Page 155

A drian swore under his breath, something he found he was doing with increasing frequency these days.

The sketch failed to capture the exact perspective he was looking for, and so he tucked it away in the back of the small portfolio at his side and withdrew a fresh sheet of paper.

This time, his pencil moved over the surface with a surer hand, the crisp lines and delicate shading rendering a picture much more to his liking.

Brow furrowed in concentration, he started to fill in the details.

It was only when the clock in the nearby church tower began to chime the hour that he looked up in consternation.

"The devil take it," he muttered. He was promised for a luncheon with Honoria and her parents. Given his egregious lack of manners in not making an appearance at the last evening's musicale, it would be unforgivable to miss this engagement as well. And he was already in danger of being late.

He quickly gathered the rest of his papers from the weathered bench and crammed them inside the portfolio.

With a last, lingering look of regret at the unusual gazebo and the circular plantings behind it, Adrian forced himself to his feet.

He would simply have to ask Mr. Davies if he might return another morning to finish making his sketches.

The sound of the bells faded away, giving further warning that there was no time to lose.

Tucking his work under his arm, he set off down the path at a rapid clip.

He had nearly reached the wrought iron gate that led out to the quiet side street when the graveled walk took a sharp bend around a high hedge of clipped boxwood.

His own hurried steps had masked the sound of anyone else approaching, and so as he rushed through the turn, his momentum made it impossible to avoid colliding with the figure approaching from the opposite direction.

Adrian managed to keep the other person from being knocked to the ground, but his portfolio went flying, the papers scattering across the neatly trimmed grass.

"Hell and damnation," he exclaimed, unable to contain his dismay at seeing all his precious work and reference drawings in danger of being ruined. He took an involuntary step toward the fluttering sheets before realizing he still had hold of the other person's arm.

"I beg your pardon. Miss Edwards." He felt a flush of embarrassment color his cheeks "For both my unseemly haste and language." His gaze remained locked on the sketches rather than on her face. Of all the deuced luck to make a cake of himself by bumping into this particular young lady.

"I'm afraid I was in a bit of a hurry."

"So it would seem," answered Derrien rather tartly, quickly free from his fingers.

"I would have been come careful myself had thought that anyone would be prowling around in Mr. Davies's gardens at this hour, especially you, milord. Though it does seem you are partial to strolling in gardens.” A frown.

“ However, I would not have expected a fine London gentleman to rise from his slumber before noon. "

Adrian was already on his knees. Ignoring the effect that the damp earth was having on his immaculate dove gray trousers, he began to gather up his work.

"I imagine there is a great deal that you wouldn't expect about me," he muttered, his ill humor further piqued by her barbs as well as his uncharacteristic clumsiness.

Her gaze strayed to the papers on the ground. "What are those?" she asked.

When he didn't answer, Derrien bent down as well and began to pick up some of the sheets that were threatening to fly off into the nearby rose bushes.

"Why, this is a sketch of one of the temples at Stourhead!" she blurted out, on regarding the first image to come to hand. She looked at the ones beneath it. "And this is from Payne Knight's design for Downton Castle. And this..."

Her freckled nose crinkled in thought. "It looks to be the work of Chitley, but I don't recognize the commission."

Adrian's hands had frozen at her first words, then his head came up with a jerk, "You are familiar with garden designs and their creators?" he exclaimed in undisguised amazement.

"Yes," she replied with some defensiveness. "Does that strike you as so... odd?"

"It's not that. It's just, well, I suppose it's just that I wouldn't have expected such extensive knowledge from a..." His words trailed off as he grabbed at another piece of paper about to be carried off by a gust of wind.

"A female, and a mere provincial, uneducated one at that," she finished quickly. Her chin came up a fraction. "Well, sir, there is no doubt a great deal you don't expect about me either."

His brow furrowed slightly. What he didn't expect was to find himself thinking that her pert nose looked rather pretty, if unconventional, with its lightly tanned coloring and dusting of freckles and that her rosy lips looked eminently kissable.

She captured several other sketches and ran a quick eye over them. "One of Robert Adam's picturesque castles and a plan by Repton," she announced. "And rendered very nicely at that. The question is, sir, what are you doing with such a collection of drawings?"

"Er, a hobby," he mumbled. He held out his hand for the papers she had collected. "You certainly seem familiar with the names you have just mentioned," he went on, in order to deflect further questions. However, he couldn't resist tossing out one of his own. "Whose work do you prefer?"

He noted the lively gleam of humor that came to her eyes, and wondered why he hadn't noticed before what an unusual shade of blue they were— somewhere between a smoky cerulean and sky at twilight.

"Ah, sir, that is like asking which sweetmeat one prefers. They have all designed works that make one positively drool with delight." She paused as if to consider the question further. "But I suppose that I must say I favor the less well-known Chitley."

Adrian suppressed a strangled cough. "Why is that?"

"His imagination," she replied without hesitation. "I think he has done the best job of synthesizing the core ideas espoused in Archibald Alison and Payne Knight's essays into a coherent design philosophy, don't you think?"

He made a strange sound in the back of his throat and sat back on his haunches.

"I find his attitude on formality, color and texture most intriguing," she went on, ignoring the lack of a reply.

"Indeed," he managed to articulate. "Well, I imagine he has been influenced by Uvedale Price as well. After all, it is Price who proposed that the Picturesque rank as an aesthetic category along with the Sublime and the Beautiful."

Derrien regarded him intently. "Now that might be a matter of debate, sir, on how similar their views are on?—"

"Ha! No debate at all," he said under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Er, nothing. What I meant was, I should like to hear more of your opinions on the subject."

"Well, as I said, I find Chitley perhaps a bit more unorthodox than his predecessors." There was a slight pause. "But I am sure he is not to your taste."

"No?"

Her eyes took on a martial gleam. "You do not strike me as having a great deal of imagination." She plucked up another sketch from the grass.

"Ah, yes. Bloodless aren't I. Well, perhaps that is why my passing interest in gardens is not to be wondered at." He snatched the paper from her fingers. "They, too, are bloodless so we suit each other, though of course they do have a life to them which I obviously do not."

Derrien ducked her head. "I'm sorry. My comment of the other evening was quite uncalled for," she muttered. "I have a bad habit of letting my tongue run away with me."

"I hadn't noticed," he said dryly.

She made a lunge for the last piece of paper floating in the wind. "If you truly have an interest in gardens, I imagine you have already heard of Sir Hugh Playfair's creation," she said. "Of all the private designs here in St. Andrews, it would, of course, be the one that shouldn't be missed."

He shook his head. "Playfair? I believe I was introduced to the gentleman at some point, but have not heard mention of his garden."

"No? But you must see it." Her mouth crooked in a tentative smile. "If only to remark on what happens when imagination runs amuck."

A faint grin tweaked at his lips. "With such an interesting recommendation, I shall have to be sure to wangle an invitation."

"Sir Hugh has invited me to make use of the grounds whenever I care to. I had planned to make a visit tomorrow morning at this time, if..." The last words seemed to come out in a rush, before she quite realized what she was saying. "...if you would care to come along."

Adrian hesitated, but only for a moment. "Yes," he said slowly. "I should like that."

He reached out to take the last sketch from her hand and his glove brushed against hers, sending a frisson of heat through his blood.

Good Lord, he thought with some consternation, what was he thinking, to let the merest physical brush with a prickly country miss affect him like that?

After all, he was engaged to a beauty, and one whose manners?—

Honoria!

Hell's teeth, he had forgotten all about the luncheon! He was going to be frightfully late.

He scrambled to his feet, clumps of mud and bits of grass clinging to his knees.

"Egad, Honoria and her parents will no doubt be furious with me," he muttered under his breath.

In a louder voice, he added, "Forgive me, Miss Edwards, but I must be off.

" He found himself fumbling awkwardly, trying to give her a hand up at the same time as attempting to stuff the sketches into his portfolio.

"If you will give me your address, I shall bring my carriage around?—"