“Still a ticklish subject, I see. Talk sense to him, Gareth. He long ago stopped listening to me.”
He did not need anyone to talk sense to him. He had plenty of that himself. Rational, ruthless sense, and far more talk than the world needed. It was his stock-in-trade.
The Crown’s friendship, or that of the daughter of a criminal. Only a fool would think there really was a choice.
***
Padua tucked the letter into her reticule, then put the reticule into her valise. She placed the valise out of sight. She buried the letter as if its invisibility meant she could ignore its message.
Mr. Notley had discovered her father’s inheritance. He awaited her return to London before he pursued the information further.
She had to go back.
Donning the sapphire spencer that Eva had redone for her, she went down to the garden. The brothers had ridden off several hours ago, along with a retinue, to hunt. She and Eva had enjoyed some time alone, but now Eva rested and Padua had time for her own thoughts.
She paced through the garden, fascinated that time alone had become unusual. She had spent most of the last years alone. Even at Mrs. Ludlow’s school, except for her conversations with Jennie, her own thoughts kept her company. Here, however, she had become part of a group. She never ate her meals alone now. Even when she read in the library, someone else often read there too.
Frequently that someone was Ives. She had spent more time with him in the last five days than she had probably spent with anyone since her mother died. She had not sought such a singular life, but she had not minded it too much. She even welcomed her isolation in the garden now, like it was an old friend.
Five days. Five nights. Different. Magical. The intimacy with Ives had transformed her. Moved her. The pleasure was the least of it. His warmth filled voids she did not even realize she had.
She was glad she had been self-indulgent and irresponsible. She did not regret allowing herself to know a woman’s desire and its fulfillment. She worried, however, that she would not like the consequences.
She smiled at the memory of him on that blanket, wanting to negotiate but knowing he should not.No.Not yet at least. He knew, as she did, that this affair would be brief.
She sat down on a bench at the far end of the garden, against a stone wall that held the sun’s warmth. She closed her eyes and remembered the morning. He had almost been found in her chamber again. The night had been wild and erotic, almost savage, and he had fallen asleep while he held her. She could not bear to wake him or to leave the cocoon of care that wrapped her. She had feared even breathing might ruin how perfect it was.
She could tell the sun had lowered behind the house. The air carried a new chill. She opened her eyes, and began to rise.
Up on the terrace, she saw Ives. He still wore his riding coat and boots. He watched her, and his stance alone said he contemplated what he saw. Aware she noticed him, he descended from the terrace and strode toward her.
“The hunt was a success?” she asked when he sat beside her.
“Lance thinks so. His aim will feed half the tenants tonight. They will be glad for it. The harvest was poor this year.”
“That was good of him. I thought it only sport for him.”
“He does it as Aylesbury. He was not educated to the position, but he is growing accustomed to its responsibilities.” He looked over at how she huggedherself for warmth. He unbuttoned his coat, shrugged it off, and tucked it around her shoulders.
“We will go in soon. Not yet, however.”
He closed his eyes much as she had, only no sun remained to bask in. She did not need to see his expression to know he thought deeply about something. She just sensed that now. Even in the dark, while they lay together, she knew when his mind worked on something.
“Lance said you received a letter today,” he said.
“The duke talks too much about matters not of his concern. This is the negative side of families, I think. Everyone minds everyone else’s business.”
Ives opened his eyes and looked at her.
“It was from Mr. Notley,” she admitted. “He is sure he has information about my father’s inheritance.”
“That is good news.”
“I hope so. If there is an income—just knowing there is—it changes everything.” She pulled the coat a little closer. “Well, not everything, but it will make life easier.”
“Then it is very good news.” He took her hand. “Did he write about anything else?”
She wanted to lie. For a day or two more, she wanted to silence all the voices in London. “He writes that a trial date has been set. Were you not informed?”
