“Be careful,” Sinclair cautioned when a bee brushed her cheek. She didn’t know when he’d followed, but the heat radiating from him, a few inches behind her, was nearly enough to distract from the enchanting sight before her.
“They’re too busy to sting. Besides, these ladies and I are good friends.”
“Ladies?”
She turned back to him. Sinclair crowded her closer than propriety dictated, using the flowers surrounding them as a plausible excuse.
“Bees—the ones that do the pollination work—they’re all female. And they serve a queen.”
“Truly?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know all that?”
“I read it. In a book.” She glanced away, a defensive sensation rising in her spine. Her mother and Lady Arabella were occupied, tactfully examining a branch of their own.
“Do you read much?” he asked, reaching behind her to draw his hand along a branch.
“More than some, less than others.”
A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Informative. What do you prefer to read?”
“I’m not particular. But I read that in a book of horticulture.”
“So when you said you were less knowledgeable about trees, you were still far more knowledgeable than I—than everyone, save horticulturists, in truth?” There was a bemused curve to his mouth as he asked it.
“Yes,” she replied primly, reminding herself that he’d appreciated her win at the card table.
“Tell me everything,” he urged, almost… eager. But no one had ever been eager to listen to her discuss plants.
She laughed. “You cannot mean that.”
“I do.”
“Very well. But you must remember that you brought your fate upon yourself.”
“Who else should I blame?”
Eliza raised a brow. “You were warned.” She gestured toward the branch between them. “The Judas tree— Do you know it?”
“No, I assumed cherry.”
“I’ve never seen one before, save in a book. But it lacks the almond scent common among cherry trees. It’s fresher, lighter.”
Sinclair dipped his nose to sniff at the blossoms as he made a silent go-on gesture. “There is a myth about their common name—that Judas hung himself for his sins against Jesus. And that the tree’s white flowers were so ashamed of their connection to him that they turned red for blushing. But I rather think it’s a mistranslation of the French common name,Arbre de Judée—because the tree is so common in the Judea region. It’s also sometimes called the love tree because of the heart-shaped leaves when they sprout.” Eliza forced herself to stop therelest he grow so disinterested that he turned and walked away, desperate to avoid her prattling.
Her companion stared at her, head cocked to the side, with an unreadable expression. When his eyes narrowed playfully, Eliza’s heart skipped.
“There’s more, isn’t there? I asked for everything. You cannot hold back.”
“Lord Sinclair, you cannot tell me you truly find my prattling to be of any interest.”
He paused, considering her. “I cannot say that I shall take up horticulture. That talent belonged to my mother, and I was never inclined toward it, I’m afraid. But I rather find your ‘prattling’—though I take issue with that characterization—quite charming. And now I find myself in possession of only half of your Judas tree intelligence. I won’t stand for such omissions in my education, Miss Wayland.”
Eliza held his gaze for a moment before relenting, with an eye roll at her own self-indulgence. “Fine, I relent—but you shall regret indulging me. This is one of few trees with flowers that bloom on the trunk. That allows for better pollination.”
“And where should one plant it?”
