WATCHING TIME. How much time, Violet wondered as they strolled toward the river, until Ford returned to London?
This last week had been so monotonous while he’d been holed up working on his invention. She could hardly remember what she used to do with her days before he’d arrived with Jewel in tow. But now his niece had gone home, and he was finished with what he’d come to do. Soon, he’d be leaving. He’d probably asked her out here to tell her that.
She crossed her arms.
“Cold?” he asked.
“Not really.” The August day was breezy yet warm, and the grass felt springy beneath her shoes. Violet tossed her plait over her shoulder, wondering if she should have allowed Margaret to spend the entire morning coaxing her hair into the fashionable ringlets she’d worn to the Royal Society event.
Faith, next she’d be fretting over her complexion!
Feeling self-conscious, she turned away and bent to pick a daisy as they approached the bridge. Her fingers idly plucked the white petals.
He loves me, he loves me not.
But of course he didn’t love her. She might be decked out in fancy new clothes, but who did she think she was fooling? Such finery couldn’t hide the deficiencies underneath.
Violet had always found things to dislike about herself, but today, for the first time ever, she found herself genuinely wishing she were a different person. The thought made her want to cry.
Instead, she changed the subject. “Have you missed Jewel this past week?” Dropping her mangled daisy at the foot of the bridge, she started across.
Keeping pace, he gave a rueful smile. “Yes—to my great surprise. I’ve written her two letters already. She loves getting mail.”
In the middle of the bridge, she stopped and turned to face him. “How thoughtful.”
He shrugged. “It’s selfish, mostly. I’m hoping for letters in return.” Water flowed under the boards beneath their feet, and two swans glided near, but they had no bread to toss to them. “I missed you this past week as well,” he said quietly.
Had he? She searched his fathomless blue eyes. “It felt odd not to be heading for Lakefield in the afternoons.”
“Then you missed me, too?”
She couldn’t deny it. But what good would it do to confess? Admitting her feelings would change nothing.
Reaching to raise her chin, he looked straight into her eyes. Keeping his own wide open, he leaned in and pressed a soft, measured kiss to her lips. “I care for you, Violet. I’ve been trying to analyze why. But I think—no matter how much it pains me to admit this—there are some things one cannot analyze.”
She didn’t know how to respond, but her lips tingled. His fingers felt warm on her skin. When he moved toward her again, her gaze darted up to the perfumery’s windows. Her family lurked behind the glass, probably still exclaiming over Ford’s invention. A pale oval appeared behind a pane, then disappeared. She’d bet the Master-piece it was Rose, spying.
”Afraid we’re being watched?”
She sighed. ”I wouldn’t put it past my sisters. Or Mum, come to that.”
He nodded, and they strolled across the bridge and along the far bank of the river. Cattle grazed in the fields beyond, and a hawk circled lazily overhead. As Ford slipped his hand into hers, her gaze flicked once more to the window, and he chuckled beside her.
They walked in silence, listening to the whinnies of the horses in the field and the songs of two lovebirds in a tree. Violet focused on the sensation of their joined hands, startling when he slipped his thumb inside to circle her palm. A little thrill rippled through her.
If only she could believe it was the same for him.
A small wooden gate marked the entry to the woods, and they paused only long enough to open it.
Here were new sounds: twigs crackling beneath their feet, leaves rustling overhead. Still playing with her hand, Ford led her to the thick trunk of a fallen tree and sat upon it, drawing her down beside him.
Though they weren’t actually far from the house, the canopy of trees made this place feel secluded and private. She shifted to look at Ford, noting faint circles under his eyes. “Looks like someone’s not sleeping,” she said quietly.
“I was up all night finishing the watch.” He raised their joined hands to brush his lips over her knuckles. “Didn’t even realize it was morning until Hilda offered me breakfast.”
“You should have slept, then, after you were done.”
“I couldn’t. I was too excited. I wanted to show it to someone.” He paused, slanting a glance up at her. “I wanted to show it to you.”
Her breath caught. Faith, she wanted to believe him. “I’m sorry, then, that I brought my family—”
“No. I enjoyed showing it to them, too.” Still holding her hand, he used his free one to brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “But you were the one I truly wanted to share it with.” He scooted closer until their faces were mere inches apart.
He was all but daring her to kiss him. And insuperable as she’d become, she couldn’t bring herself to refuse.
So, after a deep breath, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. He tensed, as though surprised, but then his body relaxed and his hands came up to skim along her arms, slide over her shoulders, pull her closer. She still wore her spectacles, but he didn’t seem to mind. He moved closer still, until he was pressed against her, just like in her dream.
Well, except for the tree bark digging into her bottom. But other than that, it was just like the dream.
In fact, it was better. She couldn’t have imagined the sensation of his chest against hers—hadn’t had any notion that his body would feel so solid and muscled and different from hers. Nor could she have dreamt up the feeling of his lips trailing soft kisses across her throat. She’d never realized her skin was so exquisitely sensitive.
Suddenly she could understand, at least a little, how fallen women succumbed to that temptation.
There was nothing about neck kissing in the Master-piece, she thought dazedly, winding her fingers into his hair. “Ford,” she heard herself whisper, “do you think it feels like this for everyone?”
He stilled, then pulled back enough to meet her eyes, a hazy expression in his own. “No. I think…”
He fell silent. Shaking his head, he reluctantly backed away from her—slowly, as though he didn’t want to—until they were once again sitting side by side, turned toward each other. He plucked a leaf from her shoulder, smiled at it, then suddenly sobered.
“I think I may have fallen in love,” he confessed in a rush.
Her world skidded. It wasn’t quite I love you…but it was close.
She removed her spectacles and wiped them on her gown, stalling for time. Trying to wrap her mind around the meaning of his words.
He was saying all the right things, in just the right way to make her question all her old insecurities. When he looked at her like that, with those incredible blue eyes, she wanted to believe him more than she’d wanted anything, ever. She just didn’t know whether she could.
She slipped her spectacles back on, determined to regain control, to refocus her mind on something less confusing. Something safe and practical. ”Where will you sell it?” she asked quietly.
His eyes changed, darkening with concern, with hurt at her lack of response. “Sell what?”
“Your watch.”
“My watch?” He sighed, then bent his head, his hair flopping forward like a young boy’s.
A desperate streak of longing shot through her.
“I’m not planning to sell my watch,” he said. “I’m not equipped to manufacture watches.”
Stunned, she sat up straighter and saw him tense in response. “Well, then,” she asked, “what do you plan to do with it?”
He straightened, too. “I’ll bring it to the next Royal Society meeting. I’m certain it will be a sensation.”
“And then…”
“That’s it. I have other projects I’m working on—”
“You’re serious, then?” She couldn’t believe it. “You’re not going to patent it? You have no plans for the watch?”
“I invented it. That was my plan.” He made to rise, but she gripped his shoulder and held him in place. “I’m not a businessman,” he said through gritted teeth. “I have no knowledge of that world. The creation was a satisfying end in itself.”
“I don’t understand you,” she said. True, aristocrats tended to think trade beneath them, but only a rich man had the luxury of doing what he pleased without considering his income.
Or a man who planned to rely on his wife’s fortune.
She didn’t want to think that of him. His confession had sounded too sincere, his explanation of his motivations too uncalculated. She’d seen how much he cared for Jewel; she knew he had a good heart. And though his eyes held many indecipherable emotions, she felt instinctively that none were deceit.
Yet she couldn’t help wondering.
He stared at her for a long, silent moment. A bird fluttered from one tree to another. A cow lowed in the fields beyond the woods. She heard her blood pounding in her ears.
“I don’t understand me, either,” he said.