His hands released her head to roam her back, sliding up under her light woolen shawl.She pressed against him, feeling the rapid beat of his heart, knowing he must be equally aware of how she trembled and probably even the warm pulsing place between her legs.
“Jonathan,” she breathed against his mouth.She wanted him to walk her backward until her shoulders met the pine tree.Maybe he would, although she couldn’t risk leaving her clothing in a state of disarray.Instead, he gentled the assault of his lips on hers, pressing soft, fervent kisses to the corner of her mouth, along her jaw, down the tender skin beneath her ear.
“We can’t,” she whispered, even as she somehow drew him closer.“We can’t do this.”
“I know.”Still, neither of them pulled away.
Desperately, she arched against his thigh, trying to satisfy the need he’d assuaged once before.The bow of her neck gave him access, which he took, kissing his way down to the edge of her decolletage.
“Sweet little rosettes,” he murmured.“They’ve fascinated me all evening.”She felt his tongue on the upper curve of her breast and sighed.
“Where did they go?”Her father’s voice was very near.
To Lise’s amazement, Jonathan sprang back, launched himself another three feet, turned, and dropped to his knees, burying his head in the slender woody stems clustered at the base of the closest hydrangea.She nearly laughed, but she had to play her part.
“We are here, Papa,” Lise called out, maintaining her place, now a respectable distance from their guest, even as her parents appeared between the bushes.Her mother nearly trod upon Jonathan’s hand.
“I’m wondering,” he said, “whether I can discern any differences in the plant’s stalks or the texture of its soil to account for the different shades of its flowers.”
Absolute silence for a moment before her mother began to laugh.Then Lise chimed in, “I tried to stop him.I’m sure his lordship has soiled his pant legs.”
Lise’s father shook his head as Jonathan stood up, making a great show of unwinding his tall form and stretching out his legs as though he’d been resting on his knees for a long time.
“You are certainly an Englishman,” her father said, “obsessed with their gardens.But I’m sure my wife can tell you the answer.Let’s walk to the house while she does.”
Sure enough, her mother told him what Lise imagined he already knew, that adding small bits of scrap iron buried near the roots or regular coal ash would turn the flowers blue.
“We also use oak leaf compost,” her mother added.“And we add lime or chalk or even wood ash to make the blossoms as pink as my daughter’s dress.”
“How wonderful that you figured this out,” Jonathan said.
Lise cringed, walking beside her father while hoping neither of her parents thought Lord Bowen was spreading the jam too thickly.
“My father taught me this easy way to remember,” her mother continued.“Blue in sour soil, pink in sweet.”
Jonathan nodded before glancing back at Lise, making her heart skip a beat simply from the look in his eyes.Then he lapsed into silence, and Lise worked to calm her breathing now that the crisis of discovery had been averted.Besides, the larger issue at hand was uppermost in her mind.He was about to leave and she may never see him again.
“Will you join us for a glass of wine before you depart?”her father offered.
A little wellspring of hope bubbled up in her, but Jonathan declined at once.
“You are kind, but I must take my leave.”Obviously, he was experienced enough at dinner parties to know that most hosts didn’t appreciate a dawdling guest.Except in this instance, Lise would be grateful for every last second in his company.
In five minutes, he was bowing in their front hall, after thanking them for their hospitality.He complimented the meal again and said all the correct things.
When he bent over her hand and then straightened, Lise let herself look at him, really look at him, directly into his gray eyes, as one moment stretched into the next.
“Miss von Ostenfeld,” he said softly.“Thank you for your time this evening.”
“Lord Bowen.”Her voice barely wavered.“I wish you safe travels.”
His eyes held her blue gaze a heartbeat longer than propriety allowed.Then her father clapped him on the shoulder, and the spell was broken.Hans held the door, Jacob walked Jonathan’s horse out from the stable, and her English lord was on his way back to Eutin.
Behind him, in the doorway, Lise stood with her mother’s hand on her shoulder and watched him disappear into the night, her fingers pressed to her lips as though she could still feel the ghost of his kiss.
“He is not what I expected,” her mother said.
Lise’s caught her breath.“I beg your pardon?”
