“I have something important to tell you.”
Prim studied his face, but it had the same infuriating expression somewhere between knowing and plotting, and that vexing lopsided grin.
“Fine,” she said, so she could breathe a little away from his presence.
She didn’t wait for his response, just fisted her reticule and moved to the refreshment table, grabbing a glass of lemonade because she was parched for some reason. Then counted to the second corridor and turned. She found the drape, looked around, and slipped out through the glass door.
The moment she stepped out, she breathed in from both relief and amazement. The cool air was exactly what she needed after that stifling dance. The terrace overlooked a small private garden that had roses of all colors. The smell was intoxicating, the view calming.
Prim heard the door open, and her heart jumped to her throat. He was here. It wasn’t only that she expected him. It was that same aura she had felt at the Opera, the same way she felt his presence every time he was near. And sometimes when he wasn’t. Her good spirits evaporated with each thud of his boots on the marble, drawing closer.
“Good,” the Duke said, smiling. “I knew you’d like it. Abigail’s atelier is there,” He points at a window close to the terrace. “Edwin built this garden for her.”
“So, she could gaze at something beautiful while she worked. And the smell,” Prim said, happy for Abigail. “He must really love her.”
Leo looked upon her with an enigmatic look, and Prim didn’t want to decipher.
“It is just a garden,” the Duke finally said.
“You would not know love, Your Grace, even were it introduced to you with all due ceremony,” Prim exasperated. “This was the act of an amazing husband.”
Leo’s body went rigid for one second, and his usually relaxed face tightened with a momentary flinch. But it all dissolved quickly to teasing arrogance.
“Tell me, Miss Jenkins, in your expert opinion on marital bliss,” his voice had the softness of a toying predator, “would the Duke of Greyhaven build a garden for you?”
Prim’s eyes snapped to his in disbelief.
“Oh, I know,” Leo continued. “He would if it were logical. A very sensible, very efficient garden. No rogue roses. No unexpected scents.”
“You mock the man,” Prim quipped. “The Duke of Greyhaven has a clarity of mind. I suspect you find such a notion offensive. Or merely incomprehensible.”
Leo raised his jaw, his eyes still on her, her defiance a novelty for him. But then he smirked, raising an eyebrow.
“On the contrary. I found your courtship… educational.”
“Educational?” Prim awaited the jest of the joke. “I am afraid to ask what kind of lesson you gained.”
“Merely proof that flirtation suffers when conducted between a man carved of frost and a lady too inexperienced to pretend otherwise.”
“I wasn’t flirting with His Grace,” Prim protested.
“You were. Badly. Is this how you hope to secure a husband?”
Prim looked at the garden without answering him. She felt anger rise from the pits of her stomach to her flamed cheeks. That maddening man dared to speak so freely of things he should not have mentioned.
“Miss Jenkins, I can hear your irritation.”
“I said nothing.”
“You don’t need to. The way you look at the garden, I am surprised the poor roses are not withered yet,” Leo chuckled.
“Again, it has been such an honor to be a source of entertainment for His Grace.”
“Unfailingly so.”
“Is this why you ushered me out here? To insult me? Are you done, or may I sit around to fulfill my role as a jester to your court?” Prim’s rose was so icy that she, too, wondered if she really was a threat to the rose garden.
“I was merely offering a much-needed critique of your flirting skills.”
