Green beset her eyes in all its glorious forms; dark and forbidding, bright and vivid, pale and lucid, a tropical world and a secret one, hiding behind the panes.
Wood staging had been built on three sides and was smothered with potted plants – lobelias, agapanthus, pelargoniums and crassulas – while foliage cascaded from baskets tied to the roof struts like verdant chandeliers.
“It’s marvellous.” And Verity sighed with pure pleasure, then removed her pelisse before she fainted for it was hotter than the devil’s kitchen in here.
Sets of pipes, similar to her own greenhouse but on a much grander scale, ran beneath the floor, all heated by various stoves and creating this haven of heat.
They wandered the rows, discussing the flowers, plants and shrubs. “This is what the jungle must smell like,” she said rather wistfully, aware she would never visit. “Thick and humid yet full of lush life and…oh, there it is, theHibiscus syriacus.”
Miles merely smiled, his eyes seeming to follow her every move.
“I never thought to see one,” Verity continued a little scratchily. “TheBotanical Magazinesaid it used to be possible to have them outside but our summers have been so cold and wet of late that it has affected the flowering. And they never set seed.”
Realising she’d become a gabbler, Verity removed her gloves and reached out to brush a finger over the silken petals, which were the hue of pale-pink blossom, the centre deepening to a dragon’s blood red, streaks of which infiltrated the petals like fine veins. “It’s beautiful.”
A small bench was opposite and so she sat – the perfect place to admire this hibiscus while inhaling the scent of flowering jasmine.
“Why did you cease drawing flowers?” he asked, also settling aside her on the bench, tugging off his gloves to touch the burgeoning fruit of a passion flower.
Despite the heat emanating from the pipes beneath the floor, she rubbed her hands together, a shiver catching her. “I couldn’t… I could no longer see the beauty in them. Or…in anything.”
Miles let out a breath. “It pains me that you felt such. But promise me you will always look for the beauty. Never stop looking. It’s there.” He cleared his throat. “I once… Once after a battle in Spain, a good friend had died, and I wondered how to go on, what it was all for, kneeling by his body in blood and filth… When I… I saw a myrtle shrub, flowering white just beside him. And I knew then, what I fought for. I fought for beauty, for life. Because life endures.” His hand touched her cheek, gathered a tear that she’d not known had fallen. “Never stop seeing the beauty, Verity.”
And he bent his head, eyes stern, lips–
“We mustn’t.” She held a finger to those lips. “We shouldn’t for…for I…I need to tel–”
“The army taught me much,” he whispered, “but do you want to know the most important lesson?”
“How to load a musket?”
His lips quirked. Lips that were so close. “No…” Covering her hand, he dragged her finger to his cheek; she could feelthe burgeoning stubble. “It was that life is made of brief, fragile moments and we must appreciate each one. Appreciate all pleasure this life can give. That is where true peace and…love is to be found.”
And she couldn’t draw back.
As his lips met hers.
At this moment,Miles had no wish to know what she’d needed to tell him.
Verity had lied all those years ago, but he now knew it wasn’t because her passion for him had waned, or that her feelings had altered.
And how was he supposed to suppress such want for her when the intoxicating perfume of jasmine filled him, when the sights of such flowering abundance crammed his eyes and when Verity looked so damn beautiful and yet so sad.
And hell, how he’d missed her – the taste of her, the feel of her, the scent of her. The manner in which they chatted and shared.
They needed to talk of the past at some point, but when all was said and done, they’d both made good on their lives, found peace and joy.
And now, all he wanted to do was explore. To discover the woman Verity had become. So he plundered.
Heaven or hell but she responded, his name a whispered moan as her lips clung to his, opening to his demand, her fingers spread, clutching at his nape.
He had to feel her skin, slid hands to her neck and collarbone, but it wasn’t nearly enough and he felt the short sleeves give beneath his rough palms. His mouth followed, to her earlobe and throat.
His name was moaned once more, a husk-filled word that sent desire soaring, heat roiling and passions wild in this steam-filled jungle. Kisses were left betwixt her neck and shoulder, tasting of salt and blossom.
And her own hands were just as busy, pressing against his chest, shoulders, clenching at his arms, his nape and scratching against his skin in exquisite torment.
His mouth hovered at her shoulder.
