Reese scratched his head, skeptical. “Granted, this might not be your typical English garden, full of obedient rosebushes and tidy hedges, but … the Underworld?”
Sophie’s blue eyes seemed to capture the light from every star that shone above, and she nodded as if delighted to discover that his garden was some sort of tribute to Hades, God of the Dead. “Isn’t it fantastic?” she whispered, almost reverent.
“Wonderful,” he said dryly. He gazed warily at the cloudy water lapping at the rocks beneath the footbridge. “Ready to cross the River Styx?”
She gave Cerberus’s head an affectionate pat and strode to the center of the bridge before stopping abruptly. “I almost forgot. We’re supposed to pay the ferryman.” She inclined her head toward the water meaningfully.
“Of course we are,” Reese grumbled, but he jammed a hand in his pocket, withdrew a coin, and flipped it into the water, where it landed with a plunk.
Sophie’s gleeful expression made him want to toss a dozen more coins in the godforsaken moat.
All his worries that she’d find the house too imposing or dismal had been for naught. Indeed, she seemed to appreciate its oddities and eccentricities.
As he led her deeper into the garden, he could almost see her shrewd eyes assessing each area, wondering about the choices of flora, noting the spots that required attention. He could almost see her palms itching to prune and weed and tend.
“I need to brush up on my mythology,” she mused. “I’m certain there are all sorts of clever clues hidden among the plants and sculptures.”
“There are probably a few mythology books in the library,” he said, making a mental note to look for them on one of the nights when he was prowling the house in search of something constructive to do.
“Did your father commission the garden?” she asked, running a hand over a balustrade of the stone pavilion.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, “but I can ask the old head gardener, Mr. Charing, next time I see him.”
“I’d love to know who designed it.”
Sophie was curious about everything, asking scores of questions about the grounds and the house. Unfortunately, Reese had few answers.
His brother, Edmund, was the one who had been groomed to take over the estate. The one who knew everything about their family’s history and heritage. The one who’d been unfailingly honorable, noble, and true.
An unexpected wave of grief crashed into Reese, nearly taking him out at the knees.
As if she’d sensed the sudden change in his mood, Sophie turned to him, concern marring her forehead. “This has been lovely, but perhaps we should return to the house and brew some tea.”
Heart pounding, Reese glanced up at the monstrous manor house and wondered why he’d never noticed that it resembled a tomb. A dark, desolate crypt that could swallow him whole. He shuddered, feeling as though a thousand maggots writhed across his skin. And though a sliver of his mind knew that none of that was real, he also knew he couldn’t go inside.
“I’ll walk you back,” he choked out, yanking at his cravat. “But if you don’t mind, I’d rather stay outside for a while.”
“Why?” She reached toward his arm, then quickly drew her hand back, as though realizing he was covered in thorns.
Sweat broke out on his brow. “Sometimes, especially when I haven’t slept in several days, it feels as if the walls of the house will collapse on me. I know it doesn’t make any sense.” Not to a sane, good-hearted person.
“Actually, it makes perfect sense to me,” she said softly.
“It does?”
She nodded serenely. “Being close to nature always calms me.”
“I’ve never seen you be anything but calm,” Reese said, winding his way through the garden and leading her toward the house.
Her face clouded. “You know what they say about appearances.”
An image came to his mind, unbidden: Sophie dancing with her beau in Lady Rufflebum’s ballroom. She and Lord Singleton had looked perfectly matched. Perfectly happy. Perfectly in love.
But what if they weren’t?
Reese mentally slapped himself. He had no business questioning Sophie’s relationship. Jesus, he was pathetic for wishing for even one second that she might be miserable with Singleton.
“I have an idea,” she said, drawing him back to the present. They’d already arrived at the footbridge, just yards away from the terrace. “I’m going to go inside and grab a few things. Will you wait for me just outside the ballroom? I promise I won’t be long.”
“Certainly.” He would have waited there all night if she’d asked him to. “Can you find your way around the house?”
She nodded confidently, took the lantern he’d set by the door, and gave him a reassuring smile before disappearing into the ballroom.
But watching the darkness devour her made his palms sweat and his hands shake. He needed something to distract himself while she was gone. Something to occupy his mind and keep the demons at bay.
He closed his eyes and pictured Sophie strolling through the garden like a goddess, spreading light and goodness everywhere she went. Twisted, tangled branches bowed before her. Pale, feathery flowers gathered at her feet.
And then he knew exactly what to do.
He had time before Sophie returned.
He just had to make a quick journey across the River Styx.
Sophie found her way back to her bedchamber, opened a chest at the foot of the four-poster, and pulled out two thick quilts. She traipsed down the stairs, glided through the ballroom, and rushed out onto the terrace, slightly breathless.
But Reese wasn’t in the spot where she’d left him.
Her belly twisted and her heart lurched. She shouldn’t have left him alone, not when he was so clearly exhausted and distressed. She dropped the quilts, cupped her hands around her mouth, and was about to call out his name when she spotted him, a few yards away.
He sat on a marble bench at the edge of the terrace, holding a bouquet of silvery, starlike flowers—asphodels.
“What are those for?” she asked.
“You’ll see.” He shot her an enigmatic smile and gestured toward the quilts heaped at her feet. “What are those for?” he echoed.
She scooped up the blankets and gave him a saucy smirk. “Follow me.”
They left the lantern behind and relied solely on the glimmer of the moon and stars as they tramped across the lawn. For Reese’s sake, Sophie wanted to put some distance between them and the house.
Maybe, if the conditions were right, she could coax him to sleep.
She wandered down a hill toward a copse of birch trees and stopped beneath the largest. She turned slowly, assessing the area. A balmy breeze rustled the leaves overhead, and a mattress of soft, fragrant grass tickled the tops of her feet. The house had all but disappeared from view, and nature surrounded them in a comforting cocoon.
“This is perfect,” she said. “Will you help me spread out these quilts?”
He cast her a quizzical look but set down the flowers. Careful to avoid touching her, he took one side of a blanket, pinched the corners, and lifted it, letting it billow to the ground. They repeated the process for the second quilt, placing it a few inches from the first.
Sophie waved a hand at the blankets. “These shall be our beds tonight,” she announced, kicking off her slippers and sitting in the center of one of the colorful patchwork quilts.
Reese’s face was unreadable as he sat on the other blanket and faced her. “Have you ever slept outdoors before?”
She tapped a finger to her lips as she considered the question. “I have napped outside. Does that count?”
He picked up one of the asphodel flowers and tentatively plucked a few leaves off the stem. “I suppose so.”
“Have you slept outside before? All night, that is?”
He nodded soberly. “I have. Many times.”
“Do you enjoy it?” she probed.
Silence stretched out between them, and Reese suddenly seemed miles away.
She leaned closer, straining to see his face in the darkness. “Reese?” Maybe it had been foolish of her to bring him here. Perhaps she was only making matters worse.
He shook his head and frowned at the flower in his hand as though he’d forgotten he held it. “Forgive me,” he said, his voice rusty and raw. “I was thinking about the last time I slept outside. It was during my time on the front lines in Portugal, and I was surrounded by fellow soldiers. We were cold and filthy, and our stomachs growled all night. But to answer your question—yes. In spite of all that, I did enjoy sleeping outside.”
Sophie closed her eyes briefly, trying to imagine a fraction of the horrors he must have endured. Her mouth went dry. “I didn’t know you were a soldier.”
“Major in the 41st Foot,” he said, dragging a hand down his face. “I bought my commission eight years ago and fought up until the day I received word about my brother. The next day, I left my regiment to come home.”
She waited to see if he’d say more … but he didn’t. Still, it was a start. In the few snippets he’d shared with her, he’d sounded both proud and melancholy. Dedicated and defeated.
“I’m sorry,” she said earnestly. “About your brother … and about having to leave your company.”
His gaze snapped to hers. “You’re the first person who’s said that you’re sorry about me leaving the infantry,” he said hoarsely. “Everyone assumes I’m grieving for my brother—and God knows I am. But no one seems to understand that I never wanted to come home. That I don’t belong here.”
Sophie’s throat grew tight. “Reese. Things must feel strange right now. All of this”—she waved a hand in the direction of the house, hoping he understood she was talking about the title, the estate, and all it entailed—“is new to you. But you’re not alone.”
“I left all my friends behind,” he said, his voice steeped in shame.
“You must have some family or friends here in London.” She prayed he wasn’t entirely alone.
“Just my valet, Gordon,” he said flatly. “He’s the only one I trust.”
“It may take a while for me to prove it to you,” Sophie said deliberately, “but you can trust me—and count me as a friend.”
A flicker of relief and hope flashed in his eyes. “You can trust me too,” he said, before turning his attention back to the flowers. One by one, he knotted and clumsily wove together the stems of at least a dozen of the delicate, lavender-gray blossoms.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re making?” she teased.
“I should think it would be obvious.” He held up a disjointed circle of squished petals, bent stalks, and wilted leaves. “It’s a flower crown.” With uncharacteristic, endearing shyness, he added, “For you.”
“Oh,” Sophie breathed. No one had ever made her a flower crown before, and she couldn’t have loved it more if it were a diamond tiara. “It’s lovely.”
“It’s my first attempt,” he said with a chuckle. “And probably my last. But I’m glad if you like it.”
“I adore it,” she confirmed.
“Then it’s time for your coronation.” He moved closer to the edge of his quilt, assumed an appropriately serious expression, and propped an elbow on his bent knee. She scooted closer to the edge of her blanket, her legs bent to the side, and looked up at him, expectant. Only a few inches separated them, and her body thrummed with awareness of nature, the night, and him.
He cleared his throat and let his gaze sweep across the landscape—the lawn, the garden, the woods, and the dark violet horizon beyond. “Loyal subjects,” he began in his deep, rich voice. “I hereby present to you Miss Sophie Kendall, your undoubted Queen.”
She smiled at that, but his expression remained serious as he looked directly into her eyes. “Will you solemnly swear to preside over the grass, trees, and flowers?”
Because it seemed like the appropriate thing to do, Sophie raised her right hand. “I do so solemnly promise.”
Reese lifted the flower crown from his lap and held it an inch above her head. “Then I pronounce you the queen of all you survey.” Reverently, he let it drop onto her head. “God save the Queen,” he said softly.
The tree boughs above them shook in the warm breeze, and a chorus of insects chirped enthusiastically. A delicious shiver stole over Sophie’s skin, and she knew she’d forever remember the moment Reese proclaimed her queen of his garden … Queen of the Underworld.
“Thank you,” she said, sitting back and stretching her legs across the quilt. “Are you ready for my first royal edict?”
He shot her a lopsided grin. “Probably not.”
“Everyone in the kingdom must rest. Like this.” She carefully set her crown on the quilt, reclined on her side, and tucked an arm under her head. Then she arched an expectant brow, waiting for him to lie down too.
“It’s not easy being your royal subject,” he grumbled, but he reclined on his quilt, facing her. Though their bodies were an arm’s length apart, he seemed to radiate heat—like a stone that had been warmed by the sun all day.
If she really was a queen and free to do as she pleased, she might have wriggled close to him and soaked up that warmth. She might have even removed the pins from her hair and nuzzled her face to his chest. She might have done lots of things.
Instead, she rolled onto her back and stared at the leaves and the sky. “It feels like London is a world away,” she whispered. “It’s beautiful here.”
“It is,” he agreed. And though she didn’t look at him, she could feel his heavy-lidded gaze on her. Could hear the gruffness of his voice.
“The stars shine brighter away from town. They look so close you’d think you could reach out and touch one.” She turned to glance at him, flushed when she caught him staring at her, intent.
“Have you ever seen a shooting star?” he asked.
“No. Have you?”
“Yes.” A cloud passed over his face. “But maybe it was only artillery fire.”
“Did you make a wish?”
“I did,” he said—so somberly, she knew without asking that it hadn’t come true.
“Well, there’s no artillery fire here,” she said soothingly. “Just hundreds of twinkling stars. If we stare at them long enough, one is bound to streak across the sky. When it does, we’ll both make a wish.”
“I’ll tell you what,” he said softly. “You keep watch on the heavens. I’ll keep watch over you.”