Because she wasn’t thinking, she reminded herself. She was feeling and wanting and, oh... she should have been stronger and told him no. Except she’d swiftly dismissed that option and told herself that if his health started to fail and something happened to him, Florian would blame her and she would never forgive herself for the neglect.
Which was rubbish, of course. Mr. Lowell’s wound was healing nicely. There was zero chance of him suddenly collapsing and taking a turn for the worse. It was all an excuse to allow herself a bit of indulgence. Because in spite of all that she knew, including his friendship with Robert, she genuinely liked him. More than that, she liked how she felt when she was around him, as if she was more than the cogs and wheels that kept St. Agatha’s going.
Mr. Lowell’s attention toward her made her feel special, which was probably ridiculous considering the length of their acquaintance and all the women who probably waited for him to be discharged. But they weren’t here right now. She was. And she craved the way he looked at her, as if she was all he’d ever wanted, even though she knew that couldn’t possibly be true.
As he walked beside her she realized how tall he was. She hadn’t noticed when he’d been lying in bed, but there was at least a head’s difference between them. And he was close, so close she could feel his heat pushing against her right shoulder and arm. When they reached the door leading out to the garden, he opened it for her, and as she passed through it, the touch of his hand at the base of her spine made her insides quiver.
It was fleeting, a simple gesture to guide her forward, yet the heat of it lingered for long moments after, provoking a yearning within her for more. God help her, this man was leading her straight into madness and she had agreed to willingly follow.
“An extraordinary sanctuary,” he murmured, scattering her thoughts. “I never expected to find so much color out here. The flowers, hedges and fountains are all incredible.”
“The idea was to create a soothing atmosphere to hasten recovery in our patients. The fountains were quite an expense, but I think they’re pretty and I love the sound that they make.”
He glanced down at her and she looked up. The afternoon sun was behind him, casting its golden rays upon his dark hair and making it shimmer. “I quite agree,” he said, and offered his arm. “Shall we take a turn of the garden?”
Viola hesitated only the second it took her to realize that while there were other patients and a couple of nurses about, none seemed to have much interest in them. So she nodded and placed her hand on his arm and tried not to think of how firm it felt or how well matched they seemed as they started to walk. Impossible, of course, since every cell in her body was keenly tuned to his masculine presence.
“If you will permit, I would love to come back here one day with my sketch pad,” he said when they’d walked a few paces in silence. “The scenery is superb. I especially like that climbing plant over there. And the patients themselves would be interesting models, I think.”
His comment surprised her somewhat. “I would not have taken you for an artist.” She’d rather envisioned him gambling away in a smoky room or lounging in bed with one of his paramours.
“Does the image not suit your preconceived notion of me, Viola?” He met her gaze and immediately chuckled, proving to her that he’d judged her correctly. “I developed a fondness for drawing when I was a boy. Florian would bring all sorts of plants into the house and I would sketch them for him, since he had no talent with that at all. Together we catalogued all of the plants available at our country estate in a notebook. After I drew them, Florian wrote down their names and medicinal properties.”
“Do you still have it?” Viola asked in the hope of seeing the journal one day.
“Florian does. I believe he keeps it locked away somewhere at his home.” They turned toward a corner where a pair of benches had been placed beneath a rose-covered pergola. “He told me once that it is his most prized possession.”
“And so it should be considering the time and effort the two of you put into it.”
The smile he gave her forced her to hold on more tightly to his arm. “It is more than that, Viola. That journal forged an unbreakable bond between us. It taught us to work together and support each other while creating something for us to be proud of.”
“You care for him deeply, don’t you?” She wasn’t sure why she asked the question except perhaps to have his sensitive side confirmed.
“I love him fiercely.”
His pronouncement was more than what she’d expected. It startled her because of how rare it was to hear a man speak so openly of his feelings. Her father had of course told her that he loved her, but it was not the sort of thing he would ever have blurted to anyone. Perhaps because it meant being vulnerable, which wasn’t at all what she would have expected from a man she’d only recently met, let alone from a rake.
“Does that surprise you?” he asked. They had reached the benches, and when she removed her hand from his arm, he gestured toward the nearest one.
Viola sat and waited for him to join her before saying, “No. Not really. I know you have done a lot for each other in ways of offering support. When you learned of his true parentage last year and that the two of you don’t share the same father, you didn’t allow it to change things between you. I know he was grateful for that.”
Mr. Lowell glanced across the garden while sunlight spilled across his cheeks. It allowed Viola to catch a glimpse of stubble he’d yet to shave, and for an odd reason she could not explain, she found she liked him looking slightly unkempt.
“Florian is a remarkable man. I have always held him in the highest regard, so it makes no difference to me if his father was England’s worst criminal. I only regret that he felt unable to confide in me sooner.”
Sympathizing, Viola allowed for a bit of silence to pass between them while watching a couple of sparrows hopping along the path. “Do you have any pets?” she asked with some strange intention to further confirm that he wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. Indeed, she was starting to think that she might have misjudged him completely—that the entire world might be wrong about who Mr. Lowell actually was.
“I have a cat named Newton.”
“Really?” She tried to picture him with the creature and decided it suited him rather well.
Lips quirking, he dropped his gaze to hers. “He shares his namesake’s solitary and untrusting nature.” A frown emerged upon his brow. “It makes one wonder if names can shape a personality.”
He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles, alerting Viola to their length and the sturdy outline of his thighs beneath his trousers. “I have two horses as well. A pair of Scottish Clydesdales.”
Viola stared at him blankly. She knew absolutely nothing about horses. At least not enough to know what a Clydesdale was.
“I know they’re not the customary choice for a London gentleman to ride,” Mr. Lowell went on, “but they’re extremely strong and energetic. In truth, I don’t think they get enough credit. And I absolutely love the feathering around their lower legs. It gives them character, if you ask me.”
