Page 40 of A Figure of Love

Gareth didn’t know. The same logical arguments had crossed his own mind, yet there was a part of the equation that was missing. And it was more than a little frustrating.

“I don’t know,” he finally said, shaking his head.

Venetia’s eyes narrowed and her expression suddenly became very knowing.

“What?” He leaned forward. “What is it? You know something, I can see it.”

She smiled and shook her head.

“Venetia . . .” he let his tone speak for itself, but she just laughed.

“This is a side of you I have never seen.”

“What side?” She was beginning to irritate him.

She set her glass on the table beside her chair and unwound her small, sinuous body and came toward him.

He swallowed at the look on her face. He had not come here for carnal pleasure, but this woman was considered one of the most sexually skilled females in London and he realized, quite suddenly, he would regret the end of their association—because that was what tonight was: the end. Not just because of the sex, but because she knew him. He had a moment of regret that he did not know her half as well, but she had put a wall between most of her life and him, and he was not the kind of person to force his way in. At least he wasn’t with her.

She placed a hand on each of his knees, her white skin very pale against his black pantaloons. “I will miss you, Gareth, more than I would have expected possible when you came to see me that evening so long ago.” She pushed his unyielding thighs wide and slid to her knees between them. His breathing roughened and his eyes fastened on her plump lips, which she wet with her wicked pink tongue. “I was honored to be the one you chose to give your virginity to, Gareth. And, in a way, you were my very first. Certainly not the first man to have my body, but the first and only lover I have taken voluntarily.” Her hands slid up his thighs but stopped short of the hard ridge. His eyelids fluttered and it took monumental effort to keep from thrusting into her hands. His body wanted her even as his mind knew her clever mouth could only offer temporary relief.

“I know you did not come here for this tonight, but I am not good at saying goodbye, so I will let my actions speak for me.” Her lids were heavy as her hands kneaded and massaged his taut thighs. “Close your eyes, Gareth, and let me ease your mind, at least for a little while.”

Gareth laid his hands over hers, the gesture staying her actions. “Perhaps it is time we moved our association to another level, Venetia.” He patted the cushion beside him. “I may not need the same things from you, but I value our acquaintance more than ever. Please, sit and talk with me, help me understand this new, puzzling development.”

She hesitated, but somehow Gareth knew it was not because she didn’t wish it—but because such intimacy frightened her.

She finally smiled and sat beside him, her small hand still in his. “What would you like to know, Gareth?”

Chapter Eleven

Sometime in the night before the event those in the village were calling “Boulder Day” it began to rain. Not a gentle summer rain, but a torrential downpour that began just before dusk and continued on through the night.

It was still raining when Serena woke just before dawn and parted the heavy velvet drapes to peek outside. Her room, like most of the big suites that comprised the family wing, had windows overlooking the south side of the house. The parterre gardens, which they’d just begun to lay out with shrubs this past week, were below water, the freshly turned dirt a brown slick sheet that seemed to be sliding slowly down the gentle slope.

Serena let out a few choice French words under her breath and quickly dressed. She was headed for the servants’ wing when she encountered Jessup already talking with half a dozen grooms and other servants.

“Good morning, Mrs. Lombard, I was just instructing the men to spread the waxed tarps you had delivered.”

Serena smiled. “You are too good, Jessup. That was exactly why I was coming to find you.” She turned to the assembled men. “The clusters of plants will be fine, but I’m afraid our trenches may already have washed away. Please cover what you can.”

The men dispersed and she turned to Jessup.

“You really do think of everything, don’t you?”

His eyelids lowered slightly to show her words pleased him. “I know you would probably like a hot cup of coffee.”

“I would do murder for a cup. Don’t bother bringing it up for me, I’ll take it in the kitchen.”

“Mr. Lockheart is in the breakfast room, ma’am.”

“He is?” she asked, stupidly.

“And I must confess it was he who recommended the tarps.”

“You fibber, Jessup! Very well, I shall join him. Thank you.” She’d seen Lockheart since his return from London, of course, but they’d managed never to be alone together. She had taken to coming to breakfast a little later and she believed he accommodated her by dining even earlier. That way they’d managed to only see each other in the company of either McElroy or Oliver, with whom she’d found Lockheart closeted three nights earlier when she went to visit her son in the school room.

“Mama!” Oliver had shouted, “Look what Mr. Lockheart brought.” Spread out on the table were a number of automata, more than a few of them in parts. Oliver answered before she could ask.