Dark Angel / Lord Carew's Bride (35 page)

“I believe so,” she said, one hand over her heart. She laughed again, a bright, totally happy sound. “I believe it is almost safe to say that I will survive.”

“I am glad,” he said. One of those curls would feel soft and silky wrapped about one of his fingers.

“Was not the rain wretched?” she said. “We played hide-and-seek for two days with the children and had to pretend for all of that time not to see them, even when they were perfectly visible behind sheer draperies or beneath desks.”

“You were bored?” he asked, a quite improper image of her with an infant at her breast flashing unexpectedly into his mind.

“Not at all,” she said. “It was a thoroughly enjoyable romp. I believe I am still a child at heart—an alarming thought. But I was disappointed about our walk. I thought you might not still be at Highmoor. I thought perhaps you would not think of coming today instead. I did not expect to see you here today, but I came anyway.” She smiled at him. “Just in case.”

She had really wanted to come. She had been disappointed by the rain. She had been anxious today—anxious that he would not come. But she had come anyway. Just in case.

He had planned this part of their meeting—if she came. He was going to turn to her and tell her he was very sorry but he had misled her last time. He had done so, he would say, because she had looked embarrassed to be caught trespassing and he had not wanted to distress her further. But in reality he was more than just Hartley Wade. He was the Marquess of Carew.

That was what he had planned. But she had wanted to meet him. She had come today on the chance that he would be there. She had wanted to spend the afternoon with him just as he was—a sort of cripple of nondescript
appearance with not even some of his finery to improve his looks.

She had wanted to be with Hartley Wade, landscape gardener. And she looked pleased to be with him.

How would she react to the knowledge of his real identity? Did he want to find out?

He was enjoying being Hartley Wade. He had never enjoyed anything more in his life. He wanted to continue as he was—just for this afternoon. At the end of it, or next time if there was a next time, he would tell her the truth. But not now.

“I expect to be at Highmoor for a while yet,” he said. “There are several plans to make and the marquess to consult when he returns home. And then the work to supervise if he gives his approval and wishes to begin immediately. And I was disappointed, too. And so I came today, as soon as it was not raining. Just in case you would be here also.”

She smiled brightly at him. She had white and perfect teeth. Her mouth curved up invitingly at the corners. It was the most kissable mouth he had ever seen.

“Well,” she said, “I am recovered, Mr. Wade. Are you going to show me the lake? Is it far? And more to the point, is it all downhill?”

“But uphill on the way back,” he said. “No, not far.” He got to his feet but did not offer his hand to assist her. He was afraid to touch her. Even if he kept her on his left-hand side, she would be more aware of his limp if she held to his arm. And she might be embarrassed or
disgusted. “You will like it. It is the most secluded and the loveliest part of the estate.”

“I wonder if the Marquess of Carew appreciates his home,” she said. “He is away from it a great deal, is he not? If I were the owner of all this beauty, I am not sure I could bear to leave it.”

But there was loneliness to contend with when one lived at home, a loneliness that even houseguests could not quite alleviate. It was when he was at home that he felt most keenly the absence of a woman from his life. And children. But he despaired of ever finding the woman who would love him for himself.

Not that he had ever loved any woman—though he had been fond of the woman who had been his mistress for five years before her sudden death a year and a half ago, the only mistress he had ever employed. But his feelings for her had not had the depth of love.

He suspected that his feelings for Miss Samantha Newman could have such depth, though at the moment he was only very much in love with her.

“He appreciates it,” he said, “else why would he be going to such great expense to make it more lovely?”

“Perhaps,” she said, “to make of it an even greater showpiece. But that was unkind. Please forgive me. I do not even know the gentleman. But Jenny—my cousin, Lady Thornhill—says that he is a pleasant gentleman.”

Bless the earl’s lady. She had never been anything but kind and courteous to him, though she was one of this world’s beautiful people.

“Here we are,” he said. “Mind your step. The slope is
rather steep. I would hate to see you hurtle downward and straight into the water.”

“It might forever prejudice my opinion against the place,” she said with a laugh.

But she was not laughing a few moments later. She stopped when they were still almost at the top of the slope, when the lake came into view, nestled between the hill on one side and trees on the other. She stood for a few moments, saying nothing.

“Oh,” she said at last, her voice hushed. “It must be the loveliest place on earth.”

That was the moment when he knew that he was not in love with her, like any schoolboy with any beautiful woman.

That was when he knew, without any doubt and despite such a short acquaintance, that he loved her.

T
HERE WAS SOMETHING ALMOST MAGICAL about it. The lake at Chalcote was lovely, with its wide expanse of water and the boathouse and the grassy banks on which the family picnicked and played. But this was different. This was—enchanted.

Perhaps it was the rather steep hill, she thought, and the trees on the other side. They enclosed it, making it seem in a little world of its own. They made the water look deep and still.

“Shall we go down?” he asked. “It is even lovelier from the water’s edge.”

They descended sedately, though she could see that the slope leveled off before it reached the water so that there was a flat bank on which to stand or sit. She was glad that he did not offer either his hand or his arm. She had noticed that he had never done so. Most gentlemen would have, making her feel frail and ladylike. But touching meant physical awareness. It made one immediately aware that one was of a different gender from one’s companion.

She was glad that there was no such awareness with Mr. Wade. It would have spoiled what she thought was a
budding friendship. She had never had a gentleman as a friend, she realized. Not really.

Yes, he was right, she thought when they were standing on the bank, looking across the water. “Peace,” she said quietly. “Perfect peace. It makes one aware of—oh, of what?”

“The presence of God?” he suggested.

“Yes.” She closed her eyes and breathed in the smell of water and damp vegetation. “Yes, there are places like that, are there not? Churches almost always. Sometimes other places. This place.”

“I have always liked it wild,” he said, “though I would like to give it a touch of—of human appreciation. Perhaps a chapel.” He laughed softly. “But that would be an affectation. Certainly nothing suggesting human activity. I did think once of boats and a boathouse, but I dismissed the idea as soon as it came to me. What do you think?”

“No boats,” she said.

“A bridge, perhaps,” he said, pointing to the narrow end of the lake, where a waterfall down the hillside poured in its waters. “The idea keeps returning to me. But a bridge to nowhere is another affectation, is it not?”

“A stone bridge,” she said, “with arches. Three, I think. Leading to a small pavilion or summerhouse.”

“Yes.” He was silent for a few moments. “Fully enclosed with glass windows on all six or eight sides. Where one can sit and be warm.”

“And dry,” she said. She laughed. “A rain house. The
lake must look lovely in the rain, with mist on the hills and in the trees.”

“A rain house,” he said softly. “I like it.”

“It could be wonderfully cozy and peaceful,” she said. “I believe I would spend a great deal of time there if I lived here.”

“A bridge and a rain house,” he said. “That is what it will be. I have puzzled for years over exactly what should be done here, and you have helped me solve the problem.”

“Perhaps,” she said, “you should employ me as your assistant, Mr. Wade.”

He turned his head to smile at her. He had one of the loveliest smiles she had ever seen. It went all the way back inside his eyes and drew an answering smile from her.

“Could I afford you?” he asked.

“Probably not,” she said. “Will the Marquess of Carew think you are quite mad when you suggest a bridge and a
rain
house here?”

“Quite possibly,” he said. “But he has great faith in my judgment. And when he sees the finished products, he will fall in love with them without further ado.”

“I hope so,” she said. “I would not want them to be neglected.”

They stood side by side, looking about them, in perfect harmony, perfect peace.

“I could live here happily for the rest of my life,” she said at last with a sigh. But she chuckled at the thought. “If I were just the hermit type.”

“Wearing a sackcloth shirt,” he said, “and taking your morning plunge into the lake.”

“Ugh,” she said, shivering, and they both laughed. But she sobered again. “I suppose I should be going back to Chalcote. I must have been here an hour or longer. The time has flown.”

“Have you ever seen the inside of the abbey?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Would you like to?” he asked. “Tomorrow? I would love to show it to you.”

“It does not seem proper,” she said, “to view a gentleman’s home when he is not in residence.” It would be even more improper if he were, she thought.

“I would show you only the public rooms,” he said. “There are numerous visitors here during the summer. The housekeeper is authorized to show them the parts of the house that are not private—the most magnificent parts. I know them well enough to show them, too.”

Highmoor Abbey had looked so very beautiful from a distance. She was very tempted. And his eyes were smiling at her.

“Tomorrow?” he asked.

“Oh.” She felt suddenly like a child being denied a treat. “We are going visiting tomorrow. I could not possibly be rude enough to absent myself.”

“The day after?” he suggested.

“And the day after we are expecting visitors.” She pulled a face and smiled apologetically at him. But she had a sudden idea. “Will you come too? I know that
Gabriel and Jenny—the earl and countess, you know—would be delighted.” And yet as soon as she said it, she felt sorry. Absurd as it seemed, she did not want to share her friend with her family.

“I think not,” he said quietly. “I had better stay here and at least pretend to work. But thank you.”

They smiled regretfully at each other. She had enjoyed these two afternoons with him so very much. She thought he might have spoiled her forever for the normal sort of flirtatious afternoons she sometimes spent with gentlemen out driving or at garden parties. Friendship was so much more comfortable.

“I could come the afternoon after that,” she said hopefully. “Will you still be here?”

“Yes,” he said. “I was not sure you wanted to. It would be a long walk for you. Do you ride?”

“Yes,” she said. “Of course.”

“Perhaps I could meet you,” he said. “At the gatehouse to Highmoor? The same time as today?”

She nodded and smiled. “I must go now,” she said. “You need not come with me. It is a long walk to the stream and back.”

“But like last time,” he said, “I must make myself personally responsible for seeing all trespassers cleared from Highmoor property.”

They scrambled up the bank together and then up to the top of the hill and down the slope to the stream and the stepping-stones to Chalcote land, chatting easily on a variety of topics. She stopped and turned to him before crossing to the other side.

“Thank you, Mr. Wade,” she said. “This has been so pleasant.”

“And for me,” he said. “I shall look forward to seeing you three days from now.”

After crossing the stones, she turned to wave to him before the trees cut him from her view. He was a gentleman, she thought, a single gentleman. And for longer than an hour on two separate afternoons she had been alone with him in secluded countryside, where they had not seen even one other person. No one knew where she was. And this second time she had deliberately met him. It was almost like a tryst they had arranged. It was dreadfully improper, even for a woman of four-and-twenty. Aunt Aggy would have a fit of the vapors if she knew. Gabriel would frown and look like Lucifer again. Even Jenny would look reproachful.

Why had it not seemed improper at all? Just because there was no flirtation involved, no touching, no romance? Or was it because of his appearance? He was such a very ordinary looking man—except perhaps when he smiled with his eyes, or with his whole face. And so totally unfashionable. And then there was the twisted, gloved hand and the heavy limp. Perhaps it was his appearance. She tried to imagine him as a handsome, perfectly made man. Would she feel the impropriety then? She rather thought she would. She would be attracted to such a man.

She felt no attraction at all to Mr. Wade. Except as a friend. She smiled. Except as a special companion.