Page 9 of A Figure of Love

“That is what I said.”

“No, you said you thought I believed money can buy anything. That is not what I believe. Some things require a different currency, but everything has its price and everything can be bought.” The expression in his eyes was as cool, hard, and knowing as that of an executioner. “What is your price, Mrs. Lombard?”

“My price?”

“Yes. I wish to employ you to design my gardens and supervise and manage all aspects of its construction.”

Serena had believed there was nothing that could have surprised her more than finding Leonardo’s journal. “I thought you only wished me to design it?”

“But then I should need to employ another person to carry out your designs. And, in the process, some of what you have created would be altered. There will be misunderstandings, mistakes made.” He shook his head, a moue of distaste on his beautiful mouth. “No, that all sounds very . . . untidy, very cluttered.”

Serena thought his words were an odd choice.

“So,” he continued. “I should like to hire you to manage the entire process. As well as any stonework and statuary you deem necessary.”

A small, breathless laugh escaped her gaping mouth. “Do you have any idea how long that would take?”

“I am in no hurry.”

The door opened and a maid bearing an enormous tea tray entered.

“Please put the tray on the table nearest the fire, Mary.” Lockheart turned to Serena. “Would you do the honors, ma’am?”

“It would be my pleasure.” She walked toward the tray in a trance, her mind awhirl.

Serena took comfort in the predictable ritual, her hands making tea and arranging biscuits on plates with no help from her mind. Only when the tea was ready did she look up. Lockheart was watching her with the steady, flat look she was beginning to understand was characteristic of him. He appeared to be a man utterly devoid of emotion.

“How do you like your tea?”

“Strong, with milk.”

She poured her own and let the tea steep a little longer before pouring his and preparing it. He came to take his tea and plate. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Serena watched him furtively as he seated himself. He really was gorgeous, his legs in their buff, clinging pantaloons long and muscular and his shoulders surprisingly broad for his slim build. He wore no jewelry, no seals, and his clothing was almost starkly elegant. Unlike his flamboyant house, he seemed to choose his garb and accouterments only to please his own tastes. For all that he had built this cathedral to wealth and excess, he did not come across as a man who took much personal interest or pleasure in the trappings of wealth. Why, then, did he work so hard, if not for money and what it could buy?

“You mentioned the project would take a long time. Can you be more specific, Mrs. Lombard?”

She took a sip of tea and considered the question. “I would have to sit down and give it a great deal more thought, but the grounds themselves I believe could be done in under a year, and that would be with trips back and forth to London and also with—”

“I would wish you to remain here if you accept the commission. I do not live here and I believe a project of this magnitude would require full-time supervision.”

She put down her tea cup and saucer with a rattle. “You mean live here?”

“Would that present a problem for you? I would only come to consult and observe progress at various intervals.” He frowned, as if an unpleasant idea had only just that moment occurred to him. “You mentioned your in-laws. I suppose your husband would not care to have you away from him for long periods of time.”

“I am a widow, Mr. Lockheart.”

His eyes flickered slightly, but his expression remained bland. He did not, like everyone else she had met, offer any words of condolence.

“So you might relocate here for the duration of the project without overmuch upheaval.”

“I have a child.”

He cocked his head. “A child?”

“Yes, a son.”

“He is away in school?”