It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers #2)(61)

“It’s called Butterfly Court,” Westcliff said, closing the door. His voice was a stroke of unfinished velvet on her ears. “It’s been planted with the flowers most likely to attract them.”

Lillian smiled dreamily as she watched the tiny, busy forms hovering at the heliotrope and marigold. “What are those called? The orange and black ones.”

Westcliff came to stand beside her. “Painted ladies.”

“How does one refer to a group of butterflies? A swarm?”

“Most commonly. However, I prefer a more recent variation—in some circles it is referred to as a kaleidoscope of butterflies.”

“A kaleidoscope…that’s some kind of optical instrument, isn’t it? I’ve heard of them, but never chanced to see one.”

“I have a kaleidoscope in the library. If you like, I will show it to you later.” Before she could reply, Westcliff pointed toward a huge fall of lavender. “Over there—the white butterfly is a skipper.”

A sudden laugh bubbled in her throat. “A dingy-skipper?”

Answering amusement twinkled in his eyes. “No. Just the regular variety of skipper.”

Sunlight glossed his heavy black hair and imparted a bronze sheen to his skin. Lillian’s gaze fell to the strong line of his throat, and suddenly she was unbearably aware of the coiled force of his body, the contained masculine power that had fascinated her since the first time she had ever seen him. What would it feel like to be wrapped inside that potent strength?

“How lovely the lavender smells,” she remarked, trying to distract her thoughts from their dangerous inclinations. “Someday I want to travel to Provence, to walk one of the lavender roads in summer. They say the stands of flowers are so far-reaching that the fields look like an ocean of blue. Can you imagine how beautiful it must be?”

Westcliff shook his head slightly, staring at her.

She wandered to one of the lavender stalks and touched the tiny violet-blue blossoms, and brought her scented fingertips to her throat. “They extract the essential oil by forcing steam through the plants and drawing off the liquid. It takes something like five hundred pounds of lavender plants to produce just a few precious ounces of oil.”

“You seem quite knowledgeable on the subject.”

Lillian’s lips quirked. “I have a great interest in scents. In fact, I could help my father a great deal with his company, were he to allow it. But I’m a woman, and therefore my only purpose in life is to marry well.” She wandered to the edge of the radiant wildflower bed.

Westcliff followed, coming to stand just behind her. “That puts me in mind of an issue that needs to be discussed.”

“Oh?”

“You’ve been keeping company with St. Vincent of late.”

“So I have.”

“He is not a suitable companion for you.”

“He is your friend, is he not?”

“Yes—which is why I know what he is capable of.”

“Are you warning me to stay away from him?”

“As that would obviously be the supreme inducement for you to do otherwise…no. I am merely advising you not to be naive.”

“I can manage St. Vincent.”

“I’m sure you believe so.” A thread of annoying condescension had entered his tone. “However, it is clear that you have neither the experience nor the maturity to defend yourself against his advances.”

“So far you have been the only one I’ve needed to defend myself against,” Lillian retorted, turning to face him. She observed with satisfaction that the shot had hit its mark, causing a faint wash of color to edge his cheeks and the well-defined bridge of his nose.

“If St. Vincent has not yet taken advantage of you,” he replied with dangerous gentleness, “it is only because he is waiting for an opportune moment. And in spite of your inflated opinion of your own abilities—or perhaps because of it—you are an easy mark for seduction.”

“Inflated?” Lillian repeated in outrage. “I’ll have you know that I am far too experienced to be caught unaware by any man, including St. Vincent.” To Lillian’s vexation, Westcliff seemed to recognize the exaggeration for what it was, a smile gleaming in his sable eyes.

“I was mistaken, then. From the way you kiss, I assumed…” He deliberately left the sentence unfinished, laying out bait that she was powerless to resist.

“What do you mean, ‘from the way I kiss’? Are you implying that there is something wrong? Something you don’t like? Something I shouldn’t—”

“No…” His fingertips brushed her mouth, silencing her. “Your kisses were very…” He hesitated as if the right word eluded him, and then his attention seemed to focus on the plush surface of her lips. “Sweet,” he whispered after a long time, his fingers sliding across the underside of her chin. Light as the touch was, he had to feel the exquisite tension of her throat muscles. “But your response was not what I would have expected of an experienced woman.”

His thumb rubbed across her lower lip, teasing it apart from the top one. Lillian felt bemused and combative, like a sleepy kitten who had just been awakened with a tickling feather. She stiffened as she felt him slide a supportive arm behind her back. “What…what more was I supposed to do? What could you have expected that I didn’t—” She stopped with a swift inhalation as his fingers followed the angle of her jaw, cupping the side of her face.