She stepped back, the book clasped to her chest. “A book about flowers. What else would I read in a garden?”
An awkward laugh left her full lips.
“Melody would love this,” she added.
“Melody?”
She nodded. “A friend of mine. Actually, a friend of Lizzy’s too.”
“I have been meaning to ask how you came to know my sister,” he said, a few pieces beginning to fall into place. “Is that how you met? Through this Melody woman?”
Considering their families were supposed to be sworn enemies, never meant to move in the same circles, it hadbeen rather strange to see such obvious warmth between Selina and Lizzy.
“We sort of… found each other a year ago,” Selina said hesitantly. “There was a tea party for the ladies who would be debuting the following Season. Debutantes from the previous year and debutantes of the current year shared their experiences and… offered guidance and sisterhood, I suppose.”
A flicker of unease turned her gaze back to the rows of books, like overcrowded teeth on the shelves. The essence of a secret she wasn’t leaving out.
“That is where your little book club began?” Philip asked. “Is it just the three of you?”
Her throat bobbed. “The three of us are… our own branch of the book club. We read the same book, we write to one another about it, and we meet whenever we can. The ‘book club’ is… Well, I can’t tell you about it.”
“It’s a dangerous thing to leave a man in suspense.”
He edged closer, despite knowing he shouldn’t. Perhaps he could kiss her secrets out of her, make her cry them out as he teased her, touched her, revealed some secrets that no club of hers would ever teach her.
“I can’t,” she wheezed, backing off. “It is not my secret to tell.”
“Might it have something to do with that charming letter that brought you here?”
It wasn’t a great leap of logic to make, between her shy looks and her clandestine air.
“I should really go enjoy the gardens while the weather is nice,” she said.
He had pushed too far again. She was seconds from running, and he found he did not want her to leave just yet.
“Read in here.” He walked back to the desk, where his tea was probably cold. “I thought it would rain earlier. It would be a pity to get your book of flowers all wet.”
She appeared at the edge of the bookcase as he sat down and picked up his cup, sipping from it. His gaze dropped to the paper he had been reading, putting on a show of indifference, of busyness.
A short while later, she tiptoed over to the comfortable reading chair a short distance away, angled so that he could see her profile.
Her posture was too rigid for someone about to relax into the joys of a book, and he got the sense she was glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.
He continued to read his paper and sip his tea, and little by little, she loosened up. First, she tucked her legs underneath her, shifting in the chair. Then, she rested her cheek on her hand, the book open in her lap.
If he had been a painter, he would have immortalized the moment. She looked like a posed muse, ready to have her resemblance admired for centuries to come.
“An interesting read, then?” he asked some ten minutes later. His tea was finished, his paper read from front to back. He couldn’t help it.
She glanced up slowly, a peaceful expression on her face. “It is lovely. I never knew there were so many kinds of orchids.” She blinked as if remembering herself. “Do you have an interest in botany, Your Grace?”
“None whatsoever.” He leaned back in his chair. “There are a few rare varieties of flower in the orangery, though.”
Her eyes refused to blink. “The… orangery?”
“Mm, yes. That little building we walked by last night.”
It was a subject that needed broaching. So as not to set her running for the hills, he figured he would approach it gently. Subtly. Gauge her reaction at every step before continuing, much as he would have done last night if not for his sister’s interruption spooking her.
