Page 42 of A Marquess of No Importance (Inglorious Scoundrels #3)

T wo years later…

The afternoon sun warmed Melissande’s back as she knelt in the newly prepared garden bed, her hands deep in rich soil.

She had shed her gloves somewhere near the rose bushes—much to her lady’s maid’s horror—and was thoroughly enjoying the earthy sensation between her fingers as she settled a jasmine into its new home.

The garden had been Nathaniel’s idea. “A proper cutting garden,” he had said, where she could grow whatever caught her fancy without the head gardener’s disapproving gaze.

It had taken six months to design and prepare, but now the space was hers alone—a small kingdom of greenery just beginning to take root.

As she tamped soil around the jasmine, she heard the familiar sound of wheels on gravel.

“It’s looking more like a garden every day,” Nathaniel noted, rolling to a stop beside her garden bed.

“I’m glad to hear that.” She smiled. “I will miss this place for the next six months.”

He shrugged. “You can have another garden in London.”

She chuckled. “I won’t have enough time there.”

“Not with your work in Hades’ Hell, you won’t. Are you ready to return to London?” he asked.

Melissande sat back on her heels, pushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “I just hope Elise hasn’t turned the place upside down in my absence. Three months is a long time to leave her in charge.”

“Elise wants to impress you,” Nathaniel said with amusement. “But as a new co-owner, she has every right to turn it upside down if she wishes.”

Melissande laughed. The decision to make her half-sister a partner rather than merely an employee had been one of her better choices.

Elise had a head for numbers that rivaled Melissande’s own, and the gaming hell had actually increased profits under their joint management.

If anything happened to Melissande before her daughter reached majority, Elise would become the full owner.

It was best for her to know what to do in that situation.

“I have something for you,” Nathaniel said, producing a black leather-bound volume from beside him in the chair.

“What is it?” She stood, brushing dirt from her skirts with little success.

“Your great-grandmother’s novel. Turkish edition.”

Melissande froze, staring at the book in his hands. “Turkish? How—where did you even find this?”

He shrugged. “I have my ways, and friends who travel the world and owe me favors.”

She took the book carefully, running her fingers over the embossed cover. The title was rendered in elegant Ottoman script that she couldn’t read, which somehow made it even more precious. It was evidence that her scandalous ancestor’s work had traveled far beyond England’s shores.

“But it got me thinking,” Nathaniel continued, watching her face. “We haven’t traveled in quite some time. What would you say to a brief adventure after our obligatory London visit?”

Melissande raised an eyebrow. “You’re not seriously suggesting we go to Istanbul?”

“Why not? We could take the overland route through Europe or sail from Venice if you prefer. It would take several months, naturally, but—”

“Several months?” She laughed. “Nathaniel, that would be quite the challenge in your chair.”

He raised a brow, laughter dancing in his eyes. “I never back down from a challenge. Do you?”

The End.