Page 15 of An Alliance with the Earl (Marrying for Love #5)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T hesummer rain arrived suddenly, turning the sky a deep, brooding gray and sending the guests of Ivy Manor scattering indoors with startled laughter and hurried steps. Olivia had smelled the first traces of rain just as the group had been preparing to spill into the gardens for an afternoon of fresh air and diversions; and now,instead of walking beneath blue skies, they were resigned to the house.

She lingered near the French doors leading to the terrace, watching asthick raindrops spattered against the stone, darkening it in uneven patches.The scent of earth and damp roses drifted inside with the cool breeze,a tantalizing tease of what could have been.

Around her, the party dissolved into smaller groups—some guests veered toward the drawing room, where card tables were being set up, while others made their way to the library or music room. The hum of conversation filled the air, yet Oliviafelt oddly apart from it, her gaze fixed on the rain-soaked world beyond the glass.

“Would you care to join a game, Lady Olivia?”

She turned to findLord Cheshire had stepped next to her. He watched her, his usual easy amusement in place. He was impeccably dressed, his coat was perfectly tailored, emphasizing the strong lines of his frame, though something about his posture seemed—unsettled.

She hesitated. “I suppose I could.” Then, glancing back toward the gardens, she sighed.“But I had rather hoped for the outdoors.”

Lord Cheshire followed her gaze, then hummed thoughtfully.“That settles it. You need a suitable substitute.”

Before she could ask what he meant, he smoothlytucked her arm through his and turned them away from the scattering guests.

“Come,”he said lightly.“I have an idea.”

She arched a brow as he led her away from the stairs that would lead to the drawing room and toward a quieter wing of the house.“And where, precisely, are we going?”

He cast her a sidelong glance, his blue eyes gleaming.“Trust me, Lady Olivia.”

She should not have found that answer sosatisfying. She did trust him.

A few moments later, he opened a set of tall, glass-paneled doors and gestured inside with a flourish.“A fair substitute for the outdoors, wouldn’t you say?”

Theconservatorystretched before them, bathed in the diffused light of the rain-flecked afternoon. Large, arched windows framed the walls, their panes misted slightly from the warmth inside.Climbing vines trailed up marble columns, their emerald leaves reaching toward the glass ceiling where raindrops pattered gently.The scent ofcitrus blossoms, damp earth, and orchidsfilled the air, rich and fresh, far more inviting than the stuffy drawing rooms behind them.

Olivia inhaled deeply, a smile tugging at her lips. “It is much better than a game of whist.”

Lord Cheshire smirked. “I was quite sure it would be.”

They stepped inside, their footsteps softened by the thick Persian rug leading toward the windows.The warmth of the conservatory was different from the rest of the house—more alive, more fragrant.The rain continued its steady rhythm against the glass, and Olivia realized with delight thatit was the perfect place to sit and listen to it.

“Will you sketch?”Lord Cheshire asked, nodding toward the small book she held at her side.

She glanced down at it, then back at the lush greenery around them. “I had thought to,” she admitted.“The way the light filters through the leaves is lovely.”

He nodded approvingly. “And yet…”

She huffed a small laugh.“And yet, I seem to be walking instead.”

His lips curved. “Perhaps some things are best experienced rather than recorded.”

She gave him a wry look. “That sounds suspiciously like an excuse for distracting me.”

He led her further along the pathway, pastpotted orange trees, blooming orchids, and trailing jasmine.“Perhaps. But in my defense, I was going to show you the best place in the conservatory before you abandoned your sketchbook entirely.”

She arched a brow. “Oh? And where might that be?”

He guided her toward aquiet alcove framed by greenery, where a cluster of potted citrus trees stood against the glass.

“This is my favorite spot,”he admitted, pointing to the small orange blossoms from one of the branches. The delicate petals released a faint, sweet fragrance into the air.

Olivia studied the flowers on the tree. “Because of the fruit?” she guessed.

He shook his head.“Because of the scent.”

Curious, she leaned in slightly, breathing in the fresh, citrusy aroma.It was bright, crisp, fleeting—the scent of something that only existed for a brief moment before it faded.

“I can see why you favor it,” she murmured.

His gaze flickered toward her, the edges of his expression softening. “I should have known you’d understand.”

The wordsunsettled something in her.

Before she could respond, he turned the flower gently between his fingers and asked,“Are you certain you don’t wish to sketch it?”

She considered it. Truly, she did.

And yet …

Slowly, sheclosed her sketchbook.

“No,” she said at last.“Some things are better enjoyed in the moment rather than committed to paper.”

Something flickered across his features—something thoughtful, unreadable.

And then, with a quiet chuckle, he tucked the orange blossom into her palm.

“I shall have to remember that,” he murmured.

She moved to stand beside him, her fingers grazing the cool edge of a marble-topped table, its surface decorated with elegant pots of fragrant blooms. Outside, the world was painted in deep hues of green, the rain soaking the hedgerows and flowerbeds, making the garden glisten.

“It does have a way of making one feel trapped,” he said after a moment, watching the droplets trickle down the glass.

Olivia turned toward him, arching an eyebrow. “And do you wish to escape, Lord Cheshire?”

He glanced at her then, his lips twitching as if she had caught him in a secret thought. “Not at the present.”

Something about the way he said it sent a warmth through her, an awareness she had not invited but could not ignore.

She looked away, focusing on the ivy-draped trellises beyond the conservatory. “I find the storm rather peaceful, actually.”

He nodded slowly. “Yes. Though I imagine the others are cursing the sky for ruining the afternoon’s plans.”

She gave a small, amused smile. “Not all plans are so easily ruined. Sometimes they only … change.”

Lord Cheshire turned toward her fully now, one elbow resting casually against the window ledge. “It is strange, though,” he mused, his voice quieter now. “I thought I would be counting the days until this house party ended, but I find myself rather enjoying parts of it.”

Olivia lifted her gaze to his, a whisper of a smile on her lips. “And what parts would those be?”

He hesitated, and in that hesitation, she felt the weight of something unsaid.

She held her breath, waiting.

“The gardens,” he finally said, his tone deceptively light. “And the boat rides. And …”

She arched a brow, waiting for him to continue. But he did not.

A sudden crack of thunder tore through the air, shaking the windowpanes. Olivia started, her breath catching involuntarily.

And then—his hand was at her back. “You are safe,” he said.

She nodded. She knew she was safe with him, but she barely registered the next breath she took, acutely aware of the way his fingers pressed lightly against her spine, the way the moment stretched between them.

Her heart was pounding—not from the storm, but from him.

She turned her head just slightly, and their eyes met.

“Olivia,” he said, using her Christian name. Something flickered in his expression—something intense, something unreadable.

“Yes?” she whispered, her voice barely audible with the rain.

Another thunder cracked through the air, and she winced from the sound.

He hesitated, then blinked. “The storm will be quieter if we return to the house.” He held out his arm to her.

She knew he was right, but there was something that he seemed to leave unsaid. But with another crack of thunder she nodded her head. She looped her arm through his, wishing that the thunder hadn’t interrupted whatever he was about to say. “Very well, Edward.” She said his name aloud, seeing how it felt to use his Christian name the way he had used hers. But Lord Cheshire didn’t respond, or perhaps he didn’t hear her over the sound of the rain.

They left the conservatory, but the moment stayed with her, lingering like the scent of rain on her skin.