Читать книгу Loving A Lost Lord - Mary Jo Putney - Страница 15

By the time Adam had pulled on his boots and coat to go outside, Mariah reappeared with a delightfully frivolous bonnet decorated with silk flowers, and a shabby blue shawl. He offered her his arm. “You look enchanting, Miss Clarke.”

She batted her eyelashes outrageously as she took his arm. “How kind of you, sir. If you’re very, very good, I may eventually allow you to use my proper name.”

He grinned as he held the door open for her to leave the house. “If it wouldn’t make you feel fast, you may call me Adam.”

“I would never do anything fast, Mr. Clarke,” she said firmly. “I am a most properly brought up young lady, I’ll have you know.”

“No one could possibly think otherwise,” he assured her. He’d been disappointed—very disappointed—that she had been unwilling to let him make love to her, but now he realized that she was right. They needed courting time to become reacquainted, to rebuild a foundation of affection and companionship. Desire was a fine thing in marriage, but there needed to be more, especially for a woman confronted by a husband who didn’t remember her.

Not only were they reacquainting themselves, but the make-believe was a delicious game, better than a real game, because the end, their marriage bed, was foreordained. He wished he could remember how her elegantly curved form looked uncluttered by clothing. It was maddening to know that they had been lovers, yet not be able to summon exact memories of her body. Or the taste and feel of her.

Outside the house, she guided him to the left, the opposite side of the manor house from the stables and other farm buildings. He savored the light warmth of her hand resting on his arm, the sweetly astringent tang of lavender that wafted from her clothing. “I know nothing of fashion, but your delightful bonnet looks like it ought to be fashionable.”

“Thank you, sir.” She dropped her exaggerated demureness and chuckled. “I’ve redone this straw bonnet over and over again, so it’s not particularly fashionable. There was seldom money to spare, so I became very good at refreshing gowns and hats with lace or ribbons or flowers.”

Were all genteel young ladies willing to admit a shortage of funds, or was her directness because they were married? Whatever the reason, her bluntness was refreshing. “Your shawl seems less likely to be accused of being fashionable.”

She pulled the worn blue garment closer. “Granny Rose knit this for me one Christmas. Whenever I wear it, I can feel her arms around me, so I wear it a great deal.”

Though her tone was light, he heard the loneliness underneath the words. She’d led an unusual life that had little in common with most well-brought-up young ladies. “Was it hard to be always traveling from one place to another, with no real roots? How did you amuse yourself? I suspect that in some households, the women resented having a girl as pretty as you around.”

She made a face. “Clever of you to realize that. Everyone enjoyed my father’s presence, since he was such good company. But women often thought I was looking to marry their sons, and a penniless bride would never do.”

He voiced a thought that had been troubling him. “So you chose a penniless husband? Was I unable to provide a decent home for you?”

She frowned and looked away, as if unsure how to answer. “You had intelligence and prospects. I was not concerned for our future. You had to leave shortly after we married so it made sense that I stay with my father until you returned.” She made a gesture that included the manor. “Then Hartley happened.”

“How long were we separated?”

“It seemed like forever.”

“Why did I have to leave you? What was my occupation?”

“You were involved in rather secretive work for the government. You never spoke of it to me. I thought you preferred I not ask.” Changing the subject, she said ruefully, “This stroll would be more romantic if the gardens were attractive, but they’ve run wild and I haven’t had time to consider what to do. Burke never spent a penny on the estate if he could avoid it. Mrs. Beckettt, the cook, says there used to be an old gardener but he died and wasn’t replaced. Now the gardens are the next thing to a jungle.”

She exaggerated, but only slightly. The overgrown parterre more nearly resembled a maze, trees were shaggy and un-pruned, and flower beds and borders were ragged. Even in spring the gardens looked neglected. By high summer, some areas would be impenetrable.

“A great deal of work is needed,” he agreed as they headed down a rough brick path. “But the basic design is good and the plants are certainly vigorous.” He held back a branch so that Mariah could walk by. “Would you object if I tried my hand at sorting out the gardens?”

She gave him a quick glance. “Gardening is something else familiar to you?”

“It seems to be.” He flexed his fingers unconsciously. “I have a strong desire to work with my hands. To grab hold of something and make it better.”

“Then this is the place to start. Anything you do will be an improvement. I can hire some people from the village to help you if you like.”

“That will be good after I decide what needs to be done.” He raised his hand and interlinked his fingers with hers. She caught her breath, for she wore no gloves and bare skin touched bare skin. As they resumed their walk, he remarked, “I see the gardens differently now that I’m plotting their fate.”

She laughed. “The shrubs have been yearning for attention. There are sections of the gardens I’ve never even seen. There’s always too much else to do.”

“Then we shall explore every inch. Where does this path go?”

“I have no idea. But I’d like to find out.” She moved closer as the path narrowed between encroaching hedges.

“Pruning is definitely called for.” He looked at his hands, itching to get to work, and questions of rank and class floated into his mind. “Am I not quite a gentleman?”

“You have always been one to me.” She traced a line down the middle of his right palm. His response to her touch shot right through him, tingling and erotic.

He reminded himself that they were courting and he really could not lay her down in the lush grass and rediscover that lovely soft body. He took a deep breath to control the more unruly parts of his anatomy, then resumed walking. The path swung to the right and ended in an enclosed garden. Two gently weathered stone walls met at a right angle set into the slope of a hill. The other two sides were defined by dense shrubbery. Daffodils were on the verge of blooming, and an espaliered fruit tree spread over the south-facing wall. The other wall was covered with vine that would turn brilliant red in autumn, while a graceful tree offered shade.

He stopped and caught his breath. “This seems…familiar.”

She glanced up sharply. “Have you been here before?”

“No,” he said slowly as he tried to analyze the swift image that had flickered across his mind before vanishing. “Rather, the atmosphere is familiar.”

“In what ways?” she asked encouragingly.

“The fact that it’s enclosed and feels…safe. Protected. Peaceful.” He closed his eyes and tried to recall that other garden. “I have a vague memory of a similar place, though with many more flowers. Brilliant flowers. In one corner was a fountain with…an elephant in the middle? I think it was an elephant.”

“That garden might not have been in England.”

“It wasn’t,” he said with certainty. “But I have no idea where it was.”

He opened his eyes and studied the garden. The foliage of the shrubs was a pleasing mixture of colors and shapes. Brick paths were set in herringbone patterns, and large rocks seemed intended for sitting. “But I think both places were designed to encourage thought or prayer or serenity.”

“Speaking of peaceful, there’s Mrs. Beckett’s kitchen cat, Annabelle.” The cat was snoozing in a patch of sunshine below the espaliered fruit tree. Feline eyes opened as Mariah approached, and she didn’t object to being scooped up and cooed over.

Mariah should carry the cat with her everywhere, Adam decided. She was irresistible with a lock of blond hair spilling over her shoulder and the black and white cat purring in her arms. Her tender affection made her even more beautiful.

“Living in the kitchen must explain Annabelle’s generous contours.”

“That’s politely put,” Mariah said with a chuckle. “She’s a sweet moggy. Some nights she even condescends to sleep on my bed.”

Adam turned around slowly, thinking of that other garden. He saw it more clearly now. The water in the fountain sprayed not from the trunk of an elephant, but an elephant-headed man. Very un-English. The air had been burningly hot, and a woman sat in the shade of a great tree. He could not see her clearly, but he knew she was dark haired and beautiful….

Mariah perched on the largest rock with the cat. “I can see where surroundings like these would be good for calming one’s nerves.”

“I’ll clean this up and turn it into a true meditation garden as my first project.” He sat on the rock beside her and stroked Annabelle’s silky fur, his fingers provocatively close to Mariah’s breast. “If I were courting you, Miss Clarke, I’d use this privacy to steal a kiss.”

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers as gently as if it were their first time. She made a small sound in her throat and her lips clung to his. A kiss that started in innocence rapidly became more. He leaned closer, his hand moving to cup her breast. The cat gave a squawk of protest and kicked away from Mariah’s lap.

Annabelle’s action made Mariah gasp and pull back. “I would allow you to steal a kiss, but no more. Because I’m a v…very proper young lady.”

His hands clenched. Though his body cried out for her familiar warmth, he had agreed to move slowly. She deserved no less. “As a not quite proper gentleman, I would apologize for my ill-bred behavior while secretly hoping to repeat it as soon as possible.”

She laughed a little unevenly as she stood and brushed down her skirts. “I think you are more honest than an ordinary suitor would be.”

“This is not an ordinary courtship.” He stood, feeling a little light-headed. Offering his arm, he said, “Shall we return to our explorations?”

“As long as we avoid any more gardens that are too private. The kitchen gardens should do nicely. All those vegetables are most unromantic.”

Her smile was a little hesitant as she took his arm. He reminded himself again that she needed this time to accept how he had changed. He wasn’t the man he had been before, and the fact that they were wed didn’t automatically mean she would invite him to share her bed again.

Uneasily he wondered if amnesia was grounds for annulment. He hoped not.