Page 79 of For a Scot's Heart Only

Her lashes heavy, she fought to recover. Steady breathing helped. So did conversation on tamer topics, though it took her long minutes to find her equilibrium.

Mr. Miller regaled them with stories of various plants and their healthful benefits. He stayed with her and Thomas for the entire visit—to the chagrin of her scarred pirate. Mr. Miller was so enthusiastic that he insisted on seeing them safely returned to the pleasure barge, where Mr. Winston and company awaited them.

The chief gardener was escorting Mary as Thomas trailed behind. “It was a pleasure to host another Scot.”

She patted his velvet sleeve. “Thank you for a wonderful afternoon, sir. It was very generous of you to devote yourself to our visit.”

“It was a delight.” He tipped his head to hers. “Though I confess, Mr. West’s generous donation of whale bones helped.”

“Whale bones?”

He nodded vigorously. “Mr. West, like his fatherbefore him, grinds whale bones and sells them to us. Fodder for the plants.”

They stopped beside the pleasure barge and she raised her hood against the chill.

“I had no idea.”

She glanced at Mr. West. Who would have thought? A beauty-loving, garden-souled pirate lived in his tall frame. Mr. Miller handed her over to Mr. West fairly beaming.

“This year, however, I received a most astonishing letter. Mr. West offered to deliver his goods, free of charge if I would but close the gardens to the public and offer a private tour.”

She glanced at Thomas. Maneuvered that, had he?

“That is exceedingly generous. I, too, have found he has a talent for writing the most astonishing letters,” she said to Mr. Miller. “Quite persuasive, our Mr. West.”

Thomas was stoic under the shower of such fine praise.

“Indeed.” The chief gardener clicked his heels and executed an elegant bow. “Please do come again, Miss Fletcher. Mr. West.”

She curtseyed, Thomas bowed, and the sight of Mr. Miller speeding off was Mr. Winston’s cue to rush forward.

“Ready, Mr. West?” The barge master was on the vessel. “I lit two braziers for you. Should warm up the tent.”

Daylight was all but gone. Torches flickered along the rail, and sturdy oarsmen sat at the ready. Thomas turned a keen eye on the river.

“A lively current, I see. We should make good time.”

Cool air nipping her face, Mary ducked into thetent. She bundled up with the same blanket she’d used before and waited. Outside, torches infused the tent with vermillion and amber light. Silhouettes passed back and forth. Thomas was helping Mr. Winston unmoor the pleasure barge. She knew his tall profile and watched it. The cut of his tricorn, the breadth of his shoulders. He seemed quite anxious to depart. But who would join her in the tent?

The pirate? Or the gentlemanly shipmaster?

The better question might be who would join her later tonight?

She tucked the blanket under her chin as the creaking pleasure barge heaved forward. Thomas entered the tent, shadows carving his face. He let the panels close behind him, a mantle of calm authority dressing him. But there was something else. A predacious air, perhaps.

Her pulse quickened. This would be a private ride home.

Thomas stood confident and sure, withdrawing his flask from his coat. Purposeful, methodical. He was unaffected by the swaying vessel.

She let the blanket fall to her waist. “Thank you for today.”

“You’re welcome.” He swigged Cognac, his eyes peculiar and bright. “Current’s picking up. A storm’s coming.”

“I like storms. They come on fast, but the next morning I wake up so... refreshed.” She gave a feline smile. “Provided I’m safe and warm in bed when they come.”

“Any sailor will tell you there’s no sleeping on fast seas. A force of nature, storms.”

She angled her chin high. “Fast ships, fast waters. They don’t scare me.”