Page 66 of One Night with an Earl

“My mother used to call me her little bloom.” Her gaze shuttered, and she turned away as if she realized what she’d just said.

“Your mother?” At her silence, he continued. “I was right, then. You do like to garden. Or was it just your mother’s favorite pastime?”

The guarded look returned. “It doesn’t matter. She died long ago.”

Beads of perspiration formed on his brow. It mattered to him. He also knew not to press her, at least not yet. There were other ways to get a person to talk.

He strolled down an aisle, opposite where she stood. “Which is your favorite?”

“That’s easy. The rosebushes in the gardens outside.”

He nodded. “I suspect that’s how the estate came by its name.”

She arched a brow. “You don’t know?”

“Rosedown is one of the earldom’s newer country estates. I’m learning the history myself.”

“I see.”

Did he detect a hint of censure? Or something else?

Her fingers trailed down a table. “You have discovered my pastime. What is yours?”

She was purposely changing the topic of conversation. He would go along for now. “You know I like the stars.”

“A wonderful pastime. But what else? What do you enjoy when you are in town?”

“Other than my duties, I do not have much time for pleasurable activities.”

“I don’t believe that. Everyone has something.”

“I do enjoy boxing.”

He’d mentioned he was a pugilist the first time he’d met her. “I imagine you train often. You are fit.” She blushed as she realized what she’d said. He found it charming.

“I enjoy outwitting an opponent, even more than the training.”

She cocked her head to the side as she regarded him. “I assume you attend Gentleman Jackson’s?”

“He is not only a champion, but an excellent instructor.”

Enough about him, he wanted to know more about her. “What else do you like in this conservatory?”

She turned her attention back to the rows of pots. “This one is also lovely.” Her fingers lingered on the bloom of an orange flower.

“I admit ignorance when it comes to plants.”

“It is a tiger lily.”

“I shall have a bouquet delivered to you.”

Her gaze rose to his. “You mustn’t. I’m to return to London today, and since you have no interest in Lady Penelope, we should not see each other again. Even now, I risk Lady Malvern’s censure if she sees us together in this conservatory. This should be farewell between us.”

“A farewell? Is that what you want?” His voice was gruff.

“No. I told you I will miss you. Miss this place. I do not want to leave. The evening we spent beneath the stars was magical.”

“Ana—” His voice echoed in the closed space.