Page 36 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

“I hope to. We do get a great deal of wind here. If I can replicate the soil correctly . . . I hope it will work.”

“What will you plant?”

“Oh, as many as I can fit. Kidney vetch, sea pink, cowslip.” She glanced at him through her lashes. “Sea holly.”

He stilled. “You do remember.”

“I’ve never forgotten.” It came out a whisper.

He stepped closer and her color deepened, but he was thrilled to see her hold her ground. “I remember how sweet and shy you were. How your bonnet had fallen back and the sun shone through your hair. You rivaled it for brightness and beauty.”

“I still have the flowers you plucked from that sea holly. The colors of the blossoms faded, but my memories never did.”

He took a tentative step toward her. Slowly. Carefully. So that she could see the care and concern he felt.

And the desire.

“Perhaps you don’t care for the talk of travel?” he asked.

“What? No. It sounds lovely.”

“I suppose there would be people to deal with. Crowds.”

“I can’t imagine any great crowds going in search of lichen or into swamps. And it would always be new people, would it not? Unless you chose to travel and keep company with someone you . . . got on well with?”

“Ah, but there lies the other part of my dream, Gwyn.”

It was the first time he’d left off her title and called her by her name alone. She flushed—with pleasure, he hoped.

“Would you like to hear about it?”

She nodded.

He breathed a sigh of relief and pulled her to perch upon the low hedge wall at the back of the plot, near the elm. The packed stones and their collection of mosses spoke to the age of the thing.

“Honestly, I think a life of adventure and study of those differences you are so drawn to, would only be made complete by a certain set of similarities.”

“Which ones?” she asked faintly.

“Charming conversations to ease the boredom of a long coach ride. A pretty, smiling face to come home to. The snap of red-blonde hair in the wind, beneath the sails of a ship.”

Her breath caught.

He leaned in, his joy and hope knotted up with tense anticipation. “There is only one problem.”

“Oh?”

“There’s only one girl I’ve met who comes with the right delightful mix of differences and similarities. Only one who matches me and my interests.”

Still, she studied him, waiting.

“I know she likes old oaks and young cats and ancient traditions—and sea holly. But I’m still not sure how she feels about me.”

He held his breath as she raised a brow. “Perhaps you will get lucky and she will show you how she feels.”

He never got to form an answer. Her hands were gripping his coat and pulling him down to her. Her head tipped up and her eyes drifted closed . . .

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