He found Lady Lionel with her hands in soil. She was tall, wearing a large hat and thick leather gloves. He had a glimpse of a narrow face but little else as she was looking down.
“My Lady, thank you for seeing me,” he said, bowing.
The woman removed her hands from the soil and clapped them together, sending dirt in all directions. She then took off her gloves and laid them on a small bench.
“I don’t get a lot of visitors, and it intrigued me why a member of society would call. I haven’t been to London for many years.”
Thank God for that,Monty thought.
“Come, we will sit, and Chipley will bring tea.”
She stalked away from him down a narrow path, the skirts of her deep brown dress swishing aside leaves and debris as she walked. Monty followed.
His mood had been dark and dangerous since leaving Iris. He’d shut himself away from everyone since that night, and yet he saw her everywhere, but mostly inside his head. He saw and felt her soft, lush curves. Her moans filled his head, and his hands could still feel the texture of her skin.
It has to stop, he told himself, exiting the glasshouse on Lady Lionel’s heels.
He was a bastard for not contacting Iris, but then she had not called on him either. And then there were the Devilles who had called constantly and sent notes, and he’d been not letting them into his house and avoiding them. In fact, he’d told everyone he had a chest inflammation.
“Sit, my lord,” Lady Lionel said, waving to a seat under a large jacaranda tree, which had a stunning display of purple-blue, trumpet-shaped flowers. Its subtle scent filled the air, and if he wasn’t in a foul mood, Monty thought this would be the idyllic place to sit and drink tea.
“Thank you,” he said, taking the seat opposite her. A flower dropped into his lap.
“That will bring you good fortune,” Lady Lionel said.
“Excellent, that will be welcome,” Monty said.
She smiled, and the lines on her face deepened. She had weathered features, which he thought was from hours spent outside maintaining her gardens.
“What brings you here, Lord Montgomery? If I was to guess, I would say it has something to do with my husband or your father.”
“You knew my father?”
“I met him a few times. He and my husband were friends. He was a good man and extremely proud of his son.” Her smile was gentle. “I’m so very sorry that he and your mother passed when you were young, my lord.”
More emotion, Monty thought. He felt like it was choking him.
“Thank you, and you are right. I am here to ask you questions about your husband, and I am sorry if they upset you.” Monty picked up the bloom that had fallen in his lap and ran the flower back and forth between his thumb and forefinger.
“I love my husband and have mourned him since his death, but I like to speak about him to keep his memory strong,” she said.
“My parents were murdered, my lady.”
“Oh, my dear, I’m sorry. That must have been horrible for you.”
“It was, and I don’t think I’ve ever really recovered.” Why had he told her that? Monty blamed Iris. She’d made him feel and had opened something inside him he didn’t seem able to close again.
“Grief is a terrible thing. But even worse when those taken from us so swiftly were loved deeply,” she said.
Monty nodded. He had loved his parents deeply.
“Those who murdered my father and mother were never caught. I have not given up hope that one day they will be held accountable.”
“I understand your need for justice, my lord.”
“Would you call me Monty?” he asked her.
She smiled. “I would like that, and my name is Marion.”
