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“Why did you leave?” she asked softly.

He swirled his fingers about in the cool water, but it was no use. He could still feel her. “Because you were in your cups, and I didn’t want to be your regret.”

“Oh.” Her lashes lowered, hiding her gaze from him.

“Do you remember what you promised me before I left?”

“I…” She paused, her words trailing away as she caught her lower lip in her teeth. “No.”

As he had suspected.

Apollo lifted his fingers from the water and shook away the droplets clinging to them. “You promised me that you wouldn’t forget how you felt last night today.”

The clouds shifted overhead, casting shadows over her countenance. “I’m not certain if I remember how I felt last night.”

He leaned down, his lips directly next to her ear as if he were imparting a great secret. “Liar,” he murmured instead.

Her head jerked back, and their gazes clashed and held. He saw how much she fought in those seconds. How valiantly she tried to keep from revealing all to him. But it was there, written in her gray-green eyes, in the way her decadent lips parted. In the shiver that went through her, the hand that splayed on his chest.

Yes, she was touching him now, her palm flattened over his heart. He wondered if she could feel how madly it beat for her. All for her.

“How did you feel last night?” she returned quietly.

Apollo didn’t hesitate. If he wanted to push her past the edge, he was going to have to surrender himself to her.

“As if I would die if I didn’t have you,” he answered.

“Do you feel the same today?”

Again, he didn’t wait or hold back. “Yes. But I am sure of myself, my lady. The only one I am not sure of is you. How do you feel today?”

She licked her lips, leaving them glistening. “The same.”

Before Apollo could answer, the skies opened and a deluge ensued. Raindrops pelted his face and drenched her silk bodice, darkening her magnificent fiery locks. Thank heavens they were near enough to the large orangery from this end of the garden. It would have to do, and he could only pray it would again be private.

He caught her hand in his. “Come with me.”

Ophelia didn’t argue. She entwined her fingers with his and followed as they rushed through the rosebushes toward the haven of the orangery.

CHAPTER 11

Mayhap it was the rain.

Mayhap it was the way Prestwick’s lips had lingered against her ear when he had called her a liar, an accusation about which he had not been wrong. For she had been lying.

Mayhap it was the potion Stanwyck had given Ophelia that was making her go mad and do foolish things.

Whatever the reason, she found herself laughing as she rushed into the orangery hand in hand with Prestwick. The rain was cold, the day was gray, and yet there was a tremendous lightness deep within her, as if she were weightless. She felt like a girl again, splashing about in puddles and sneaking through the gardens without her governess’s knowledge, ruining her hems.

The sound of his laughter, husky and deep and low, filled her with more of that same, odd buoyancy. They practically fell in the door of the orangery, clinging to each other and soaked to the skin. He had an arm wrapped around her waist, and she had linked hers around his neck.

Now that they were out of the foul weather, they stared at each other whilst the rain pelted the glass ceiling overhead. A lone drop of rain slid off his mask and down the bridge of his nose before dripping off the tip. His dark hair glistened, his jaw was stubbled with whiskers so stubborn that they were already returning after his morning shave, and he was blisteringly handsome.

He wanted her.

She could see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch.

Her misery from the morning fell away, her confidence returning.