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The footman placed her five precious orchids on a potting table by the doors, bowed, and left her to explore.
Emma gazed upwards. A dizzying cobweb of iron arches and struts rose overhead, supporting hundreds of panes of glass. The air was both hot and humid. Clouds of steam billowed from a metal grille in one corner, and when she dipped her fingers into one of the small raised pools that had been built between the enormous flower beds, the water was as hot as a bath.
Perfect.
“The heat comes from diverting naturally-hot water from a spring not far from here. As the Romans did, at Bath.”
Emma spun around in surprise; she hadn’t heard Kit enter the room. The sight of him made her pulse flutter erratically, but she sent him a friendly smile. “Ah, my lord. Good afternoon. I was just settling my plants into their new home.”
“So I see.”
“I’ve had my man of business write you a check,” she said quickly. “I can go and—”
He waved his hand. “Later. I trust you.”
He gestured for them to proceed down one of the pathways and Emma fell into step beside him, barely able to hide her delight at seeing so many familiar species of tropical plants thriving in the sultry conditions. Surely this boded well for her orchids.
“This place is wonderful! I’ve noted several plants I last saw back in Brazil.”
“It was my father’s pride and joy. But it’s been sadly neglected these past few years.”
While you were been recovering from your imprisonment, Emma finished silently.
Her heart ached for all he had suffered. News of his convalescence had reached her, even in Brazil. She’d specifically asked after him in her letters home and her friend, Heloise Hampden—who happened to be married to Kit’s good friend, William Ravenwood—had kept her abreast of his progress. It seemed he’d only recently returned to London life.
Should she be flattered that he’d broken his self-imposed exile to meet her at the docks?
No, she was reading too much into it. He was a man of his word. Of course he’d want to fulfill his promise to her brother.
“You have no interest in botany?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Some. I can certainly appreciate a pretty flower, but I’m nowhere near as passionate about the subject as you seem to be.” He glanced back at her orchids. “I admit I find it hard to visualize anything blooming from such an unpromising tangle of roots.”
Emma sent him a diffident look. “Theywillflower, now that they have adequate heat and light. This level of humidity is perfect, although I’m going to have to keep a close eye on them. Orchids are notoriously temperamental. Once the flowers appear, they will bloom for several weeks before the petals fall and they go back into a dormant stage again.”
They’d stopped in front of a pool much larger than the rest. Unlike the others, the surface of this one was not covered in lilies and other water plants, and Emma spied a set of shallow stone steps leading down into it.
“Oh! A bathing pool!” she exclaimed in delight. “How wonderful!”
“Yes. The heat of the water is extremely effective in relaxing the body. Feel free to make use of it yourself. It is a wonderful feeling, to float about in the steam.”
She smiled. “I can imagine. The way the mist hangs over the water reminds me of the early mornings on the Amazon. I never swam in that, of course. I was too afraid of crocodiles. But I would have liked to.”
He swept his hand over the pool in a grand gesture. “Then consider this your invitation to gain another unique experience to add to your tally. I promise it’s crocodile-free.”
“Thank you.”
He turned and started for the door, then swung back abruptly. “I’m afraid I cannot join you for dinner this evening, but I’ve asked Mrs. Bennington, my housekeeper, to serve you in your room. I wish you a pleasant evening.”
Emma watched his retreat with a pang of regret. She would have liked to have dinner with him. His surly reticence intrigued her, although she could quite understand that it might stem from his mistreatment during the war.
But something about him called to her. She felt the most ridiculous urge to try to lighten his spirits, to draw him out of the protective shell he seemed to have built around himself. Her heart beat faster every time he glanced in her direction, and every time she made him smile it felt as if she’d conquered a mountain or forded a particularly challenging stream.
Lord, the man could prove dangerously addictive.
That evening, as she enjoyed toast and crumpets in her room by a crackling fire, Emma was taunted by the idea of him, swimming in that hot pool. What would his body look like? What did he wear to swim? Did he ever swim naked?
A flush that had nothing to do with the fire’s heat engulfed her and she forced herself to think of other things. Cold things. Like whether it would snow tomorrow.
