Page 34

thirty-four

A nthony had let Isabella rest for a couple of days while he’d taken care of his correspondence, met his steward, and assessed which works the house needed.

After breakfast, she usually sat slouched on a lounge chair in one of the many balconies, coughing in her fist, and looking as miserable as she’d been in London.

If she kept to herself and sat in a chair all day, Anthony feared her health wouldn’t improve. Although the kiss—the wonderful kiss they’d shared—made him hope for a change.

He smiled every time he thought about the kiss, especially since it’d been spontaneous and powerful.

He was looking at her from the window in the sunroom when Grandmama walked over to him.

“You ought to do something.” She pointed at Isabella. “Nothing has changed. Unless you act, she’ll do here what she did in London.”

“I don’t want to force her.”

“Not force her but encourage her. And enough working for you. You barely rested yourself. Go and spend some time with your wife.”

“You’re right.” He started to leave when Grandmama took his arm.

“I’m still angry with you for what you did. So take good care of her.”

He nodded and kissed her cheek.

He was still debating if he should tell her the truth or not, but Patrick wasn’t here to defend himself, and Isabella’s health was a priority.

The warm, scented air teased his senses when he stepped onto the balcony. Despite the warm weather, Isabella’s legs were covered by a quilt.

“Fancy a walk?” he asked.

“I’m too tired.” And pale. The sunlight didn’t prompt her to walk at all.

“You’re too tired because you’ve been sitting on a chair for days, thinking about how tired you are. We’ll take a slow walk with as many pauses as you like, and before you know it, your health is back. I want you to see all the flowers and plants here. This garden is bigger than it looks.”

A little smile graced her lips. She stood up and wrapped her arm around his.

“I’m sorry I had work to do in the past two days.”

“I needed the time to rest.”

He wasn’t sure about that.

He led her down a short flight of stone steps to the gravel path weaving through hedges, bushes, and flowerbeds with dozens of bees hovering around. In the background, the sound of the waves hitting the cliff resounded. No noises of carriages, no coal dust, and no grey sky.

She closed her eyes, tilting her head towards the sun. He spied on the gentle curve of her profile. When she opened her eyes and found him staring, she smiled, a bright, happy smile that lit her whole face.

They walked deeper into the garden to a remote part from where the house wasn’t visible. The garden had a terraced, hanging structure where the plants grew across different levels, like the hanging gardens of Babylon. Tall trees and hedges also blocked the sound of the sea. Looking up, a tall wall of plants towered over them.

“We’re alone in the world,” she said.

“I wouldn’t complain.”

“The flowers are stunning.” She paused next to a bush of peonies.

“Grandfather had a passion for flowers.” Speaking of his grandfather…Anthony glanced at the last flight of stairs heading to the lowest terrace. A hidden wrought-iron door concealed the entrance to Grandfather’s secret pleasure garden. If he wanted to show it to Isabella, he needed the key though. “Are you tired? Would you like to walk a little longer?”

“Yes. Where do you want to go?”

“Wait here a moment. I need to fetch something.” He kissed her on the lips, and she laughed. So he kissed her again. But he had to go. “I’ll be right back.”

He raced up all the flights of stairs to the main balcony, startling the gardeners working on the hedges and a few maids sweeping the stairs.

Grandmama was drinking tea under a wide garden umbrella but sat bolt upright when she saw him. “Is Isabella sick?”

“No, all is fine.” He rushed past her.

“Why the hurry?”

“Later. Later.”

He barged into his room, scaring his valet who was arranging the suits in the wardrobe. He rummaged through the drawers of his desk. The key had to be…here! He snatched the large brass key and ran at breakneck speed towards the garden and again past Grandmama.

“But, really!” Grandmother dropped her cup, causing it to rattle in the saucer. “This behaviour isn’t dignified for a duke. Dukes never run.”

“Sorry. Sorry.” He nearly slipped as he shot down the stairs. “Bloody hell!”

“I heard that!” Grandmama said.

He raced down all the way to the last terrace.

Isabella was where he’d left her. She was bent over a bunch of pretty yellow flowers, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“Here I am.” He was breathless.

She straightened and eyed him. “Goodness. What happened?”

He waved towards the house. “I’ve just terrorised half of the household and my grandmother.”

She laughed. It was an enchanting sound. “For what reason?”

“A secret garden.” He showed her the brass key. “Over there.”

Her dark eyes brightened. “I’m intrigued.”

“You’d better be. I almost broke my neck running down here.”

He led her down a lateral flight of stairs hidden from view. One wouldn’t find the secret path unless they knew where to look. The passage was so narrow Isabella had to walk behind him. Vines formed a green gallery with a ceiling so thick little sunlight filtered through.

At the end of the path stood a heavy-looking, wrought-iron door that time and the salty water hadn’t managed to attack. The lock screeched when he turned the key. After a click sounded, he pushed the door, revealing yet another flight of stairs, rough and uneven. Purple wild passion vines climbed over a tunnel-like frame, forming a colourful ceiling over them. The flashy flowers nodded their crowns as if in greeting.

“It’s lovely,” she said.

“Be careful. The gardeners don’t come here to clean often.”

Brambles and other plants formed a thick tangle that blocked the passage in a few spots. He had to rip the plants to reach the garden, which wasn’t in a better state but not as jungle-like as he feared.

“My grandfather had this garden built after Grandmama got furious with him. She refused to talk to him for days. They argued a lot.” He held her hand as she jumped over a bush.

“Why was she furious?”

“Because he ordered sculptures of Greek heroes he wanted to place in the main garden upstairs, but Grandmama found them too scandalous.” He paused. “He accused her of being too prudish and told her to ‘unclench her pearls.’ She told him he was a scoundrel and so on. Anyway, she won the argument, unsurprisingly, and he had to remove the statues. They should be here, buried under the wild plants.”

The stairs opened to a wide, round area. Marble heads and graceful arms appeared through vines and tall grass.

“There.” He removed a tangle of stems to reveal the statue of none other than Hero herself. “This is Hero.”

The statue of a beautiful woman stood on the pedestal. Her tunic seemed ruffled by the wind as she stared at the horizon.

“She was a priestess of Aphrodite.” He tugged at the remaining vines.

“She isn’t scandalous at all.” Isabella helped him clean up Hero.

“We’re talking about my grandmother.” He pointed at Hero’s feet. “Bare ankles, bare calves, and suggestive curves. Too much.”

She chuckled, and he would do anything to hear her laugh again.

“There’s a pool!” She pointed to the other side of the garden.

“A natural pool, a small inlet.”

She giggled when he helped her down the barely visible path to the cove. White stones formed a circle around a pool of turquoise water so limpid the bottom was crystal clear. The weather had smoothed and rounded the rocks around the edge.

“It’s beautiful.” She crouched to dip her hand into the water. “It’s not too cold. Where does the water come from?”

“No idea. An underground connection, but the sea is right around this cliff.”

She touched a few purple flowers around the edge. “There are small bushes of cistus here. They’ve been choked by weeds almost completely.”

“My grandmother isn’t fond of this garden. I think she’s never been here, and after Grandpapa died, she asked the gardeners to ignore this place. She was angry with him for selling Maiden Hill.”

“We should restore this garden to its original beauty.”

He’d counted on her to say that. “I agree. I’ll ask the gardeners to help clean it up.”

She gazed around at the other statues before staring at him. “You know exactly how to make me feel better.”

“No. But I try.” He dipped his head. “I think I deserve a kiss for that.”

She took his face before kissing him.

Holding her by the waist, he swept her off her feet and twirled her around. She wrapped her arms around his neck. When he put her down, her cheeks were deliciously flushed, and even her lips were a deep pink. He kissed her again, but this time, he couldn’t contain his passion.

She opened her mouth and slid her tongue past his lips. And the kiss turned wild in a second. They kissed with their mouths open and their tongues stroking each other. It was a kiss that made him forget about who he was and where he was, and it was fantastic. Her hands wandered over his chest. Each contact with her palms and fingers shot desire through him. As if he didn't have enough of it.

He ran a hand from her waist up to her breast to cup it, tearing a gasp from her. He rubbed her nipple through the fabric of her shirt with more strength than the first time he’d touched her. Her reply was to graze his lips with her teeth. He pinched her nipple, and she bit his bottom lip, setting his blood on fire.

“Wicked,” he whispered against her lips.

She smiled. “Only a little.”

She was his wife, and he wanted to take her properly, but at the same time, he wanted to woo her.

She took deep breaths as he fondled her breast. “I like it when you touch me. And no,” she added when he was about to say something. “It’s not duty. It’s not. So please don’t stop now. I mean it.”

She could read his mind because he’d been about to say just that.

Holding her with one arm, he unbuttoned her shirt. The more buttons he undid, the faster she breathed. Impatience won, and he opened her shirt, ripping a few buttons.

When her creamy skin was uncovered, he stared at the top of her breasts for a long moment. The corset pushed them up in the most enticing way. He unfastened the first hooks, just a few, to let the corset open. Underneath, only the thin chemise covered her. He tugged its hem down to bare her breast.

“Are you still sensitive?” he asked, brushing it lightly.

“Not anymore.”

Still, he would be gentle.

He brushed his thumb over her pink nipple, watching it harden to a peak. She panted as he pinched it and rolled it between his fingers. When she sagged against him, he dipped his head to close his mouth around her nipple and suck slowly.

Her moan of pleasure was a sound he’d cherish forever. He tongued her breast until she squeezed her thighs together and breathed hard.

Slowly, he bunched her skirts up. Even in the hot weather, she wore several layers of petticoats, but he pushed them aside to find her bloomers.

More shoving and tugging got his hand between her thighs and over the opening of her drawers. They both stilled when his fingers were a mere inch from her heat.

At his first stroke, she drew in a sharp breath that ripped him apart, so intense it was. He demanded nothing but to make her feel beautiful, safe, and happy. He gritted his teeth when he touched her softness. Wetness soaked his fingers as he stroked her as gently as his desire allowed him.

Tension coiled in his body, and he suppressed the urge to go faster, deeper. He watched her face; she breathed with her lips parted and her eyes half closed. She gripped his waistcoat as he drew circles with his thumb. A quiver went through her, and she muffled her scream in his chest. Little pulses hit his fingers.

He let her enjoy the moment fully and rest against his body. When her breathing returned to normal, he reluctantly withdrew his hand. He made a mess of covering her again, wrinkling her skirt and fastening the wrong hooks on her corset.

When he finished, she looked like someone who had dressed in the dark while drunk.

“You’ll have to take care of your clothes,” he whispered, kissing her forehead.

She laughed against his chest. “Gladly.”

If she let him, he would do everything to make her happy again.