Page 50 of Four Promises to Love

It was stupid how good his brother’s approval felt.

“Before you get too famous.” Grantley waved a fork at him. “I want to hire you to renovate the grounds of the old Pearce manor, and I don’t want to pay exorbitant fees.”

Through his financial prowess, Grantley had become the largest landowner in Chuddums. Most of the property had belonged to Abel Pearce, a once preeminent citizen who’d been unveiled as a bounder and criminal. Pearce also happened to be a distant relation of Grantley’s, though there was no love lost between them. In fact, Grantley’s maneuvering had been an act of revenge, and he now owned most of Pearce’s property, including the manor.

Owen cocked his head. “I thought you wanted nothing to do with the place.”

At least, that was what Gigi had told him. It represented too much bad blood, she’d said. While Owen understood the reason, he’d thought it was a pity because the estate had potential. It was set on a secluded lot not far from the village, where the land was fertile and ideal for growing.

“That’s right,” Grantley said flatly. “I’m only fixing it up so I can sell it at a premium.”

“I would be glad to sketch some designs,” Owen said. “Gratis, of course.”

“That’s no way to do business,” Ethan argued. “He’s a duke, for God’s sake, and rich as Croesus. Charge him double.”

Owen laughed with the others. Inside, he nursed a secret ember of hope. He finally had something to give back to his family; maybe one day, he might begin to balance the scales. He felt a strange yearning to discuss the possibility…with Finn. His instincts told him she would understand.

Molly returned with dessert.

“Mrs. Thornton sends her special custard tarts,” she said.

Despite the hearty meal, Owen’s mouth watered at the sight of the glorious pastries. There were half a dozen of the beauties; the pale yellow centers were dusted with nutmeg and gave a slight wobble that confirmed their silky perfection. A memory flashed in his head—of burying his mouth in Finn’s pussy, licking up her cream while her smooth thighs trembled beneath his hands…

Christ. Get a hold of yourself, man.

“I didn’t know custard tart was on the menu,” Ethan spoke in tones of reverence.

“As you are friends of Madame Seraphina, Mrs. Thornton made it specially,” Molly said.

After she crossed through the curtain, the men wasted no time grabbing their share.

“Bloody hell.” Ethan closed his eyes. “This tart is almost as good as you-know-what.”

“You are not doing you-know-what properly if you believe that to be true.” James took his first bite, and his jaw dropped. “By Jove. What magical ingredient did Mrs. Thornton put in this?”

“The nectar of the gods, perhaps?” Grantley had nearly licked his plate clean. “While it still does not compare to certain marital activities⁠—”

“Grantley,” Ethan warned.

“—I take back everything I said about your medium, Owen.” Grantley winked. “She is worth the trouble.”

She is worth far more than that.

Smiling, Owen snatched the last tart.

Fifteen

The sky was full of roses, and they were watching.

The feeling of intrusion during intimacy ought to have bothered her; instead, it sent a sizzle through her blood. For so long, she had been hiding, running—and she was tired of it. The freedom she’d yearned for was finally hers. In the arms of her beloved, she could be who she was without embarrassment or fear. He accepted and loved her as she was, and there was nothing disgraceful about showing him she felt the same way.

The expression of their love was as beautiful and bold as the surrounding rose arbor. The tender plants were in their first bloom, green and fresh, their petals a rainbow of hues. This garden felt simultaneously new and as old as the first one, for she and her lover were naked and unashamed. His face hung over hers, the dearest sight she’d ever seen. Love shone in his intelligent eyes, and she let her own love shine back. As she ran her hands through his hair and over his broad, bare shoulders, she felt a possessive flutter.

He is mine as I am his.

“You are so handsome,” she whispered.

“They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” His smile was wry. “But in this case, I fear you may need spectacles, my dear.”