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Perhaps it’s like your theory of Pompeii."
"I don’t understand what you mean."
"A field of some sort, that has a vibration influenced by outside factors. One must be of a certain nature or frame of mind to perceive the vibrations at Pompeii, and with the flowers, the light must be at a certain hue."
Madeline considered that, pursing her lips as she glanced over her shoulder toward the willow tree at the center of the concentric circles that made the garden. The soft green leaves veritably glowed against the pearl-gray sky. White roses, beautifully displayed now that Madeline had pruned the bushes, made blurry marks against the light, with the yellow climbers against the wall almost dazzling. "The colors are all more vivid in this light," she said.
"Yes, to some degree." He turned, barely touching her shoulder to point toward the farther reaches of the garden, to the still-wild beds that had not been cleared. "Look at that red one."
Amid the dark green foliage, the flower blazed, almost impossibly bright against the dim morning, its color so vivid it was almost painful to look upon. Before she could speak, Lord Esher strode to the bush and clipped it, bringing it back to her.
He held it loosely in his long-fingered hand. "It’s so beautiful, I want to eat it."
Madeline laughed. "It sounds odd, but I know what you mean. It’s not enough to simply look at it— it’s so impossibly fleeting and vivid you want to absorb it on as many levels as possible."
"Yes." As with the flowers, his eyes were doubly blue in the strange gray light.
He put the flower against his nose and inhaled, closing his eyes as he did so.
A strange, sharp pang rushed through Madeline’s chest. His black lashes, long as a child’s, lay in a wide sweep against his high, elegantly hewn cheekbones. The bright soft petals of the flower touched a jaw not yet shaved this morning, and the contrast of rough and hard against delicate and sweet made her ache.
He opened his eyes, then deliberately put the flower against his mouth and tasted it. He grinned. "Not much flavor or scent, really. We’re meant, I think, only to look at it."
One delicate petal snagged against his mouth, and tore. Madeline backed away, unaccountably upset, and bent her head to her work. "You may have all the time in the world, my lord. But I have work that must be done."
"And I promised to help you, not distract you."
"Your presence is a distraction," she said. "I think perhaps I’d rather not share this quiet morning time. If you want to help me, please come back later."
He said nothing for a moment. Madeline dared not look at him but kept her eyes on her task. He stood still, but some emotion emanated from him, turbulent and unidentifiable. "I meant nothing untoward, Madeline."
"I did not give you leave to call me by my Christian name."
"Forgive me." The turbulence increased, and he took a step forward. "I was only—"
She looked up, her heart rushing. "Trying to seduce me."
"No!" The word was vehement, and Madeline stepped back once again. "I vow it—for once, I was not—it was only conversation."
She did not know whether to believe him. And he seemed more dangerous for her own indecision. It was not Lord Esher who was to blame for his extraordinary appeal, she noted with some embarrassment. It was she who responded to it so vehemently.
"Very well, you may stay," she said abruptly.
"No." The word was heavy. "No, you’re right. I lied."
Madeline lifted her head.
He put the flower in her hand. "It was all designed for seduction. The flower, the conversation." He gestured toward his clothes. "Even my being here this morning."
Madeline turned the flower in her fingers slowly. "Do you have any idea who you are under all those disguises?"
"None at all."
"It doesn’t matter, you know," she said, gathering her shears, "whether you came out here to seduce me, or win my favor as you put it, or to discover something lost, which I think
"I don’t understand what you mean."
"A field of some sort, that has a vibration influenced by outside factors. One must be of a certain nature or frame of mind to perceive the vibrations at Pompeii, and with the flowers, the light must be at a certain hue."
Madeline considered that, pursing her lips as she glanced over her shoulder toward the willow tree at the center of the concentric circles that made the garden. The soft green leaves veritably glowed against the pearl-gray sky. White roses, beautifully displayed now that Madeline had pruned the bushes, made blurry marks against the light, with the yellow climbers against the wall almost dazzling. "The colors are all more vivid in this light," she said.
"Yes, to some degree." He turned, barely touching her shoulder to point toward the farther reaches of the garden, to the still-wild beds that had not been cleared. "Look at that red one."
Amid the dark green foliage, the flower blazed, almost impossibly bright against the dim morning, its color so vivid it was almost painful to look upon. Before she could speak, Lord Esher strode to the bush and clipped it, bringing it back to her.
He held it loosely in his long-fingered hand. "It’s so beautiful, I want to eat it."
Madeline laughed. "It sounds odd, but I know what you mean. It’s not enough to simply look at it— it’s so impossibly fleeting and vivid you want to absorb it on as many levels as possible."
"Yes." As with the flowers, his eyes were doubly blue in the strange gray light.
He put the flower against his nose and inhaled, closing his eyes as he did so.
A strange, sharp pang rushed through Madeline’s chest. His black lashes, long as a child’s, lay in a wide sweep against his high, elegantly hewn cheekbones. The bright soft petals of the flower touched a jaw not yet shaved this morning, and the contrast of rough and hard against delicate and sweet made her ache.
He opened his eyes, then deliberately put the flower against his mouth and tasted it. He grinned. "Not much flavor or scent, really. We’re meant, I think, only to look at it."
One delicate petal snagged against his mouth, and tore. Madeline backed away, unaccountably upset, and bent her head to her work. "You may have all the time in the world, my lord. But I have work that must be done."
"And I promised to help you, not distract you."
"Your presence is a distraction," she said. "I think perhaps I’d rather not share this quiet morning time. If you want to help me, please come back later."
He said nothing for a moment. Madeline dared not look at him but kept her eyes on her task. He stood still, but some emotion emanated from him, turbulent and unidentifiable. "I meant nothing untoward, Madeline."
"I did not give you leave to call me by my Christian name."
"Forgive me." The turbulence increased, and he took a step forward. "I was only—"
She looked up, her heart rushing. "Trying to seduce me."
"No!" The word was vehement, and Madeline stepped back once again. "I vow it—for once, I was not—it was only conversation."
She did not know whether to believe him. And he seemed more dangerous for her own indecision. It was not Lord Esher who was to blame for his extraordinary appeal, she noted with some embarrassment. It was she who responded to it so vehemently.
"Very well, you may stay," she said abruptly.
"No." The word was heavy. "No, you’re right. I lied."
Madeline lifted her head.
He put the flower in her hand. "It was all designed for seduction. The flower, the conversation." He gestured toward his clothes. "Even my being here this morning."
Madeline turned the flower in her fingers slowly. "Do you have any idea who you are under all those disguises?"
"None at all."
"It doesn’t matter, you know," she said, gathering her shears, "whether you came out here to seduce me, or win my favor as you put it, or to discover something lost, which I think
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