Page 10 of A Landscape of Love

She returned a rueful smile. “Not a very romantic sentiment, but I suspect nothing but the truth.” Her expression fell, and she looked suddenly away from him. “I cannot imagine what you think of me.”

“It doesn’t matter what I think.” Though he was glad she didn’t know the ridiculous thoughts that plagued him whenever he saw her walking the gardens alone, the dart of heat that had stirred desires he’d long ago set aside when she’d smiled at him, the foolish temptation to want something he had no business wanting.

She looked back again, her pale eyebrows drawn together in a fierce frown. “It matters to me! Do you think me no better than I ought to be? Or simply a fool? I am that, I admit. Another foolish woman beguiled by a handsome man and pretty words,” she added in disgust.

“Women are kept in ignorance of the tricks men are capable of, it’s hardly surprising when they fall into the trap time and again, and love has people doing the most ridiculous things. I am sorry for what happened to you, but I don’t judge you for it. We’re none of us perfect. God knows I’m not.”

He snorted at the idea, amused by it, and then looked back at her, catching the way she was studying him, staring at his chest and shoulders. She saw him looking and blushed hard, turning her face away. Hart could not help but feel a jolt of satisfaction. Knowing she liked what she saw was a balm to his pride. The rest of the world might think he was beneath her socially, but that didn’t change human nature, nor the tantalising stirrings of desire.

“I’m sorry for causing you such trouble,” she said stiffly.

“All’s well that ends well,” he said. “But you need to get back to the house.”

She shook her head at that. “I won’t be missed. My maid is used to me being gone in the early morning. I sleep very little, and walking is the only thing that gives me any peace. Alex could bring me my clothes, if you could get a message to him. I trust him implicitly.”

Hart nodded. “Reckon I could.”

“Thank you,” she said, staring at him. “You’ve… you’ve made me feel so… so much better. I—”

She stopped, a look in her eyes that made Hart’s pulse leap. Her hand reached out, touching his bare chest, delicate fingers stroking and raising goosebumps. Hart’s hand shot out and closed around her wrist, gently but firmly.

“No,” he said. “That’s not what you want.”

Fidelia stared up at him, and he saw the emptiness shining there, the loneliness. “How do you know? Perhaps I just want to feel something other than sorrow, just for a little while.”

“No,” he said again, knowing it was the first step down a path he did not dare tread upon. She had enough trouble without getting tangled up with him, or he with her. It would only bring them both to disaster. “You need to get some sleep, and you need to consider how you are going to find your son. That’s all.”

She stared at him still, her gaze unwavering, making his senses prickle with the awareness of how close she was. “You don’t want me?”

“No,” he lied, the word firm, for it was best for them both if she believe that from the start, no matter if it dented her pride. “Get up now. You’re warm enough and you need to get some rest. I’ll show you the bedroom.”

He didn’t wait for her to move, instead standing up so she slid from his lap. Her cheeks were blazing, but she said nothing more, and followed him obediently to the bedroom.

Without another word, she went and slipped beneath the covers of his bed, still wrapped in the blanket, and closed her eyes. Hart went to the drawers and took out one of his shirts, placing it on the end of the bed.

“You can wear that until your brother comes,” he said.

Her eyelids opened for a moment as she regarded him. “Thank you,” she said, and closed her eyes again.

Hart turned away. The sight of her in his bed gave him an odd sensation. That she would sleep in it wearing his shirt would, he knew, play on his mind. Lady Fidelia spelled trouble in every sense of the word. He’d done his duty, and that was an end to it. From now on, she was on her own.

Chapter 3

Hart,

I’ve heard through the grapevine that you’re creating a garden at Hardacre. I hope you’ve got your payment up front. Beresford is notoriously tight, as well as being an utter bastard. Father can’t stand him, and the feeling is mutual.

I hope work is progressing well, anyway. I’d get you up here to Goshen Court to help me, but I suspect I can’t afford you. Come and see me when you’re done at Hardacre anyhow. I’d be pleased to see you and get the benefit of your opinion.

Leo is here at the moment – with the blasted cat, naturally. I’m beginning to wonder if it's his familiar. Still, Tilly adores it, and I’ll give the creature this, it’s good natured with her. She dressed the poor devil up in one of her doll’s outfits yesterday, and short of sending me baleful expressions, it didn’t bat an eye. Of course, her nanny scolded her for taking advantage of a poor, defenceless creature and then told me off for letting her. Terrifying woman. Strangely, Tilly adores her. Children are odd little devils.

―Excerpt of a letter to Mr Hartley De Beauvoir from The Right Hon’ble Philip Barrington, The Earl of Ashburton (Son of The Most Hon’ble Lucian and Matilda Barrington, the Marquess and Marchioness of Montagu)

3rdFebruary 1850, Thistle Cottage, Hardacre Hall Estate, Hardacre, Derbyshire.

Fidelia woke reluctantly, waiting for the usual wave of melancholy and pain that accompanied every moment when she was not asleep. When it came, she was aware of something different, of a leavening, a sense of… of hope. With a rush, the events of last night came back to her, her accidental plunge into the freezing lake, accompanied by the certainty that she did not wish to die. The terror of those moments returned to her, making her heart beat too hard, the sensation of iced water flowing down her spine. She had been unhappy, yes, she did not see how that could change until her baby was in her arms again, but she was not giving up. She wanted to fight, for him, and for herself too. Almost losing her life had given her a new desire to live, and surely there was more to life than being here, trapped at Hardacre? There must be.

Her thoughts moved on, considering the man who had saved her.