Page 65 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal (Love from London #3)

If James had been a little rough, Seamus didn’t seem to notice in the least. He circled the floor of the wagon, demanding pets from the occupants with all the assured confidence of a fare collector.

Then he gave a great shake; Candace hid her smile as she ducked beneath the cover of her quilt to escape dog-scented droplets.

The mighty dog sprawled on the cart floor at Arthur’ s feet, rested his enormous head on his paws, and sighed as if contented.

Lord Cavendish leaned forward and grinned at James, who was once again sitting on the edge of Candace’s quilt, his arm sprawled behind the back of her seat in a manner that prevented her from leaning back unless she wished to make contact with his admirable bicep.

“James,” Lord Cavendish said. “You do know this is a cart , not a carriage , right?”

“This spoken by the man to whom this cart would be an improvement,” James grumbled. “I heard the British Museum came calling to see if you’d like to donate your barouche for their display of antiquities.”

The other men roared with laughter.

Lord Cavendish grinned as if thrilled with James's set-down. “It’s a classic . No carriage maker has achieved those lines since?—”

“The Roman age?” Lord Howers interjected.

Lord Cavendish shook his finger at Candace. “This is why I like this duke of yours. He only mocks those who won’t be offended. He knows full well I’m at least as wealthy as he is and could buy any carriage I liked; otherwise, he’d never poke fun at my excellent barouche.”

Candace ignored the swooping sensation in her stomach at the inference that James might still be hers. Instead, she smiled and teased, “Isn’t it a bit gauche to speak of funds?”

“Only if you don’t have any, my dear.” Lord Cavendish leaned forward and grinned at her impudently.

“We wealthy gentlemen talk about it all the time. We’re insufferable, but what’s the point of having so much money if you can’t brag about it once in awhile and use it to buy ridiculous blue carriages? ”

James looked heavenward. “It’s nearly black.”

“Ah, but it isn’t —a remarkable deviation from one typically as sartorially austere as you. One might wonder what prompted the choice.”

James relaxed into the seat. The action somehow brought his chest even nearer to Candace. Didn’t he feel how close they were? She could hardly ignore it. Heat radiated from his body. She shifted, resisting the urge to scoot or lean away—the motion would have been too obvious, noted by all.

Lord Cavendish tapped his chin, a mischievous light in his eyes, and continued, “For some reason, when I look at your new carriage, I’m strongly reminded of Gould’s satin bowerbird, which collects bright stones and foliage and displays them to attract a mate.”

“Perhaps you should take notes,” James replied easily. “You only wear black even though your family’s mourning period is well over. Perhaps a splash of color might suit you.”

“I wore black long before my brother passed.” He smiled and met Candace’s eyes once more.

“Again—to anyone else, it would seem like a grave insult, but James knows I never mourned my brother, not really. I mourned the relationship that could have been between us had things been different, but I completed that particular grief years ago.”

James exhaled an exasperated noise through his nostrils, as if irritated to be called out for being considerate .

Candace smiled; she couldn’t help but like Lord Cavendish, especially because he seemed the least enamored with Daisy and Miss Ritten. She hadn’t seen him offer his elbow to one of them, even when strict manners dictated he probably should.

“Is it true, Lord Cavendish?” she asked. “Do you only wear black?”

“Yes, my lady, but the reason is far less mysterious than the gossips claim.”

“What do they say?”

James answered for him, as if irritated to be left out of the conversation. “That he has a tragic lost love in his past, or that he might secretly be a pirate.”

“That theory is my favorite.” Lord Cavendish lifted a finger and grinned.

“A pirate ?” She said. “Why would they think that?”

“Because I own some ships.” He shrugged. “They think I might wear black because it hides the bloodstains so well.”

She smiled, charmed by the ridiculous notion. “ Are you a pirate?”

“Don’t encourage him.” James shook his head.

“Since I can tell that you are a lady who can keep a confidence, I’ll tell you.” He leaned forward. “But it must stay a secret between us.”

Candace leaned forward eagerly.

“I am a pirate.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “What do you think of that?”

“I don’t believe it.” Candace laughed and turned to find James studying her in that intense way of his that she couldn’t quite read.

“Ah, but it’s true! After all, what is a pirate but a man who leaves port with nothing but comes back with a boatload of valuable goods?”

“That’s commerce, William,” James said, his tone droll.

“You are paying for the goods, are you not?” Candace asked.

“Yes, but far less than the items are worth in this part of the world.”

“That just makes it excellent commerce.”

Candace smiled and played Lord Cavendish’s game. “And what kind of goods do you take from these poor, unsuspecting tradespeople?”

“Ah,” he said, placing a finger to his nose. “That’s a secret I’ll never tell.”

“Mysterious.” She leaned back and accidentally brushed against James's arm. She swore she felt it flex at the contact, and with difficulty, she continued the conversation. “An underrated quality in a man.”

“Is it?” Lord Cavendish said. “I rather thought that young ladies preferred fashionable men to us dour, boring bachelors.”

“There’s nothing boring about a pirate,” she teased.

James made a noise that strongly resembled one of Seamus’s grunts.

Candace continued, “As a young, somewhat fashionable lady myself, I think there’s much to be said for a gentleman who doesn’t strive to be the center of attention.”

Lord Cavendish scoffed. “Calling yourself ‘somewhat’ fashionable is like calling one of those folly statues an objet d’art . It doesn’t encompass the scope of the thing, and you know it.”

Her cheeks warmed with pleasure at the genuine compliment, perhaps because at the moment, she felt like a drowned rodent. She doubted even the baroness would have compassion on an animal in her state.

“Yes, yes. Candace is all that is glamorous,” James groused. “Don’t you have someone else to talk to?”

Lord Cavendish smiled as if in challenge. “None so beautiful or interesting as she, at the moment. Tell me, my lady, do you exclusively shop at Madame Aubert’s?”

“What a keen eye you have. I thought only ladies paid that much attention to fashion.”

“You’d be surprised at how interested men are in ladies’ garments.”

Candace shook her head, blushing anew as Lord Cavendish leaned back and grinned at her.

“Thank goodness we’ve arrived,” James grumbled as the wheels of the wagon crunched upon the gravel of Devon Manor’s drive. “That’s quite enough of that .”

James alighted, placed his large hands about her waist, and lifted Candace down.

Despite the momentary thrill of the contact, she bit back a groan as she clasped his elbow and gingerly picked her way to the front door.

She’d no idea how sore she truly was until she started moving again.

She supposed it was only to be expected.

She wasn’t a great swimmer—she’d had very little practice.

“Thank you, Lady Candace!” Arthur called from the back of the wagon. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

She waved and smiled back at him, even as her heart tore within her chest. How she longed that were true! But she and James needed to speak—there was as much murkiness between them as there was in that lake.

At the front door, James sighed. “I’ll call upon you when I can. We should speak.”

Candace couldn’t meet his eyes; she was frightened of the grim resignation she feared she’d find. “Very well.”

A silence stretched between them, until finally she looked up. He frowned down at her.

“Candace, I’ve never been so frightened?—”

The front door swung open.

“Where on earth have you been?” Percy bellowed. “And why are you wet ?”