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Chapter Fifteen

They left the raucous entertainments behind for the quiet shadows, and Clara felt her shoulders loosen. “You probably should not have done that,” she said. “But thank you all the same.”

“I should have done much worse,” he said starkly. “You had the winning hand at the table.”

She glanced at him. “You saw?” Of course he had—he seemed to see everything. Even her.

“Clever of you not to give yourself away too soon.”

And suddenly the victory felt like it was hers again.

Clara abruptly turned left, away from the dower house.

“Where are you going now?” Bram asked, voice taut in the darkness.

“For a walk,” she tossed over her shoulder, feeling bold and a little bit reckless.

It felt nice.

“Not alone.” Bram glowered at her.

That felt nice too. It shouldn’t, but it absolutely did. She wasn’t sure what that said about her. Luckily, this was not the time to investigate her own shortcomings. Plenty of time for that later. She had other investigations to see to, after all.

“I can see a garden wall from my bedroom window and a curious little niche that I swear people keep disappearing into. I want to see what it is.”

“Are you sure, lass?”

There was something different about his tone. She narrowed her eyes at him. “You know what’s down there, don’t you?”

“Aye.”

“Well, what is it? A garden folly?”

He cleared his throat. “Of a sort.”

He was definitely acting strange. Nothing short of a bolt of lightning would prevent her from exploring now. Was his neck turning red? Surely the very collected Captain Thorn did not blush?

“That tears it,” she declared.

He studied her for one long moment, the gardens stark and moon-tinted behind him. It smelled of incoming rain and spring flowers. He bowed. “After you, Captain.”

He had called her Captain again, as if they shared a joke between them. She could not think of anyone else who teased her gently, without malice. It might not be the same as sweetheart or darling, but it felt the same to her.

It shouldn’t. It couldn’t.

But it did.

It bounced around inside her head as they crossed the lawn to the stone door set into the side of a garden wall. Ivy choked the old mortar; a fountain trickled cold water like a song. There was a bench on either side of the door and lanterns attached to the wall. It was…pretty. Unassuming.

“Look up.”

She followed the lift of his chin. Above the plain door was a carving of a delicate orchid, under the words Be Bold.

“It signifies—”

She cut him off, grinning. “I know what it signifies.”

A woman’s most intimate place. She did not think what lay beyond was for ladies who espoused all things etiquette and decorum.