Page 22 of Pride of Lyons

Having secured enough of the Eglantine, Honoria moved to the lovely snowy white blooms of the Alba Maximus. Of course, she’d not known many of the roses’ names when Thomas first showed her the garden. He’d patiently told her about each of the varieties, until now she knew them almost as well as he did. The white Alba had been brought to the garden by Thomas’s ancestor’s mother, a great gardener in her own right, who loved bringing in new stock to expand the garden. Other countesses had added to the garden’s glory, and Honoria hoped to carry on that tradition once they were more settled. She snipped several blooms and moved on to the delicately pink Maiden’s Blush.

Honoria’s cheeks heated, a true maiden’s blush when she thought of Thomas’s words about this rose.

“We English call it Maiden’s Blush, for its soft pink petals, just the shade of your cheeks right now, my dear.” He’d laughed, and Honoria had clapped her hands to her face. “But I’ve heard it had another name in France, given it by Empress Josephine. Cuisse de Nymph Emu.” Leaning down, he whispered in her ear, “If you don’t speak French, Cuisse de Nymph Emu means Thigh of an Aroused Nymph.”

A wave of heat had coursed through her whole body as her husband had chuckled and observed that she now looked much the hue of the Scarlet Four Seasons rose over in the corner.

Now she couldn’t look at the pretty pink flowers without blushing or thinking of that scandalous French name. She quickly snipped a few of the blooms and headed swiftly toward the vividly pink roses named after the Duchess of Portland. The heady fragrance assailed her nose before she was even close to them. When she reached the deep pink blooms, she leaned over and stuck her nose inside, inhaling the gorgeous scent deep into her lungs. She must try to steep some petals in water in her chamber to bring this delicious smell to her baths.

“Were I an artist, I’d insist on painting you just as you are, my dear.”

Honoria jumped and whirled around at the sound of Thomas’s voice, scattering some of her clippings as she turned. “Oh, you startled me, Thomas. I thought I was alone out here.”

“I didn’t find you in the house and somehow knew this was where you would be.” Her husband smiled that charming, lazy smile, and her knees went weak. “Let me pick these up as I have been the cause for their fall.” Taking the basket from her, he stooped and carefully placed the stems back in her basket. As he picked up the Maiden’s Blush he chuckled softly, and Honoria’s cheeks flamed again. “These should make excellent displays.” He rose and handed her the basket. “You have quite a talent for arranging them.”

“Thank you.” Resisting the urge to fan herself, Honoria took the basket and sauntered to the nearest rose bush, which happened to be an exquisite deep pink Apothecary’s Rose. “Why were you looking for me? Ouch!” She’d grabbed the rose too hastily, and a thorn bit deeply into her thumb. “That hurt.”

“Let me see.” Beside her in a moment, Thomas cupped her hand in his and turned it palm up. A large bead of dark red blood had welled up on the pad of her thumb. He brushed the drop away, then raised her thumb to his lips and kissed it.

Honoria gasped as a streak of lightning seemed to race through her hand, up her arm, and lodge itself at her innermost core. Dazed, she stared up into his dark brown eyes, filled with a longing she understood all too well.

As the weeks here at the Keep had worn on, Honoria had come to admire her husband greatly. In fact, if she were to be honest, admiration had turned in great part to affection for him. She enjoyed his company immensely. Their conversations were often spirited, and she suspected that he took as much pleasure in their encounters as she did. Did this jolt of fire signify that her affections for him had ripened to something akin to love? Had his?

Leaning down, Thomas cupped her chin and drew her head upward, until his lips touched hers. Though that first contact was light as a butterfly, he immediately pressed harder, even as she pushed back against him. He’d kissed her every night when he left her at her chamber door, each kiss longer and deeper than the last until Honoria had secretly yearned for more. Now he ran his tongue along the seam of her closed lips, seeking entry that she quickly allowed him. Oh, she’d learned so much about kisses from her husband in the past few days. He always seemed eager to kiss her, but he never continued his good-night kisses as long as she would have liked. Perhaps now she’d be able to drink her fill.

Opening her lips, Honoria reveled in the feel of his tongue sliding smoothly into her mouth. In response, she dropped the basket and slid her arms around Thomas’s neck, pulling him close against her. Heat surged through every part of her, as though her veins carried molten lava instead of blood. A rightness descended upon her, as though they melded together as one person in that kiss. Oh, yes, this was what she wanted. Carried away by sensations she didn’t quite understand, Honoria gingerly pushed her tongue into Thomas’s mouth.

A guttural groan escaped him before he pulled away, gasping for breath. He stared down at her, eyes wide and unbelieving. “Honoria…”

Suddenly embarrassed beyond belief, she turned away to hide her cheeks, which must surely rival the sun in their redness. “I’m sorry…”

“Do not be.” Standing directly behind her, he slipped his hands around her upper arms and pulled her back against him. “You enjoyed the kiss?”

Overcome with shyness, all she could do was nod.

His lips nuzzled the nape of her neck, sending chills down her spine. “I enjoyed it as well, my love.”

My love. He’d never called her that before. Did that mean he had come to feel some affection for her as well? Or was it merely another formal endearment, like “my dear”? And how on earth could she discover what he meant? She raised her head and turned around. “You did?”

“Very much.” Thomas traced the outline of her lips. “So much I wish we could continue a bit longer.” His eyes held the hunger they so often did. “However, I’ve just received a letter from Lord Sanderling, our neighbor bordering the south edge of the estate. He’s asked me to ride over to discuss selling part of the property to me.” Thomas frowned. “I’m not sure why he’s decided to sell now, but the land is excellent, and I will acquire it if I can. That is why I was looking for you originally. To tell you I’ll be gone until evening, perhaps very late. So please don’t wait for dinner for me.”

“Oh.” Disappointment washed over Honoria. She’d hoped, after that kiss, that perhaps they might spend the rest of the afternoon…together. But, of course, Thomas must attend to the business of the estate and earldom. She would need to carry on here without him, unless… “If you wish me to wait, Thomas, I wouldn’t mind.”

“No, my dear. You should not put off your dinner.”

Inside, Honoria drooped but was determined not to let him see her disappointment. “Very well, then.” She smiled, hoping it looked genuine. “I will see you perhaps tomorrow at breakfast.”

“Don’t you enjoy your breakfast in bed?”

“Oh, yes, I do.” She hastened to reassure him, afraid he might think her ungrateful for his generous suggestion. “But I’d like to breakfast with you if I may. Then you can tell me of your business with Lord Sanderling.”

“It would be my pleasure, my dear.” He leaned over and grazed her cheek with his lips, making her stomach flutter uncontrollably. “However, I must go now. The groom is holding Paladin, and I don’t want him to stand too long.”

“Of course. Have a nice ride.” Honoria put on her brave face, eyes wide, chin up, smile on her lips. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

With one last lingering look, Thomas turned and strode quickly back up the central path toward the entrance to the garden.

Once he was out of sight, Honoria allowed herself to stop smiling. She must cease moping about because her husband wasn’t here. There would be many times they would be apart for longer than the course of one evening. She’d have to get used to that, although she’d hoped—after that kiss she could still feel down to her toes—that he’d have perhaps put off his visit at least until the next day.