Page 47 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal (Love from London #3)

Grey-green clouds tumbled over one another in the sky as wind whipped at the trees and sent the ends of the vines slapping. Candace reached up and clamped her hat to her head. They had scarcely reached the portico when Arthur’s sodden form came running up the steps.

“Seamus got frightened by the lightning and ran!” he wailed.

“Which way?” The boy pointed and James nodded. He thrust his hat into Candace’s hands. “Get inside, the both of you. I’ll be back in a moment. ”

He bounded down the steps, and even if they’d wanted to follow, the downpour increased, nearly swallowing him from view. Candace took hold of Arthur’s hand and tugged him back through the whipping vines, into the rotunda.

It was a different view from the inside now, too.

Rain pattered in from the round skylight, the deluge working to fill the stone basin faster than she would have thought possible.

The vines that covered the back entrance twisted like writhing snakes; the mat that covered the front heaved in and out like the side of a tent in a gale.

“This way.” She made her voice more cheerful than she felt. “We’ll shelter beneath the warrior’s cloak.”

She guided Arthur to sit next to her, where they had a decent view of the direction James had gone. Not that they could see anything—the wind drove sheets of rain in capricious directions, painting the outside in swaths of grey.

“He hates thunder,” Arthur sniffled, huddling next to her and swiping at his nose. “What if he runs into the lake and drowns?”

“He won’t. Seamus is too smart for that.”

Arthur shook his head. “I love him, but he’s not smart—not when it comes to water, at least. He always wants to go in, but he forgets he doesn’t swim well.”

“He probably isn’t in the mood to swim. Not if he’s already wet and cold from the rain.”

He sat a little straighter at the thought. “You’re right.”

“He’s most likely just found a big tree to sit next to, to wait out the storm. ”

“Maybe.”

“Your father’s a very smart man. I’m sure he’ll find him soon.”

There was another crack , another immediate roll of thunder that reverberated within the rotunda. Hard plinks came from all around them, and little bits of hail pelted into the stone basin. Some of them missed it altogether, pinging around the stone floor like spilled marbles.

Candace pressed her lips together and tried not to think of James out in the weather without his hat.

“Poor Seamus,” Arthur moaned, shaking his head. “He’s probably so scared and cold.”

“Nonsense. He has a thick fur coat. He’s made for this kind of weather—he probably enjoys the chill.”

“Then he might try and go swimming after all!” he wailed.

Candace wrinkled her nose and tightened her arm around his shoulders, cursing herself for her blunder. She kept her eyes trained on the entry.

A great lurching form appeared on the horizon—at first, Candace wasn’t sure what it was.

“Look!” Arthur said, pointing into the misty deluge.

The shape came into focus, and it was James. He carried the giant dog half over his shoulder, much like one held a baby who needed to be burped. The fawn of Seamus’s fur stood out against the charcoal of James’s overcoat.

“Seamus!” Arthur cried.

Despite the boy’s concern, the dog looked quite comfortable in James’s arms. Candace’s eyes traced the strength in his limbs as he navigated the uneven terrain with the massive dog pressed against his chest. One strong arm supported the beast underneath his haunches, the other clasped the dog around the back as James’s thick legs ate up the distance between them.

At the base of the marble steps, he carefully set Seamus down. The dog cowered, his full weight pressed against James’s legs. He tugged him gently up the stairs by his collar.

Then they were inside, and James didn’t release the collar, even as Seamus took the opportunity to violently shake himself free of the rain.

Half-bent, he led Seamus over to where Candace and Arthur huddled.

Arthur hugged the dog fiercely before the great beast wedged himself between Arthur and the wall.

“Keep a hold of him,” James said, finally letting the dog go.

Candace was dreadfully glad James was busy with the dog and his son. She couldn’t peel her eyes from him, even though she desperately tried to.

James's dark hair curled at his neck and clung to his forehead.

As she watched, he swiped several strands from his eyes.

Beneath his unbuttoned coat, his shirt was plastered to his broad chest. The rain had rendered the crisp white fabric transparent, and she could trace every line of his figure from neck to stomach.

A hot blush bloomed beneath her collar and crept up to roost in her cheeks. She burrowed deeper into her coat and shivered—she lied and told herself it was the cold.

“I found him under a bush.” James ran his fingers through his hair, taming the strands back from his face. He was out of breath, his mighty chest heaving with exertion.

Candace made herself look away, though she couldn’t change her wide-eyed, stupified expression. Hopefully if James saw it, he’d think it was the shock of the storm that rendered her mute and dazed.

“I had to drag him out by the collar; he didn’t want to come. And then he was limping and lay down.”

He settled back against the stone wall. Grateful for the chance for distraction, Candace carefully picked up Seamus’s paws, checking each one for thorns and thistles. The dog gave up cowering against the wall and leaned heavily against James, his eyes closed, his jowls quivering in fear.

“I think we’re feeding him too much,” James grunted as he threw an arm around the giant beast.

Candace couldn’t help but wonder—what would it be like to be precious to a man like Canterbury? He’d run into a deluge to rescue a dog that often irritated him, all because his son would be devastated if something were to happen to the great lout.

She couldn’t imagine Shelbourne doing anything selfless like that—not that he would’ve joined her on a garden walk to begin with.

Quickly, she shook the thought away. She thought of Shelbourne less and less—with the distraction of the gardens and the friends she had around her, sometimes she went days without remembering what had brought her to Devon.

She certainly didn’t want his specter tainting this experience—being huddled close with James was a rare treat that wouldn’t be repeated. Even if Seamus was blowing hot dog breath upon her cheek.

“What is it?” James patted at his wet head. “Do I have leaves in my hair? I had to crawl into the bushes a ways to drag him out.”

Candace realized she’d been staring at him while she compared him to her erstwhile fiancé. “You got the leaf already.”

“Is Seamus all right, Father?” Arthur kept a tight grip on the dog’s leather collar, even though it didn’t appear the dog had any intention of leaving the warmth of the grouping.

“He will be. He just got frightened.”

“He doesn’t like storms.”

As if on cue, lightning cracked across the sky and a fresh torrent of hailstones pinged down through the skylight. Arthur winced.

Candace put her arm around him once more. Conscious of his masculine pride, she added, “I’m very cold. Arthur, will you please help me stay warm?”

He nodded, and James shot her a grateful smile.

It shouldn’t do such things to her stomach, that smile. Especially since he gave it so freely, without any idea of her reaction. Especially since he’d as much as told her he wanted to introduce his friends to Vera to get their opinion.

In the following minutes, while Candace sat with Arthur on one side and James on the other, she wished she never had to leave. She wished they could stay just like they were forever.

The storm passed and the trip back to the house was uneventful, but the next morning, Candace woke with a throbbing in her temples.

“Ugh,” she moaned past the rough abrasion in her throat.

Candace tried to sit up as Hortense was pulling back the curtains, but quickly gave the motion up in favor of flopping back against her pillows in a dramatic heap.

“My lady?” Hortense hurried to her side. “Are you well?”

“No.”

Candace wasn’t sure she’d ever heard her voice sound as low and rough as it did. She would have made a wonderful stand-in for a man in a play—if the character had smoked ten cigars a day for the last thirty years.

“Oh dear.” Hortense held the back of her hand to Candace’s forehead.

Her maid’s skin felt lovely and cool against her flushed skin, and Candace turned her face into the pillow. “Keep your distance lest I get you ill.”

“Nonsense. You’re ill because you spent half of yesterday shivering in the rain. Very kind of you to think of me, though,” she added in a softer tone.

“If you get sick, who’ll care for me?”

Hortense chuckled. “You always get a bit sharp-tongued when you’re feeling poorly.”

“I need tea.”

“I daresay you need something stronger than tea.” Hortense bustled toward the door.

“You’re right,” Candace croaked after her. “Bring the gin!”