ran it across her collarbone when he reached the end.

She sighed in pleasure.

Moving slowly, he tucked the curl behind her ear. She could feel his breath on her skin, where the curl had been. Tipping her head back, she stared up at him in another wordless invitation.

His hand settled, cupping her jaw. He leaned in. She closed her eyes. Her heart thumped, sounding loud in her ears.

Wait. The woosh of her heartbeat was growing . . . louder? Nearer? Less rhythmic?

“Chi-ow!”

Her eyes snapped open. That cry sounded dangerously near!

“What?” Locryn was looking up and beyond her. “Duck!” He shoved her back and out of the way—just as a great, flapping mass of black feathers darted in, crying and hovering just where they’d been about to meet.

---