The tree had its roots and trunk, but its top was that of a woman—a naked woman. Scandalized, Rachel said, “Good heavens, William. That is…immoral.”
He laughed, a soft, husky sound that sparked more heat inside her chest. “I beg to differ. There is nothing immoral about celebrating a woman’s body?”
“But—” she paused in mystification. “Why would you merge a tree and a woman?”
His brow cocked. “Have you never heard of the Nymph?”
“A what?” she asked.
“Nymphs, My Lady,” he said. “Alseids, Dryads, Meliads, Naiads, and Oreads. In olden times these spirits were the guardians of nature. They were all women, beautiful, nurturing, and invaluable to the ancient world. They were knownas the lovers of gods and the mothers ofheroes.”
“…When you say ancient,” Rachel asked hesitantly. “What do you mean?”
“Ancient Greece,” William clarified. “The birth of democracy but a time of mystery and wonder. The old gods reined with iron fists and gentle touches. They mated with humans and birthed heroes that formed dynasties and left wonder and magic in their wake; Hercules, Achilles, Perseus.”
With hesitation, Rachel reached out for the paper and stared at the image. The lady’s nipped-in waistcurved from the stump of the tree, her arms lifted high, drawing one's eyes to her rounded, plump breasts. The crestswere barely covered by strategically drawn in locks of hair that fluttered over her shoulders and around her back.It was erotic,sensual, and something she knew she should not be looking at.
“William, do you think it is wrong for me not to want to marry soon?” She asked.
“No,” he said. “You should not have to bow to another’s wishes.”
“But they are my parents,” Rachel said, frustration lacing her tone. “I cannot disobey them, but they have little regard for my wants. I have tried to tell them that I am not ready, but they only brush my concerns to the side. I want romance, but at the same time, a lord who would please my parents.”
“And if you do not find one?” William asked.
“I don’t know,” Rachel said, then flicked an assessing look to him. “My parents do not love each other, William. But I want to love the person I am with. How hard would it be to have a lord read me poetry while I am on my terrace?”
Before she could utter another word, William grasped her hand. When she turned to him, he slid his other hand to her cheek. In the dark, his eyes were piercing flames of green.
“Rather a romance of the ages, elopement at moonlight and ladder and rose-rimmed trellis. Crowned by father’s curses, mother’s moans, and scathing whispers of neighbors, then succumb to correctness and propriety hemmed mercilessly in by morals and measured by yardsticks.”
Speechless, Rachel could only stare. When she gained her breath, her words still sounded breathless. “…Poetry.”
He smiled. “Poetry. Rachel, I share your sympathies; I too want to find a woman I would love enough that if she asked me for a blood ransom, I would offer my arms. But—” he pulled away, but his gaze never left hers, “—in all my years of searching, I have not found the right one.”
Freed from his trapping gaze, Rachel asked, “How long have you searched?”
Twilight had crept up on them, but the darkness of the garden did not scare her. “Seven years,” he said. “From the day I turned twenty, I felt a sort of emptiness inside. When I was a child, my parents passed away, but I was fortunate enough to have our landowner take me on at his estate.
William began to gaze out into nothing while his tone took a wistful lilt, “He sent me to the village school and helped me. I had pledged to serve him until he died, but he told me to make my way in the world. He sent me to London, and from there, I sold my first painting, and then, I found members of the peerage calling for me to do work for them, mostly portraits and such—” he broke off with a laugh.
She nudged him, “What is making you laugh?”
“A widow in Manchester hired me to paint portraits of her heirs. I had gone to her estate ready to meet these heirs—men I had assumed—only to find out that she was leaving her money to herdogs. An English bull terrier whose features were akin to a pugilist who broke his nose too many times and a Neapolitan Mastiff that had more wrinkles than a prune.Its wrinkly face and drooping face mademesad.”
Snickering, Rachel asked, “Did she truly leave her wealth to her dogs?”
“I cannot say,” William shrugged. “I would not be surprised if her staff let the dogs into the wild and took the money for themselves. She did pay me handsomely, though.”
Rachel laughed before she stood, “I have to go back inside, William. Good night.”
As she moved away, he caught her hand and slid his fingers from her arm down to her wrist. Even with the cloth between them, Rachel could still feel the heat of his hands, and when he held her palm, she did all she could not to shiver.
“Rachel…remember you deserve the romance that you want,” he said softly—almost tenderly. “Do not settle for less.”
When she slid her hand out of his grasp, the warmth of his touch lingered with her as she left for her rooms. Her parents were not home yet and probably would not be until late in the night, so she was safe to go to her rooms without a rush.
Jane was there, tending to the fireplace; she had already closed the windows and pulled the drapes, but Rachel went on anyway and opened it. Perhaps William had not left the garden yet, and as she looked down, her eyes landed on his dimmed figure. He was resting back on his hands and staring up at the rising moon.
