Page 74 of For a Scot's Heart Only
“Alas, rules of the sea prevail, Miss Fletcher. The first to stake a claim, wins.”
“Obviously, I need to work on my pirate skills. I’m quite out of my depth.”
His laugh was rich and lovely. “To the contrary, you are very adept.”
Excitement drove them toward the garden gate, their hips practically glued together. One might think they were in a rush because a kiss would happen upon entering the garden. The air was crisp, and every inch of her was electric. Soft earth yielded underfoot as they reached the wrought iron gate. She grasped the open sides of his greatcoat and pressed into his warmth.
“As the victor, how will you celebrate?”
Mr. West’s eyes were like polished pieces of green-blue glass. “You have it backward. I am not the victor here.”
“How so?”
“You claimed me when you stole my name.”
And there it was, more champagne giddiness filling her. A breeze tossing her hair against her cheek was a fair reminder she was not lighter than air. The teasing strands tickled her skin, the same as his baritone. He’d played the part with ease when she claimed to be his wife. One might say the ruse was fun.
“It wasn’t stealing,” she said. “I temporarily borrowed it.”
“At sea, we’d call you a pirate.”
“Except we are on land.”
“A fair point. For that reason”—he folded a hand over hers and brought their joined hands to his mouth— “I’ll call you a siren.”
“Dangerous women, sirens.”
She hardly recognized the sensual creature she’d become. Lips parting, breasts thrusting, her legs tangling with his as they leaned against the gate. At this rate a passionate kiss might happen on the village side of the garden for any passerby to see.
“A man must be vigilant or he’ll fall prey to their charms.” Mr. West was just as snared, planting featherlight kisses on pale flesh below her wrist. “An interesting fact—sirens are very busy in the month of August.”
Intelligence glittered in his eyes. She coaxed herself not to react. To be utterly still, which under Mr. West’s perusal was a road sign, guiding his way.The bloody man. Mr. West paid attention to every little thing about her. He’d made a connection between her forging a key in his shipyard to the Countess of Denton urgently deciding to sell her shop. Both done last August.
“Have you nothing to say?” he asked.
She shrugged, elegant and oblique. “Summer... It’s a maddening season.”
Under his coat, she found his heartbeat. Steady and reassuring, its thud. The touch, her bid for a reprieve. She’d spilled much of her heart today and was almost wearied by it.
He had to know this.
Leaves from trees lining the wall drifted around them. Yellows, ambers, and reds floating like colorful gifts. The same breeze tossing those leaves toyed with his cravat. How handsome and imposing, her sea wolf.
“This is our day for adventure, is it not?” she reminded him.
Mr. West studied her, another breeze kicking his queue. He offered the barest nod, a truce, though she had no doubt they’d revisit today’s discoveries. Then he opened the iron gate with a flourish.
“Your secret garden awaits.”
She brushed a leaf off his shoulder. “The only gardens I’ve known are the practical vegetable variety.”
His mouth gentled. “Every woman needs something magical now and then.”
She passed him, doubting a physic garden had the power to enchant. How wrong she was.
Her breath caught and her steps slowed.
Espaliered apple trees lined a garden wall. Ruby-red fruit dressed their lattice-work branches. Rows of stunted pear trees, wine-red Anjou, and a green varietal grew from large pots. Their foliage had been cut into playful shapes—balls and twirling spires mostly. But the artistic espaliered trees drew the eye. She’d seen pictures of them in books. Very French, very sophisticated. Yet, nothing compared to witnessing nature bent in intricate patterns. The unnatural made fascinating.
