“Thank you. My mother planted it.” Her voice was soft with longing, as if she remembered her mother fondly. After a long moment, she said, “Would you care to take a stroll?”
“Thank you. I would enjoy that.” Standing, he offered her his hand and she took it. As long as no one else decided to join them, this would give him a chance to discover her favorite flower, color, and music.
Littleton started toward them and Geoff bit off a curse. “Miss Turley”—his lordship bowed—“tea was lovely. Unfortunately, I must depart. I shall see you at five.”
Geoff held fast to her fingers on his arm, holding her up so that she was unable to curtsey. “I look forward to it.”
“And I look forward to our drive.” Littleton inclined his head to Geoff. “Harrington.”
“Littleton.” Geoff inclined his head as well, trying not to clench his jaw. He hoped the dratted man went back to the country soon. Littleton was much too interested in Miss Turley. “I wish you a pleasant day.”
“Do you, indeed?” The man lifted a brow. “I rather thought you just wished me gone.”
Chapter Twelve
Elizabeth stifled a laugh. Harrington’s jaw began to tick, and she rather thought that he wished Lord Littleton would fall into the Thames and drown or have some equally unfortunate accident.
“Shall we?” She led him outside before either man could make another comment. “My aunt received a letter from one of her friends who is in Brussels. It appears they are doing nothing but attending myriad entertainments.”
“I’ve heard that as well.” He grinned, then sobered. “Although it is no laughing matter, you might already know that Lord Fitzroy Somerset, our chargé d’affaires in Paris, was forced to gather the rest of the embassy people and flee to Dieppe.”
“I had not heard. That is no way for a country to treat diplomats.” She was relieved that Lord Fitzroy had had the foresight to take his people and leave instead of staying in hopes that they received the passes they required.
She had led him to the arbor at one end of the garden where they were out of sight of the house.
“I have to agree.” Lord Harrington raised her bare hand to his lips, causing her to suck in a breath as he pressed a kiss on to her knuckles. “I would rather talk about you. It seems that we are always discussing other things, and it occurred to me that I don’t even know your favorite color.”
Her heart began to beat faster. This was what she had been waiting for. His interest in the person she was as opposed to how suitable a wife she would be. “Pink.”
“Any color pink?” he asked. “There seem to be a great many different shades.”
“The same pink as the roses you sent. My mother planted dozens of different colored pink rose bushes.” They had stopped strolling, and she gazed into his eyes. “They make me think of spring and the earth renewing itself. What is your favorite color?”
Harrington seemed taken aback. “No one has ever asked me before.” He paused for a moment. “I think it must be green like the ash tree leaves when they first appear.”
“Shall I assume we both enjoy spring?” She was glad she hadn’t sounded arch or too coy.
“I believe you can say that. I love the feel and smell of the air as it turns mild.” Somehow she found herself a little closer to him. Her skirts almost brushed his legs. “What about flowers?”
“I think you have already discovered my favorite blooms.” Warmth rose in her cheeks as his gaze captured hers.
“Have I?” He stood even closer as he twined his fingers through hers.
Elizabeth’s heart was pounding so hard, she was sure he must be able to hear it. “The pink roses you sent were exquisite.” She was breathless, and he was becoming perfect. Was it all due to Lord Littleton’s supposed interest? “They are my favorites.”
“What music do you like best?” Lord Harrington’s voice was low, and a shiver ran through her as he bent his head as if he might kiss her.
“You have not yet told me your favorite flower.” She raised her face to his, their lips only inches apart.
“The same roses I sent you.” With one finger, he lightly stroked her cheek and it was all she could do not to lean into his caress. “The petals remind me of your cheeks. Soft and silky.”
“Oh.” Inane as it was, that was all she could think of to say.
Please let him kiss me.
He took a curl and wrapped it around his finger, then let it go. His palm cradled the nape of her neck. If he didn’t kiss her, she would go mad. “What about music?”
Music? Why were they talking about music when they should be kissing? “I am very fond of Mr. Pleyel.”
