She decided she was going to be bold; with him, there seemed little point in being otherwise. “Why perfect?”
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“Because even if there is a crowd present, as there is today, it’s never difficult to find some place, some enchanted spot in which to engage in…whatever one has in mind.”
“Hmm. So, speaking as a seducer”—she cast him a glance—“an expert seducer, what spot do you have in mind for us?”
“Speaking as an expert seducer”—he guided her under a hanging garland of wisteria and onto a narrow graveled path—“I’d suggest, naturally, that we choose our spot to best support, if not heighten, the experience.”
She frowned. “And what sort of spot will that be?”
“I’ll know when I see it.”
She looked around while they walked, neither dawdling nor hurrying; she swung along by his side, their steady pace taking them further and further from the house, the lawn, and the other guests. She glanced back at one point and saw nothing but a wall of trees and shrubs. “Do you know where we’re going?”
He glanced at her enigmatically. “Yes—and stop worrying. I know precisely where we are.”
His tone suggested he wasn’t speaking only of the gardens’ geography.
They came to a lovely pool where the ornamental stream that wended through the grounds widened, then spilled over a weir. The sound of the gurgling, burbling water was pleasant; she glanced at him, wondering if he would stop there—the spot was reminiscent of his “pretty spot” by the stream at Cranbrook Manor—but he didn’t pause.
A little way along, they came upon a sunken rose garden. Taking her hand, he led her down the steps and along the path between the arching canes laden with heavily perfumed blooms. There was an alcove with a seat thickly cushioned in thyme; she looked at it, wondering—could any spot be more romantic?—but he led her straight on.
Beyond the rose garden lay a truncated vista where the hand of Capability Brown was still detectable. A small white marble temple with columns in the Doric style overlooked a deep pond covered in water lilies. The sight reminded her of the temple by the lake where they’d dallied in the night; she felt sure he would halt there, but he didn’t.
He kept walking, neither fast nor slow. His bootheels rang on the paved path edging the pond; she heard the confidence in his stride. He knew where he was taking her, had already chosen which of the many gardens comprising the Flemings’ property would best suit them…her. His seduction of her.
To heighten the experience…
She looked ahead, but a narrow archway through a thick hedge limited her view of the next garden; all she could tell was that it contained trees tall enough to rise above the hedge. Nerves suddenly flickering, her mind raced, cataloguing all the types of gardens they’d passed, and what they’d yet to see….
Without pause, he led her under the arch.
Coolness enveloped them as they emerged on the other side and stepped onto a rougher graveled path that led through an arboretum.
Tall trees closed around them, many old with wide, thick boles. To either side of the path, leaves blanketed the ground, relatively level, spreading to either side. Within a minute, she realized they were no longer on the path; glancing behind, she couldn’t see the archway. She was alone with him in the cool glade where shadows lay heavy, dappling as an errant breeze ruffled the high canopies.
His stride slowed.
She recalled very well the last time they’d been in a landscape such as this.
Recalled very well what had happened.
Drawing in a suddenly not quite steady breath, she looked at him.
He halted; letting her hand go, lowering his arm, he slowly turned to face her.
Increasingly breathless, she studied his face. Wondered why it was that when they were alone, he never bothered to disguise his ruthless self behind his charming mask. When he looked at her, she had no difficulty seeing him for what he was—and reading what he wanted, what he intended, in his eyes.
She licked suddenly dry lips and kept her gaze fixed on his, conscious of her body tightening, of her nerves already taut and flickering.
But over what? In anticipation of what?
He’d been studying her face, her features; his gaze came to rest on her eyes. “You aren’t frightened of me—and you can’t be frightened by this place, not in daylight.”
His low, matter-of-fact tone focused her wits. Made her think…then she nodded. Found her voice. “I’m not afraid of you.” She cast a glance around. “Or of this place.” It was a wood, just a wood.
“Good.”