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Authors: Eloisa James
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brilliance of the orchids that grew around her father’s house and the shrieking birds that hid among those blossoms. Here the hedges hid twitters and small songs, introductory trills that sounded like songbooks for baby birds.
Her boots made whispering noises against the stone walk. She turned another slow curve—and stopped.
Her future brother-in-law was seated on a stone bench. His legs were stretched out full length before him, and his head was leaning back, eyes closed. Perhaps Quill was asleep? Gabby hesitated to wake him. He must spend a good deal of time in the garden, she thought. The sun had gilded his face a deep honey brown. One thing that she had noticed immediately was how white everyone in England was. Their faces shone like chalk or like pearl—well, like her face. Her father had never allowed her to be outdoors without a bonnet. He said he’d never be able to sell her on the marriage mart if the sun colored her skin.
Her future husband—Peter—had skin that was even whiter than hers. Peter was perfection, Gabby thought with a rather delicious shiver, from the top of his precisely cut brown locks to his white skin.
Quill was a darker hue altogether. Even in the dawn light his hair took on wine-colored glints, a mahogany that glowed in the rosy light and matched the toasty warm color of his skin. He needed a haircut, Gabby thought. She smiled. Quill needed someone to take care of him. She would make sure that he found a wife, just as soon as she made some London acquaintances.
Silently, Gabby tiptoed forward and seated herself trimly next to Quill on the bench.
To Gabby’s dismay, he woke with a choked gasp. “I’m so sorry,” Gabby said. “I thought you were daydreaming.”
Quill looked at her without a word. His eyes were heavy-lidded, so dark that she couldn’t see any color.
“I didn’t expect to find anyone in the garden,” Gabby explained cheerfully. She was used to people who woke in an irritable state. “And I certainly wouldn’t have woken you if I’d known you were asleep. You haven’t been out here all night, have you?”
Quill just stared at her as if she were a ghost. Gabby felt a prickle of annoyance. She had already ascertained that he felt that talking was an occupation below him.
Then she grinned at him. She really liked her big, silent brother-in-law. “You might say, ‘Good morning, Gabby. How did you sleep on your first night in England?’
“I may not know much about English manners,” Gabby added, “but I am quite certain that greeting your future family members is customary.”
His response was rather less friendly. “What the devil!”
Gabby’s smile dimmed a bit. “I trust this is not your garden? No one told me that I should not come into the garden. And I do apologize for interrupting your sleep, but I was so pleased to see someone here, because I would dearly love to ask—”
Quill interrupted her. “Gabby.”
“Yes?”
“Gabby, you are not dressed.”
That seemed self-evident to Gabby. “Well, I am dressed,” she explained. “I am wearing my night-robe, and my boots, as you can see.” She stuck out her small boot from below the hem of her robe, and they both stared at it for a moment.
“You needn’t worry about proprieties,” Gabby said brightly. “After all, it’s just us out here. The servants aren’t even awake yet. And we won’t tell anyone.” By which she meant, we won’t tell Peter . It was clear to her, after less than twenty-four hours in Peter’s presence, that he had a fearful sense of propriety.
She twinkled at Quill, who was still affecting his air of silence and looking at her in that disapproving way. But whereas the idea of Peter’s disapproval made her feel rather breathless and anxious, the idea of infuriating Quill quite pleased her. It must be the difference between being with a lover and a brother, Gabby thought with a delightful sense of discovery.
She scooted over on the bench and tucked her arm under Quill’s.
Her boots made whispering noises against the stone walk. She turned another slow curve—and stopped.
Her future brother-in-law was seated on a stone bench. His legs were stretched out full length before him, and his head was leaning back, eyes closed. Perhaps Quill was asleep? Gabby hesitated to wake him. He must spend a good deal of time in the garden, she thought. The sun had gilded his face a deep honey brown. One thing that she had noticed immediately was how white everyone in England was. Their faces shone like chalk or like pearl—well, like her face. Her father had never allowed her to be outdoors without a bonnet. He said he’d never be able to sell her on the marriage mart if the sun colored her skin.
Her future husband—Peter—had skin that was even whiter than hers. Peter was perfection, Gabby thought with a rather delicious shiver, from the top of his precisely cut brown locks to his white skin.
Quill was a darker hue altogether. Even in the dawn light his hair took on wine-colored glints, a mahogany that glowed in the rosy light and matched the toasty warm color of his skin. He needed a haircut, Gabby thought. She smiled. Quill needed someone to take care of him. She would make sure that he found a wife, just as soon as she made some London acquaintances.
Silently, Gabby tiptoed forward and seated herself trimly next to Quill on the bench.
To Gabby’s dismay, he woke with a choked gasp. “I’m so sorry,” Gabby said. “I thought you were daydreaming.”
Quill looked at her without a word. His eyes were heavy-lidded, so dark that she couldn’t see any color.
“I didn’t expect to find anyone in the garden,” Gabby explained cheerfully. She was used to people who woke in an irritable state. “And I certainly wouldn’t have woken you if I’d known you were asleep. You haven’t been out here all night, have you?”
Quill just stared at her as if she were a ghost. Gabby felt a prickle of annoyance. She had already ascertained that he felt that talking was an occupation below him.
Then she grinned at him. She really liked her big, silent brother-in-law. “You might say, ‘Good morning, Gabby. How did you sleep on your first night in England?’
“I may not know much about English manners,” Gabby added, “but I am quite certain that greeting your future family members is customary.”
His response was rather less friendly. “What the devil!”
Gabby’s smile dimmed a bit. “I trust this is not your garden? No one told me that I should not come into the garden. And I do apologize for interrupting your sleep, but I was so pleased to see someone here, because I would dearly love to ask—”
Quill interrupted her. “Gabby.”
“Yes?”
“Gabby, you are not dressed.”
That seemed self-evident to Gabby. “Well, I am dressed,” she explained. “I am wearing my night-robe, and my boots, as you can see.” She stuck out her small boot from below the hem of her robe, and they both stared at it for a moment.
“You needn’t worry about proprieties,” Gabby said brightly. “After all, it’s just us out here. The servants aren’t even awake yet. And we won’t tell anyone.” By which she meant, we won’t tell Peter . It was clear to her, after less than twenty-four hours in Peter’s presence, that he had a fearful sense of propriety.
She twinkled at Quill, who was still affecting his air of silence and looking at her in that disapproving way. But whereas the idea of Peter’s disapproval made her feel rather breathless and anxious, the idea of infuriating Quill quite pleased her. It must be the difference between being with a lover and a brother, Gabby thought with a delightful sense of discovery.
She scooted over on the bench and tucked her arm under Quill’s.
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