Chapter Sixteen

Alexander held the binoculars firmly in front of his eyes, all thoughts of examining the estate ledgers his steward had sent him from his manor in Kent forgotten. A rueful chuckle escaped him.

Ladies did not climb trees. Though clearly she was a different sort, he still did not expect such an unconventionally audacious nature. Nothing Miss Danvers did would ever surprise him again. With her, he would learn to anticipate the unexpected. He studied her as if she were an exotic creature that had fallen from the sky and landed in a perch high in the gnarled branches of an elm tree near his favorite grotto, the hem of her blue day gown whipping in the wind. She was without her half boots, and her stocking-clad feet dug into the branch with firm purchase.

Evidently, she was an experienced tree climber.

Several feet from the ground, Miss Danvers balanced perfectly on the branch, her forearm resting on another that was in line with her chest. He watched her for several moments, and from the movement of her lips and the delight on her face, he surmised the woman was singing.

Perhaps the reason she traveled so far from the main house was to spare the household.

At the bottom of the tree, a basket leaned against the trunk; a blanket was spread on the soft, verdant grass; and a book rested atop the blanket.

Swinging the binoculars back to her, he noted with some surprise how alone she appeared, gazing out at the distant horizon. He watched her face for several minutes, observing every tiny shift in her expression. One of delicate yearning settled on her face, and his heart jolted painfully when his name shaped her lips.

Alexander…

The curious detachment he’d built around his heart shuddered as if it had been dealt a terrible blow. She sighed his name, longing swept across her lovely features, and she pressed a hand between the cradle of her breast. Heat tugged at his groin, and his heart clenched.

An array of shocking, yet undeniably wickedly carnal images of making love with Katherine danced through his head, causing it to ache. Alexander desperately wanted to kiss her, over and over until she cried her pleasure into his mouth. With such dangerous needs storming through his heart, the last thing he should want was to be with her. Cursing savagely, he rang the bell and summoned his manservant.

Several minutes after Hoyt appeared, they rumbled over the vast lawns of his estate toward Miss Danvers.

“I took the liberty of collecting a book of poetry from the library, Your Grace, when you made it known you would join Miss Danvers,” Hoyt murmured expectantly.

Alexander grunted but made no reply. A mistake, for his manservant took that as an invitation to continue his impropriety.

“Cook also sent a bottle of wine and a French cake soaked in rum. Miss Danvers has expressed a delight for the treat, and Cook has been preparing them for her.”

Wine and cake. Good God. Still, his curiosity stirred. “Miss Danvers likes cakes?”

“Oh yes, Your Grace. She came down to the kitchen and chatted with the cook about her secret recipes yesterday. The cook…well, everyone is quite delighted. It is our hope Miss Danvers’s stay will be a permanent one.”

Hoyt audibly held his breath, no doubt waiting for Alexander’s confirmation of the young, unwedded miss’s status in his life.

Alexander made no answer, and his manservant huffed an irritated breath. The wheels crunched noisily over the grass and fallen leaves as they made their way closer to Katherine. When they were only a few feet from her, Alexander said, “Leave me here. I’ll continue with my stick.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

“You may take the bath chair and return within the hour.”

“And the cake and wine?” Hoyt asked so hopefully, Alexander smiled.

“I’ll take them.”

“And the book of poetry?”

“Put that in the basket, too,” he said, mildly surprised he was indulging his servants’ ridiculous meddling in a situation that was none of their business.

Hoyt came around to Alexander’s front and pressed his walking stick into one hand and the small basket in the other. He pushed from his chair and, with a silent nod, encouraged Hoyt to grant them privacy. His manservant visibly battled with a pleased smile before departing.

Alexander swallowed away the irritable grunt. His servants’ ceaseless speculations needed to be taken care of.

Alexander made his way over to Katherine’s tree and placed the basket beside a copy of The Murderous Monk. He glanced up in the tree to see Kitty peering down at him, her mouth a moue of astonished pleasure.

“I shall be right down, Your Grace,” she called out.

Ignoring that assurance, he dropped his walking stick on the blanket, reached for the closest branch, and hauled himself up. A curse escaped at the savage pain that tore through his lower back, but he gritted his teeth and pushed onward.

He wanted to be up there with her, and by God he would do it.

Several moments later, he was standing beside her, their heads above the branches and the valley below them a stunning splendor.

Her eyes shone with rich pleasure. “You did not have to come up. I would have come down to you.”

“I wanted to stand beside you.”

“We could have done that down there.”

Unexpectedly, she stroked his brow, her fingers tenderly sifting through his hair curling above his forehead. How he wanted to lean into her touch. He reached up and gently plucked a blade of grass from her hair. “Were you rolling in the grass, by chance, Miss Danvers?”

“I was,” she said on a light laugh. “I was making a snow angel but without the snow,” she said with an irresistible smile before glancing out in the distance.

Alexander’s heart skipped a beat…then another.

“It is so wild and beautiful. And windy.” She patted her bonnet to ensure it was still in place.

He didn’t have the heart to point out that it sat askew atop her head, and a wild array of curls had tumbled to her shoulder, and lovely wisps caressed her cheeks. She looked delightfully mussed and improper.

“I can understand why you prefer this wide-open space to London. Oh, look at the birds,” she gasped, pointing to a flock of starlings that seemed to dance in perfect harmony against the skyline painted in shades of lavender and gray.

“So, we are bird watching,” he mused.

She laughed, and the infectious sound wreaked havoc with his heart. “And also land watching. And the sky. Look at the clouds. I swore I saw a monk just now playing the harp.”

He glanced up. A gust of wind scattered the clouds and reshaped them. “I see clouds.”

“Alexander,” she cried in mock horror. “Where is your imagination? Look now, do you see the man and woman dancing? I daresay it is the waltz, too.”

He peered up and made a noncommittal sound.

“Did you not create entire stories watching the clouds as a child?” she asked wistfully. “I did that with Papa often. He taught me the beauty of imagination and to see possibilities of an adventure in almost every situation.”

“He sounds admirable. My mother would have liked him.”

“She would have?”

“My mother also saw adventure in the clouds and the stars. My father once told me he fell in love with her because of her spirit for the whimsy,” he said gruffly.

Kitty grinned, apparently delighted by that tidbit. “It was a love match?”

Alexander looked out across the valley. “He said he saw her at a ball, stepped on her toes in the crush, and she laughed. He said he knew then he would marry her.”

“How lovely,” she said with a soft sigh. “My mamma and papa were childhood friends, their estates abutting each other. Papa said he knew at the age of twelve that Mamma would be his wife. Mamma, who was ten years at the time, said she also knew—and she wonders why her daughters are incurable romantics.”

A large bird swooped low and perched on the branch right above their heads. Katherine grabbed his arm excitedly. “Oh, look at those glorious feathers!”

They watched the bird in silence until, with a flap of its wings, it flew away, soaring toward the clouds.

“I’ve been thinking,” she murmured.

“What beautiful mischief is churning in that mind of yours?”

She bounced him with her shoulder playfully, then delicately cleared her throat. “Our charade cannot be forever…your interest ensnared endlessly.”

He wanted to refute her claim, truly unable to imagine a moment where she would not captivate him. She was clever, resourceful, impudent, and just so damn lovely.

“I owe you an astronomical sum of money, and I—”

“You owe me nothing,” he said gruffly. “The amount to let the town house is a pittance.”

“Still, once our engagement ends, I cannot importune on your generosity further.”

“And do you suppose it shall end soon, Miss Danvers?”

She sent him a sidelong glance. “I would ask the same of you, Your Grace. My expectations have been upended. I am not locked away in a tower like a heroine in a gothic novel despairing for my virtue while hatching desperate plans to escape the wicked, wicked man who whisked me away from the comforts of my family.”

She was laughing at him.

He grazed the softness of her cheek with the back of his hand. “Do you want me to act the ravaging beast, Katherine?”

Her pulse visibly leaped at her throat.

“You do know I cannot stay here much longer,” she whispered. “I was thinking you could come to London. We could go to the theater. The gardens. Even the museum. Wouldn’t that be fun? And we are engaged, so there should be little to no speculation.”

Her eyes sparkled with unspoken promises, and he did not have it in him to be cynical. Instead, he drifted closer to her on the branch, surrounding her with his bulk and thinking for a moment that such promises could be real.

“Do you imagine you could live here and be happy?”

There lingered a teasing pout to her lush lips. “An extremely dangerous question, Your Grace. It implies you plan to keep me captive forever.”

Before he could answer, she tipped onto her toes, leaned in, and kissed his brow. Truly her impudence could startle him no longer. She continued her ministrations by tenderly kissing the bridge of his nose and finally, his mouth. The softest of brushes, yet it reached down into his cold, lonely heart and filled it with astonishing warmth and a lightness he had never felt before.

Refusing to deny himself in this moment, he cupped her cheek with his free hand, dipped his head, and took her mouth, softly and tenderly at first, then wild and rough. Her mouth was a living flame beneath his—passionate, sweet, and irresistible.

Then it was over before it truly began. He pulled away slightly and waited for her to say something, anything, but she only stared across the wild beauty of the land. Yet her lips remained curved in a secretive smile. Awestruck by the beauty and power of her smile, he simply stared, but at her, not at the scenery before them.

They did not mention the kiss, but she watched the clouds alive with the birds and the lands that he owned. Disembarking had been tricky, but he made it down without much mishap, though he had barely resisted the urge to groan aloud as his muscles absorbed the shock of his descent. Once on the ground, they had reposed on the blanket and drunk the entire bottle of wine and ate the delicious rum cake. Alexander had even suspected his Katherine might have been a bit foxed. He had stupidly made snow angels without snow at her delighted insistence, and grass was everywhere on his body and in his hair.

They had argued more over the shapes in the clouds and had debated the merits of a headless horseman being real and how he could be a champion of the underclass of London. After a while he had wondered if he, too, was foxed, since their conversations were unlike any he’d ever had before. They had spoken at length of the orphans of England and the motions he would have his supporters take to parliament in its next session.

More than an hour had passed. A chill permeated the air, and a lavender cast blanketed the sky as twilight approached. Yet they did not make any effort to retreat inside the castle walls. Nor was Alexander startled when Hoyt appeared with two very warm blankets, cushions, and a lit lantern. The man had set them down without a word and melted away discreetly. Katherine had laughed in happy bemusement and had hurriedly swaddled herself in a blanket after wrapping one about his shoulders.

Now he sat with his back against the tree’s trunk, one leg drawn up and the other stretched out, his thigh acting as a pillow for Katherine. Upon his leg, her head rested as she read the gothic and surprisingly engaging story of The Murderous Monk.

His heart started beating again, if unevenly. And for the first time in a long time, he allowed the dreams to burrow a little deeper under the hardened icy surface.