It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers #2)(28)

“Thank you.” Gravely he extended his arm to Lillian. “Miss Bowman, if you would be so kind?”

Lillian took his arm, feeling oddly fragile as he led her across the hall. The silence between them was awkward and question-fraught. Westcliff had always provoked her, but now he seemed to have acquired the knack of making her feel vulnerable—and she didn’t like it at all. Stopping in the lee of a massive column, he turned to face her, and her hand dropped away from his arm.

His mouth and eyes were just two or three inches above her own, their bodies perfectly matched as they stood toe to toe. Her pulse became a soft, rapid tapping inside her veins, and her skin was suddenly covered in heat that presaged a burn, as if she were standing much too close to a fire. Westcliff’s thick lashes lowered slightly over midnight-dark eyes as he noticed her heightened color.

“Miss Bowman,” he murmured, “I assure you that in spite of what happened this afternoon, you have nothing to fear from me. If you have no objection, I would like to discuss it with you in a place where we won’t be disturbed.”

“Certainly,” Lillian said calmly. Meeting him somewhere alone had the uncomfortable overtones of a lovers’ tryst—which this would certainly not be. And yet she couldn’t seem to control the nervous thrills that ran up and down her spine. “Where shall we meet?”

“The morning room opens onto an orangery.”

“Yes, I know where that is.”

“Shall we meet in five minutes?”

“All right.” Lillian gave him a supremely unconcerned smile, as if she were quite accustomed to making clandestine arrangements. “I’ll go first.”

As she took her leave of him, she could feel his gaze on her back, and she knew somehow that he watched her every second until she was out of sight.

CHAPTER 6

As Lillian walked into the orangery, she was suffused in the scent of…oranges. But lemons, bays, and myrtles also cast their fragrance extravagantly through the gently heated air. The tiled floor of the rectangular building was punctuated with iron grillwork vents that allowed the warmth of the stoves on the lower floor to waft evenly inside the room. Starlight shone through the glass ceiling and glittering windows, and illuminated the interior scaffolding that had been loaded with rows of tropical plants.

The orangery was shadowy, with only the flicker of torches outside to relieve the darkness. At the sound of a footstep, Lillian turned quickly to view the intruder. A flash of uneasiness must have revealed itself in her posture, for Westcliff made his voice low and reassuring. “It’s just me. If you would rather meet in another place—”

“No,” Lillian interrupted, mildly amused to hear one of the most powerful men in England refer to himself as “just me.” “I like the orangery. It’s my favorite place in the manor, actually.”

“Mine also,” he said, approaching her slowly. “For many reasons, not the least of which is the privacy it offers.”

“You don’t have much privacy, do you? With all the comings and goings at Stony Cross Park…”

“I manage to carve out sufficient time for solitude.”

“And what do you do, when you’re alone?” The entire situation was beginning to seem rather dreamlike, talking with Westcliff in the orangery, watching the glimmers of stray torchlight score across the harsh but elegant modeling of his face.

“I read,” came his gravelly voice. “I walk. Occasionally I swim in the river.”

She was suddenly grateful for the darkness, as the thought of his unclothed body sliding through the water caused her to flush.

Reading discomfort in her sudden silence, and mistaking the cause, Westcliff spoke gruffly. “Miss Bowman, I must apologize for what happened earlier today. I am at a loss to explain my behavior, other than to state that it was a moment of insanity that will never be repeated.”

Lillian stiffened a little at the word “insanity.” “Fine,” she said. “I accept your apology.”

“You may set your mind at ease with the knowledge that I do not find you desirable in any way whatsoever.”

“I understand. Enough said, my lord.”

“If the two of us were left alone on a deserted island, I would have absolutely no thought of approaching you.”

“I realize that,” she said shortly. “You don’t have to go on and on about it.”

“I just want to make it clear that what I did was a complete aberration. You are not the kind of woman whom I would ever be attracted to.”

“All right.”

“In fact—”

“You’ve made yourself quite clear, my lord,” Lillian interrupted with a scowl, thinking that it was undoubtedly the most annoying apology she had ever received. “However…as my father always says, an honest apology comes with a price.”

Westcliff shot her an alert glance. “Price?”

The air between them crackled with challenge. “Yes, my lord. It’s no trouble for you to mouth a few words and then be done with it, is it? But if you were truly sorry for what you did, you would try to make amends.”

“All I did was kiss you,” he protested, as if she were making far too much of the incident.

“Against my will,” Lillian said significantly. She adopted an expression of wounded dignity. “Perhaps there are some women who would welcome your romantic attentions, but I am not one of them. And I am not accustomed to being grabbed and forcefully subjected to kisses that I didn’t ask for—”