Page 27

“Such as?” Elizabeth asked, tilting her head. Moonlight caught the curve of her smile, and his chest tightened.

“Lady Wetherby deciding that midnight is the ideal hour to show you her collection of pressed ferns,” Julian said, with perfect gravity. However, he could not quite keep the corner of his mouth from twitching.

“That might have taken until dawn,” she said. Her eyes danced with amusement. She pressed her fingers to her lips and let out a small, delighted breath of laughter she tried to smother.

“I had considered staging a diversion,” he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. He leaned a little nearer. The scent of lavender rose from her shawl, and his pulse gave a quick, warm skip.

“What sort of diversion?” she whispered.

“I had not decided,” he whispered back. “I only knew that I would not let her have you all night.”

She laughed quietly, the sound sweet and low in the stillness, and took his offered arm. Julian covered her hand for a moment, enjoying the certainty of her beside him. After a day of exchanging looks across occupied rooms, of glances that had to end too soon, this felt right. Her fingers were cool, and he warmed them in his.

They walked toward the gate, their steps hushed on the gravel. Most of the lamps along the path had been extinguished. Leaving the garden silver and shadowed beneath the moon and the roses pale along the wall. A window above the terrace remained lit, but the rest of the house was quiet. Elizabeth glanced back once, her brow furrowing.

“Are you cold?” he asked, bending his head to hers.

“No,” she said. “Charlotte advised me to bring my shawl.”

He looked down at her. “Lady Sylvan knows you are here?”

“I told her I intended to meet you,” Elizabeth said.

Julian was glad she had told Lady Sylvan, though he hoped her friend approved of their midnight meeting. He cleared his throat. “I hope she approves of your choice of companion.”

“She trusts my judgment,” Elizabeth said. “I can form my own opinions.”

“And have you?” he asked.

Elizabeth looked down. He studied her as moonlight slid along her lashes. “Yes,” she said softly. “I have.”

He wanted to stop and kiss her. The wish was so strong that his steps faltered. Instead, he led her a little farther along the path. The summerhouse's light became visible, a warm amber glow through the leaves. She slowed, her hand tightening on his arm. “Is someone there?”

“No,” he said. “I hoped you might sit with me.”

Her gaze shifted from the light to his face, wide-eyed and curious. “What have you done?”

“A little surprise.” He smiled. “Come and see.”

He watched curiosity overcome her hesitation. A small, delighted curve touched her mouth. He guided her around the climbing roses. Their blooms brushed her shawl, and they stopped upon the threshold. Julian looked into the summerhouse with her, seeing it as she must, and his heart thudded.

He had spread a thick blanket across the broad wooden floor and brought cushions from his sitting room. They rested against the curved seat. Candles stood in glass lanterns upon the table and the deep window ledge. Their light slid over the walls. Between them sat a small jug of flowers, arranged a little unevenly, the stems at different heights. He had tried three times to make them even, then gave up. The basket waited beside two plates, a napkin folded over its handle.

For several seconds, Elizabeth said nothing. Her hand rose slowly to her lips. Then she turned to him, her eyes bright and slightly wet. “You arranged all this?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“For me?” she asked, a little bewildered.

He brushed his thumb over her hand, steady and slow. “I thought you might like a picnic.”

“At midnight?” She tilted her head.

“At this hour, I can have you all to myself,” he said, with a shaky smile.

Her smile spread slowly across her face. She stepped inside and looked from the flowers to the blanket. Then touched a cushion, smoothing the fabric with her palm. Julian stayed near the doorway, letting her examine it in silence. He had not expected to feel so exposed. He had laid his heart for her.

At last, she looked back. “I have never had a midnight picnic.”