Page 51 of One Night with an Earl

The scent of flowering bushes teased her senses. The gardens had been meticulously maintained, even better cared for than she remembered. She walked past a maze, statues of Greek gods, and a fountain smaller than the one in front of the house.

Everything was familiar but foreign at the same time.

Ten years seemed like a lifetime.

She found a bench and poured herself two fingers’ worth from the bottle into the glass of water, which turned it a translucent white. She took a sip and savored the anise flavor. Her mother had introduced the baron to arak, and it had fast become one of his favorites.

She relished every drop. For the first time since coming home, the tenseness in her shoulders eased.

She imagined her home if events had taken a different path. Would she have had met a gentleman during the Season and married? Would she have had children by now? No doubt her life would have been different.

She sighed and sipped the drink. Imagining a future that could never be was a waste of time and effort, and she grudgingly admitted that the estate was better maintained in Lord Drake’s care than in her own father’s.

After consuming more than half of her glass, she rose and meandered down the stone path. The strong liquor made it easier for her to wander in the direction she’d been fearful to visit. The conservatory held too many memories, yet her feet moved of their own accord, propelled by an invisible force as strong as a magnet.

Too soon, the glass-and-iron building loomed before her. Rubbing moisture from the glass door with her sleeve, she glanced inside. She could make out the shapes of potted plants, rows of tables, and gardening supplies. Her mother had spent hours and hours within the glass “castle.”

Ana’s fingers brushed the door handle, then pulled back.

Even with the liquor warming her veins, the memories would be too vivid, too painful.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

She spun to find Oliver standing behind her, his face partly illuminated by moonlight and partly in the shadows. Her pulse leaped at the sight of him.

“I’m glad you are here,” she said. Standing partly in the shadows, she longed to see his full face. The liquor loosened her tongue, and she struggled to recall why she’d been so irritated with him in the first place.

“You are?” His voice held an unmistakable hint of hope.

“Yes. I have something to say. My accommodations are entirely inappropriate.”

“How so?”

“I’m a chaperone, remember?”

His gaze lowered to the bottle and glass in her hands, and he shot her a charming smile. “Are you drinking?”

“Is it forbidden?”

“Of course not.”

“Good. You should try the arak. I was pleasantly surprised to find it still here.”

He gave her a curious look. “Still here?”

Damn! The liquor had loosened her tongue. “I meant here at all.”

“I admit I’ve never tasted arak.”

She clucked her tongue. “You are missing out, my lord. Arak is a traditional and popular drink in the Eastern Mediterranean.”

“Oh?” His tone was light.

The words kept flowing, and she waved the bottle as she spoke. “Countries like Lebanon, Syria, and Jordan. You must expand your horizons.”

“Shall we share, then?”

She shrugged. “It’s your home.”