Page 25 of A Figure of Love

She assumed he did not mean having tea with two men who’d grown up in an orphanage. “You mean designing a garden of this size?”

He nodded, his smile encouraging but the glint in his green eyes unsettling. What a pair these two were!

“Yes, it is. Until now, the only gardens I’ve had the pleasure of designing were in the city. And most of those were done according to the owner’s rather particular plans.”

“And Gareth is giving you free rein, I hear.”

Serena felt there were more to his words than was obvious and could only nod.

“How do you find it thus far?”

“I’ll admit I was anxious before actually commencing work.” She glanced at her employer to see how he received such information, but saw his attention was on her sketchbook, which had slipped out of the large satchel onto the settee beside her.

Serena set down her cup and saucer. “Would you like to see the sketches I’ve made since returning? There are more formal plans that should be here by the end of the week.”

He set down his own tea and came to sit beside her, his presence on the small sofa making her aware of how tall he was. He was slim but sleekly muscled. Serena thought of the room off his bedchamber and realized he must visit it frequently. She swallowed at the thought and opened the sketchbook to the section in question and handed it to him.

Lockheart took the book in his long, sensitive fingers, and held it lightly, as if it was valuable. McElroy had come to stand beside him, his hand resting on the arm of the couch as he leaned over his friend’s shoulder.

“As you know, Mr. Lockheart, I commissioned a draughtsman to come and help me once you approved my original drawings.”

The first sketch was one as she imagined the property would look like from above.

“That is interesting,” McElroy, murmured. “How were you able to get the correct perspective?”

“We spent four days, most of that time pacing out the various sections.” She looked up at Lockheart, but his attention was on the sketch. “I know that might seem excessive, but I felt it was called for as this is so new to me.”

When she realized he had no response, she leaned closer to turn the page. She could feel his warmth, and he smelled of some wonderful cologne, clean wool, and warm male.

“Here is my plan for the east courtyard.”

McElroy leaned closer. “What are these rectangles?”

“Those that are vertical are sites for statuary, these three here,” she gestured to three horizontal rectangles, “Are benches.”

Serena kept waiting for her employer to ask questions or make comments, but he seemed contented to let his friend do the talking.

∞∞∞

Gareth did not care if the woman decided to erect bent lamp posts as sculptures and plant brambles and thistles on every square inch of land; he just wanted to sit beside her and breathe in her scent. And enjoy her nearness—the heat of her body inches away from his own—something he had only sought with one other person, also a woman.

He vaguely heard Dec’s questions and her answers. His friend would be curious about Gareth’s proximity to the woman. He knew his preference for space between himself and others, his dislike of being touched by strangers, which, for him, meant almost everyone.

She smelled of the outdoors, with a hint of whatever female soap it was she used. He detected the not unpleasant odor of leather and horse mingled with a more feminine scent. Her hands were what one would expect from a woman who did manual labor. The backs of them were square and broader than the rather delicate bone structure of her face would have suggested, the skin a bit chapped, callouses evident on her thumbs, a writing bump on her right middle finger that mirrored the one on Gareth’s left hand. They were not pretty, dainty hands, but he found them mesmerizing.

The last time he had been this near a woman was with Venetia, a woman who could not have been more different.

“And here you see how the lake will follow the contours of the gentle hillside.” Gareth looked at the picture she was referring to, the geometry of her drawing the first thing he noticed.

“Where is the berm you are constructing?”

He felt her jolt beside him.

“It is here,” she traced her thumb nail over a line. “But you can see it better in this drawing.” She flipped the page. “Here.”

Gareth looked at the orientation of the berm and turned back the page, and then looked at the berm again.

“What is it?”