Laura escaped to the gardens, thankful that she ran into no one on her way. She was too furious to be polite. The gall of that man! The utter, heartless lack of compassion for his dying brother! It was little wonder that James didn’t want to leave his dog or anything else to Claude. She hurried down the steps leading from the terrace to a formal garden, too angry at first to even notice the flowers and plants around her. But as she walked, the beauty of the garden began to soothe her. Orderly beds of early spring flowers were arranged around the central fountain, their geometric shapes sharply delineated by low green hedges. In contrast, the lower gardens beyond it were a lush riot of flowers and shrubs. Bright spikes of foxglove were banked by hydrangeas, and spiky purple balls of allium topped tall green stalks like lollipops.
Paths wound through the gardens, tree-shaded benches scattered along the way. At the other end of the colorfully jumbled garden, an arbor covered in lavender wisteria led to yet more steps and a trail shaded by trees. The ground sloped down slightly, and Laura followed its twisting way.
Small paths branched off in different directions, but Laura stayed on the more-trodden walkway, emerging finally into a small green clearing. Here the land fell sharply away. On the far side of the clearing stood a large fountain, and beside it was a stone bench, facing outward to enjoy the vista. The man who sat there turned at the sound of her approach.
“Sir James!” Laura stopped in surprise, then started forward.
He stood up, his smile teasing. “Sir James? Don’t you think we should drop the formality?” He leaned in as she stopped beside him. “Considering that we are presumed to ‘know the secrets of the boudoir.’ ”
She quirked a brow at him. “You’re merry this morning.”
“The gardens affect me that way. Come, look.” He took her hand and led her to the fountain.
Below the fountain, wide, shallow steps of white stone marched down the hillside, grouped in tiers. The stairway was bordered on both sides by narrow streams of water that flowed from the fountain. The water tumbled down over black stone steps, creating a series of small waterfalls. The effect was enchanting, filling the air with the soft burbling of a brook and creating a stunning landscape.
At the bottom of the hill lay the stone ruins Laura had glimpsed from her window this morning. She could see now that the pond beside the old castle was actually a wide, irregular moat. The ruins lay on an island in the middle of the water so that one had to cross a small bridge to reach them. They were more extensive than she had realized, consisting of two buildings, partially caved in, and a squat round tower.
Laura drew in a sharp breath. “Oh, James! It’s perfect.” She turned to him, her face glowing.
He smiled. “I thought you would like it.” His eyes moved over her face, and something in the set of his mouth, the look of his eyes, changed subtly. He still held her hand, and now his fingers slipped between hers, their palms pressed together. “Laura . . .”
She was very aware of the pulse hammering in her throat, the rise and fall of the breath in her chest, the touch of his skin against hers.
Suddenly there was a loud thrashing in the brush on the other side of the fountain. They swung around, startled, as Demosthenes burst into view. He loped up to Laura, ears flopping and tongue lolling from one side of his mouth, looking so comical that Laura laughed. She feared for a moment that he was about to throw himself against her in greeting, but James raised a hand, saying sharply, “Down,” and Dem stopped short and leaned his head against her.
“I can see you’ve added another de Vere to your collection,” James said lightly. “First me, then Walter, now Dem . . .”
“Dem would be glad to see anyone if they’d fed him soup bones.”
“That might be true,” James said. “Would you care to sit? Or would you rather I show you the ruins?”
“I think I’d prefer to just admire the view from here today.” Laura would have liked to see the fallen castle; she had intended to walk down to it. But she had learned enough of James to know that he would accompany her even if the climb was too taxing.
“What is that place? The de Vere ancestral home?”
“Not ours. It was the original owners’ castle. It was tumbled down long before the estate came into de Vere hands. The fact that they built their stronghold at the base instead of using the natural defense of the hilltop will give you some idea why they lost the property.”
Laura laughed. “Something a de Vere would never do.”
“I wouldn’t, at least.”
“Dem seems happy to be home,” Laura commented.