Читать книгу Pride & Passion - Charlotte Featherstone - Страница 13

SILENTLY, LUCY ALL but tiptoed past the duke’s study and entered the room that was designed in the shape of an octagon. With its glass walls and ceiling, Lucy could see the gardens outside from every angle. Inside, the room was filled with a dizzying array of colors and scents, from miniature orange trees, to exotic palms. A water fountain, with its gentle cascade of water upon stones lured her, and she sat down on a rock as she trailed her fingers through the cool water, while capturing a delicate pink water lily in her palm.

Despite the gentle patter of rain against the glass ceiling, and the melancholy sky, the room was bright and uplifting—and smelled like a warm, sunny spring day. With a little sigh, Lucy allowed the quiet to blanket her, and soothe her jangled nerves.

It was the perfect place for contemplation, and she decided that if she were ever fortunate enough to be mistress of her own place, she would build such a room as this.

“You look like a woodland nymph sitting beside an enchanted pool.”

The lily dropped with a little splash, and Lucy found herself gasping in surprise, and jumping up all at once.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Sussex stood against the wall, his legs crossed as he studied her with his disconcerting gaze.

“I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s because I was already here when you arrived.”

Glancing away, she watched the cascade of water stream over the stones, and into the fountain base. “You should have said, should have announced your presence. I … I would have left you to your privacy.”

Shrugging, he glanced away and plucked a brilliant pink lily from its stem. “It is not an unwelcome presence.”

Their gazes met across the room, through the display of flowers and shrubs and gently waving palm fronds.

Waving his hand, he indicated the room. “What do you think? A labor of love that was the pride of the previous duchess.”

“I think it lovely,” she answered truthfully. “If I had a room such as this, very little would tempt me from it.”

He smiled, and Lucy found herself momentarily disarmed by the beauty of that smile—of him.

“Perhaps one shouldn’t be tempted from this room, but tempted in it.”

This did not sound like the duke. It did not look like the duke, either. His cravat was loosened, and his hair was rumpled, as if he had been running his fingers through it. He was still wearing his dark jacket, and silver waistcoat, but she could see the wrinkles in the fine wool, the way it hung not quite as immaculately as it had when she had first seen him.