The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(78)
Relief flooded her eyes, making his heart clench. “I thought perhaps it was over.”
“Do you think I release my prisoners so easily?”
She bit her lip and lowered her lashes as a blush spread across her face.
He tilted her chin up until her gaze met his. “You’re not going to leave my sight.”
“Where are we going, then, my captor?”
“I have a garden,” he said as he led her through the door and into the hall.
“Someone could see me if I’m outside,” she whispered at his side. She had a slight skip in her step as she moved down the hall, her clear excitement showing through her wary words. “Isn’t that why I’ve been imprisoned with you these past few weeks?”
“No one will see you,” he promised. He opened a door at the end of the hall and ushered her inside the service passage. This hall must not get regular use—not a single candle lit the way—but he remembered the path well. Securing her hand in his, he led her deeper into the dark.
“I can see the garden from the window. It doesn’t look very private,” she mused.
“That isn’t where we’re going.” He turned to the right and pulled her along behind him.
“You have a private garden I could have visited instead of being locked away all day?”
“I forgot it existed, to be quite honest,” he admitted. They reached the door to the stairs, and he pulled it open on creaking hinges. “I haven’t visited in years. No one has.”
“Does it have high stone walls that are covered with vines preventing anyone from finding the gate?”
“We’re in London, not the countryside somewhere on the Continent, but it likely is overrun with vines. It hasn’t been tended to in ages.” He took a step up and turned back to her. “Mind the stairs.”
“Where is this garden?”
“You certainly have a list of questions this evening.”
“If you were locked away for weeks on end then suddenly allowed a glimpse of the outdoors, wouldn’t you have questions?” she asked from behind him on the narrow stairs.
He really had imprisoned her. She teased him with good humor over the loss of her freedom, but he had kept her locked well away for longer than was ideal for anyone’s happiness. He wanted Isabelle to be happy. He would give anything, do anything… “I am sorry this happened, that you’ve had to remain hidden away from sight.”
“I’m glad I’ve been hidden away with you.”
Her softly spoken words caught him like an anchor tossed into his heart, almost causing him to stumble. He turned back to Isabelle as he reached for the knob on the narrow wooden door, only seeing her silhouette in the dark. “I know it hasn’t been pleasant all the time.”
“Being locked away in your bedchamber has its advantages.”
He couldn’t see her blush, but he imagined it was there, blooming in her cheeks like flowers in spring. “If you’re talking about having time on your hands to learn to paint or read a book, I’m going to be quite disappointed.”
“This morning I was reading one where the heroine was sent to live in another country, away from everyone she knew. And I found myself thinking, ‘Did she survive a blow to the head? Was she saved from certain imprisonment by a dashing gentleman? Did he kiss her?’ For once the reality of my life is more exciting than the fantasy.”
“Dashing?” His hand tightened around the doorknob, but he made no move to open the door.
“Yes, dashing. And unlike the lady in the story, I was bashed over the head, rescued, held prisoner, kissed… My life is better than a story.”
“Only you would consider surviving an assault to be better than attending balls or taking tea from the comfort of your home.” He smiled and opened the door, stepping out into the moonlight.
“It’s quite dramatic—” She broke off as she stepped over the threshold and onto the roof of his home. “Oh! What is this place? It’s lovely, Fallon!” She moved out onto the stone floor and dropped his hand. “See? I told you my life was better than a book now.”
“And I told you no one would see you here except me.” He watched as she began to explore the abandoned rooftop garden, unable to take his eyes from her.
She walked forward, inspecting the flowers one by one. The plants that had once been meticulously cared for had gone wild, creeping out of the pots they had been planted in. Vines clung to the parapet wall that surrounded the area, closing them into a starlit room, alive with green leaves. In this long-forgotten portion of his home, the garden had grown together into a riot of flowers that made the roof seem like another world hanging in the night sky. The effect was quite becoming and somehow matched the barefoot, loose-haired lady he’d brought here. This was where she belonged.
“You never come here?” she asked as she moved to the parapet wall to peer over to the street far below.
He would climb those stairs every day if it meant seeing Isabelle. He could see her spending her days here, picking blooms in the afternoon sun. But it would do no good to allow his mind to linger on that future. He’d done too good a job at hiding her whereabouts, and there was no need for him to save her reputation with a quick wedding. Everyone thought she’d left town. His life wasn’t suited to such sedate domestic life anyway. This was never meant to be a lasting situation. Soon Isabelle would return to her home, safe to live out her life however she chose. Which meant this night was precious, one of the last few he would spend alone with her.