Isabelle hesitated with her hand on the weathered bronze doorknob. Inside, Marshall stood at a worktable along the left wall. He wore buckskin breeches and soft brown boots. For a shirt, he wore a plain tunic suitable for a gardener, but it didn’t look out of place on the Duke of Monthwaite. He elevated the status of the lowly garment, rather than look more common himself. Several containers and a scale stood on the table in front of him, and he was writing something on a sheaf of paper. He probably wouldn’t appreciate the interruption.
Before she could repent her decision to seek him out, he looked up. Their eyes locked. A thrill coursed up her spine, and her skin suddenly tingled all over, just from the force of his glance. His lips turned in a lazy, half-smile. She swallowed, suddenly very sure coming here had been a bad idea. An instant later, he was at the door, opening it, beckoning her inside.
“Isabelle,” he said warmly, nodding. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have had a stove and saucepans brought from the house to make you feel at home.”
All her anxieties melted away at his jest. It was better this way, she thought, stepping past him into the greenhouse’s enveloping warmth. He knew her in a way no one else did; it was a good feeling to be on friendly terms with her former husband.
He closed the door behind her. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” His eyes were alight with mirth.
His tunic neck hung open in a vee, exposing his neck and a tantalizing bit of his upper chest. She raised her eyes and found him studying her closely. Heat flooded her cheeks at being caught out examining his person.
Isabelle cleared her throat. “I wanted to thank you,” she explained, watching as his brows rose a fraction. The mildly surprised expression was so familiar and dear, she felt a pang in her chest. Pushing it aside, she forged ahead. “Your help yesterday was invaluable.” She smiled, awaiting his gracious reply.
Instead, he watched her thoughtfully for a moment, then turned his head. He rotated a pot containing a violet. “I thought my bumbling must have been more trouble than it was worth.” He smirked in a disarmingly charming way. A jolt of nerves shot through her.
She nodded, feeling once again that being here was a mistake. “I’m sorry for intruding. I’ll be on my way. I only wanted to deliver my thanks.” The ridiculous urge to drop a curtsy nearly overcame her. He’d thrown her off balance with a simple twitch of his lips. Time to be gone.
“Would you like to return the favor?” he asked.
She turned and gave him a questioning look.
“I could use some assistance.” He gestured to his worktable with a toss of his head. “The gardener usually attends, but he’s looking after his ailing wife.”
Isabelle felt like a rabbit in a snare. She couldn’t refuse him, not after he’d given her so much help last night. “Certainly,” she replied at last. “I should be the most ungrateful woman alive if I didn’t.”
He nodded. “Good. This way, then.”
Sunshine streamed through the glass ceiling, and the air was thick with the aromas of flowers and earth. Being inside the glass house was like walking through a dream, she thought drowsily. The light had a different feel than it did out of doors. Isabelle could only interpret the sensation as green and nourishing.
At the worktable in the back, Marshall handed Isabelle a smock. It was too large for her, and she felt silly in it, especially with Marshall looking so fine in his own work clothes.
“What are we doing here?” she asked as she buttoned the voluminous smock, nodding toward the bowls, bottles, and jars on the table.
“I’m mixing a formulation of plant food to give the tenant farmers at Helmsdale. We had good success with it last season at Hamhurst.”
Isabelle cut her eyes at him. “Do your farmers know they are being experimented on?”
Marshall clicked his tongue. “I haven’t couched it in those terms. Besides, I experiment on myself before giving formulations to my tenants. The garden here is the first to try my concoctions.”
“The vegetable garden?” she asked.
He nodded.
Isabelle furrowed her brow. “Do you mean to say your dinner guests are on the receiving end of your unproven botanical research?” She recalled how liberally she had taken from the vegetable garden for the previous night’s supper and hoped she hadn’t inadvertently poisoned anyone.
Marshall winked. “It’ll be our secret, all right?” He pressed a finger to her lips. Isabelle laughed, and put a hand on his wrist to push it away. When she touched him, her laughter died in her throat. Her heart hammered. She bit her lip.