“Surely you mean an Athenian sprinter or a cherub with no shoes.”
“No, I mean a foot. And we have no choice but to dress the houses around these items.”
He laughed, hiding his smile behind the goblet of champagne. She was clever, so very clever. He marveled at the months they’d kept each other at bay when they could have been laughing. Laughing and making love. He smiled down at her, and she grinned back, her turquoise eyes flashing. Desire pinioned through him, a jolt so strong, he almost choked on his drink.
“Laugh if you must,” Willow scolded, “but there is no end to the horribleness we are asked to accommodate. Honestly, I don’t mind the challenge, but my aunt cannot abide it. Over time, she has honed her ability to hide how incredibly appalled she is at these items, but she rails the moment we are behind closed doors.”
Cassin continued to chuckle, swallowing his laugh only when a middle-aged couple approached, asking to make their acquaintance. They were friends of his late father and delighted to see Cassin and be introduced to the new Countess of Cassin. Willow was cordial and polished, making polite conversation before crediting her aunt and uncle with the beauty of their surroundings, while gently inquiring about their home.
Pride mingled with possessiveness and desire, as guest after guest ventured to meet them, and Willow smoothly offered insight on the art or appointments of the house. By the time footmen appeared with trays of food, they’d spoken to nearly every guest in the room.
Cassin took up another drink. “But what of thegardenin this garden party? So far I’ve seen only the orange room, the black-and-white room, and the room filled with guns.”
“That would be the gun room.” Willow sighed, rubbing her neck.
“You’re tired,” he said. He knew better than anyone that the last two nights had afforded her little sleep.
“Perhaps a little,” she said, smiling shyly, “but I do wonder about the garden. Shall we make at least one turn around it? I never called on this job site when the gardeners were not also here. The plants will not be established, but it’s meant to be quite an Eden, I believe.”
She led him down the main corridor, pointing out the distinctions of each room as they went, and finally stepped through glass-paned doors and down stone steps into an oasis of green.
“Oh, but my mother would adore this.” Cassin sighed. “She is an avid gardener.”
The garden was not large, but it had been filled with plants, a lush patchwork of leafy textures and tendrils and every known shade of green. The sound of a gurgling fountain rose from behind a yew hedge.
“Yes, it did turn out quite nicely,” mused Willow, following a gravel path to a stone bench. “What a shame the party has not moved in this direction.”
“In my experience, the party moves only in proximity to where the wine is being poured.” He sat down beside her. For a moment, he allowed himself to enjoy the dazed quiet of leaning against her. Her arm was warm against his sleeve, her skirts brushed his leg. He could feel the tickle of her hair on his neck.
After a long moment, he said, “I should bring my mother to London as soon as I am able. My sisters too. They’ve been very stoic about biding their time in Yorkshire, waiting for me to redeliver us into financial solvency.”
Willow chuckled. “Oh, only that small task.”
The sound of the fountain drowned out the distant din of the party.
“I remember in your letter,” Willow said, “you recounted visits to London when you were a boy and in school. But these people do not seem to know you, not as a grown man. Did you not venture out when you were in London to raise money for the Barbadoes expedition? Before you came to Surrey?”
“Ah, yes, before Surrey.” He leaned back on the bench. “I did not venture out, no. When we were not mounting our plan for the guano, I approached financiers about money, but nothing more. And you know what became of that.”
“Surrey.” She laughed.
He looked at her, trying to memorize the sound of her laughter. “Yes. Surrey.” He looked away. “I have not socialized in London since my father died.”
“But have you ever enjoyed the city?”
“I enjoy London very much. I simply haven’t had the time or the resources to go about as earl, not as we did when my father was alive.” He took up her hand. Was there a limit to the number of times he could thank her for the gift of her dowry? “Until today, I suppose.”
She smiled, causing the freckles on the apples of her cheek to stretch. He reached out to rub a thumb across the side of her face. No amount of touching her was enough.
“Even if there was money, I have been too preoccupied with the bleak state of Caldera to spare London visits. The responsibility of the earldom . . . ” He let out a harsh breath and released her face. He propped his elbows on his knees, dropping his head. “It is colossal.”
“I cannot believe that you were an idle aristocrat’s son before you became earl,” she said.
He shook his head. “The irony is that I believed myself to be so ready. I wasn’t idle, but I had very few proper obligations until this bloody business with the mines. Instead, I occupied myself with the relentless pursuit of one meaningless accomplishment or another. Marksmanship, riding, studies, languages—on and on it went. From boyhood, I was an inexhaustible little bugger, you might say.”
“A competitor,” she offered.
He shrugged again. “I was the future earl. While some boys might have seen this as license to relax and await the rising tide of privilege, I held the opposite view. I was determined to succeed at every endeavor.”
