Page 45 of Four Promises to Love

Sweet Jaysus. How did I miss that?

The answer was obvious: Owen was a dangerous—and delicious—distraction.

She strove for a brisk, business-like tone. “You are right, of course. I must survey the grounds in preparation for the séance.”

“I want to kiss you so damned badly.”

At his ardent non sequitur, her heart stumbled into her ribs.

“That is inconvenient,” she managed.

“The truth often is.”

He offered her his arm—a mark of decorum to anyone watching—and she took it with equal civility. They promenaded down the path, and she angled her head this way and that, pretending interest in the flowers.

Beneath her lashes, she slid him a look. “I suppose we can arrange something soon.”

“Not soon enough.” He paused. “I am leaving for London tomorrow.”

She fought back her disappointment. “Oh.”

“I’ll only be gone a few days. The meeting is rather important. Sir Joseph Paxton summoned me.”

She’d never heard of the bloke. “He is a personage of note?”

“In certain circles, yes. He designed the Crystal Palace and the surrounding grounds and received a knighthood because of his contributions.”

Owen’s lack of pretension made it easy to forget his accomplishments. And that his social status was so far above hers that he moved in an entirely different sphere. He rubbed shoulders with swells and men of learning, while she ran with a gang of guttersnipes. She wasn’t ashamed of her station; she was proud of surviving the streets. Yet she found herself embarrassed by her ignorance.

She cleared her throat. “You are friends with Sir Joseph?”

“I consider him my mentor. He has taught me much about designing landscapes. Before him, I’d had no formal training and was mainly mucking about in the gardens of my family and friends.”

“You have a natural talent,” she averred. “Even with my limited knowledge, I can see how beautiful and unique these grounds are.”

“Thank you, but I cannot take all the credit. Most of the work was done by nature’s hand.”

“Nature’s and yours,” she pointed out. “The way the two meld together so seamlessly is part of your genius.”

“A genius, am I?” Self-deprecating humor flashed in his eyes. “You once commented upon my keen intellect as well. Methinks you are pouring on the butterboat—for what reason, I wonder?”

“I have no ulterior motive.” At least, not when it came to this. “I like the way you place equal value on wild and cultivated plants. The way you coax order from the land rather than impose it. While the garden has clearly been planned with care, it is not too rigid or formal—which leaves room for surprises. Like the rosemary tucked beside the climbing roses and the thyme spilling over those stones. Embellishments that are both pretty and practical.”

“You noticed all that.”

The warmth of his regard brought her perilously close to blushing.

“I recognized the herbs,” she said. “Pell House has a garden in the back. As Mrs. Thornton has been sending us delicious meals, we try to return her generosity by harvesting fresh herbs for her.”

“You must have special powers,” he said with feeling. “Mrs. Thornton is not easily won over.”

Finn grinned. “Like a hedgehog, she is prickly until you find her soft side.”

“Hmm.” He looked doubtful. “Speaking of surprises, I have one to show you. If it will not distract you from your task.”

Crikey. She’d forgotten that she was supposed to be gathering impressions.

“My work has become so second nature,” she said glibly, “that I find myself conducting various tasks at once. During this conversation, for instance, I have noted lingering spiritual reverberations that suggest a séance upon this property will prove fruitful.”