She cast an appraising look about them, taking in every detail of their surroundings. “Think about how much labor went into preparing these gardens, maintaining them. I see these gardens as a work of art—no less valuable than masterpieces by Michelangelo. Yet, what credit will the gardeners receive?”
He shifted on the bench, dismissing his immediate response, for it would offend her greatly. Her feminine sensibilities, though common enough, were pronounced with Lady Julia, for she desperately believed in helping those less fortunate, to the point of sacrificing herself. That stemmed from her intelligence and compassion, traits he readily admired in her. Things that stirred more than his manhood—they challenged his mind.
“I am humbled by your ability to see the gardener on the same level as a legendary artist. And for truth’s sake, the only one who will ever praise the gardener is his master, by giving him coin to support himself and his family.”
She nodded in acceptance, but he recognized her discontentment with his words.
“The world is an unfair place, Lady Julia. You could spend a lifetime trying to change things, and rightfully should, but do not be too disappointed when you find out it will take generations for these changes you so desire to take root, if ever.”
She smiled sweetly at him. “I am hopeful that a man in your position at least understands, feels empathy for the poor souls who suffer every day.”
“Of course I do.”
She turned her body toward him then, perhaps one of the many barriers between them torn away. “There is hope, Your Grace.”
“Yes,” he half whispered, caressing her cheek with two fingers, tempting her patience, or perhaps, testing her willingness to have him.
She did not rebuff him, but instead, leaned into him, relishing his touch, if only for a fleeting moment, for her eyes fluttered shut and she released what could only be pent up air in relief. “I have never…”
She stopped herself from speaking further, and Alonzo found himself hungry for her words, for her anything.
“Yes?” he prodded. “What were you going to say?”
She inched away from him, breaking their intimacy, gazing wildly about as if to make sure no one had witnessed their closeness.
“I am sorry, Your Grace,” she said. “For faltering.”
“Faltering?”
“I am not impenetrable.”
The image of that lonely tower rushed back to his mind, but was quickly replaced by a much more carnal one—for Alonzo could penetrate this perfect woman in so many ways…
“What are you saying, Julia?”
“Lady Julia.”
“Julia.”
“Your Grace, please.”
“Anything,” he teased. “You need only ask.”
“If anyone heard you call me Julia…”
He scooted closer, able to feel the heat radiating off her slim body. “They would be forever envious of our acquaintance.”
She shook her head, unable to keep from smiling.
“There are other things I’d rather call you,” he said hoarsely, his throat tight with lust.
Her eyes grew wide. “Like bluestocking?”
He gave her a sweeping glance, from her head to her feet, his eyes stopping on her delicate hands knotted in her lap. “Like breathtaking.” He nuzzled close to her ear, breathing in her scent, wildflowers, lavender to be exact.
She shivered against him, but it was a warm evening. “Breathtaking Julia,” he whispered, then nipped her tiny earlobe. Her body reacted to his touch, to his breath, to his nearness, to everything he did to her. Could his mere thoughts command her body, too?
“Lady Julia, are you out here?” Willa’s voice could not be mistaken for another.
