After a pleasant walk to the gardens, Grace located a bench near some likely blossoms and took a seat. Reading the wistful expression on her maid's face, she let the girl go off to visit a footman who worked at the nearby hotel, making her promise not to be away too long.
Content, Grace settled into her drawing, losing herself as she began sketching a colorful patch of late-blooming hollyhocks. She was only vaguely aware of the crunch of footfalls approaching on the shell path.
"You look a picture, perched there on that bench," remarked a deep, familiar voice. "Every bit as lovely as one of the flowers."
Glancing up, she met Jack Byron's rich blue gaze. "My lord," she said, sending him a warm smile. Her pencil fell still while she studied him, his handsome features never failing to steal a bit of her breath. Impeccable as ever, he wore a tobacco brown coat and fawn pantaloons, the gold watch fob on his waistcoat winking in the sunlight.
"Where did you come from?" she asked, her fingers curling reflexively against her pencil.
"Along the main path," he said in a wry drawl. "You really ought to pay more attention to your surroundings, you know."
"I am drawing."
"Yes, so I see." Crossing, he sank down onto the stone seat next to her. "I met your aunt on the high street. She told me you were here."
"Was that before or after she finished raiding all the stores?"
"After, I would say, based on the armload of packages her footman was carrying. Although I might be wrong, considering the militant gleam in her eye. As I recall, there was some mention of ribbon at a ten percent discount just as I was departing."
Grace grinned, then returned to her drawing.
Silence descended, comfortable and undemanding, as Lord Jack lounged on the bench at her side.
"What are you drawing? Those stalky, puffy-headed flowers over there?" he asked.
Pausing, she tossed him a curious glance. With his knowledge of botany, he had to know a hollyhock when he saw one, since it was a common enough variety. He's teasing me, she realized. "Yes, the hollyhocks, of course. You're very amusing, you know. Stalky, puffy-headed flowers indeed." She chuckled.
///
For a brief moment, an odd, almost alarmed expression passed over his face. Then, just as abruptly, it vanished. "No point in always being precisely accurate, is there? Sometimes a description says it best."
Smiling, she shook her head at his antics.
"May I see?" he queried.
She hesitated for an instant, then turned the drawing his way.
He contemplated her work, long enough that the faintest flutter of nerves jiggled over her skin. "It's only a preliminary study," she defended. "I'll do a far more refined sketch later, then another in color."
"It's wonderful," he stated, his tone clearly sincere. "When you said you do some drawing, I assumed you dabbled like most young women. But this is a far cry from dabbling. You have true talent."
Pleasure spread through her, radiant as the sun shining overhead. When did his opinion come to mean so much to me? she wondered. Why do I care that he approves? But she did, she realized, wanting him to like her work, even admire it. Admire her.
Tiny lines formed on his brow. "There is an artist who does similar watercolor renderings of natural subjects. I have one of his folios in my own book collection. Danvers is the name … G. L. Danvers." His eyes widened. "Good Lord, it's you, isn't it? Grace L. Danvers."
"Lilah," she murmured, her pleasure increasing. "The L is for Lilah. And yes, I've done a few little books."
"There's nothing little about those books, either in size or content. Grace, you are an extraordinary artist. Why does no one know the truth of your identity?"
He has one of my books. The thought made her a little giddy.
"I know," she told him. "And that is enough. I would have no use for fame anyway. It's better that people believe I am a man, that way my work is taken seriously. Otherwise, many would say my watercolors are good-for a young woman who dabbles."
For a moment, he looked as if he might argue the point. "Sadly, I suppose you're right. I'm glad, though, that I have uncovered your secret."
"As am I, your lordship."
His gaze met hers. "I shall demand a private showing of anything you have in process, you know."
Her heart beat with excitement. "That might be permissible."
"And your autograph as well."
She smiled. "I would be honored." Although she didn't know when she would have such an occasion.
"I suppose I should go and leave you to your work."
She shook her head. "Actually, I would rather you didn't. My drawing will keep for a bit."
His mouth turned up in a slow smile. "Good. If that is the case, then perhaps I might persuade you to take a stroll."
"Here in the gardens, you mean?"
"Of course in the gardens. Maybe you will see some new plant that inspires your muse."
A small voice whispered that she should remain where she was and keep drawing. A far louder one urged her to accept.
"Yes. All right," she agreed. Rising to her feet, she secured her sketchbook and pencils inside a small satchel.
"Allow me," he said, reaching out a hand to take the cloth bag.
Passing it to him, she took his arm and they began to walk.
"Where is your maid, by the way?" he asked a few moments later. "I assume you didn't walk here by yourself."
"No. I let her go visit a friend for a few minutes."
"A friend? You are too generous by half, since she should not have left you at all. But I am here now, so there is no harm done."
Actually, he thought, leaving me to stand guard is rather like asking a wolf to oversee the sheep. But why quibble when it gave him a chance to be alone with her?
The past few weeks had been wearing on him, to say the least. As the days crept by, he'd been forced to place strict controls upon himself, trying to act as though he wanted nothing physical from her at all.
But denying himself had only increased his appetite for her-together with his enforced abstinence. He hadn't had a woman since he'd left London. He supposed he could have sought out a convenient female, but the idea held no appeal. Once he'd met Grace, she was the only one he desired.
From the first, he'd known he would need to get past Grace's barriers and win her trust. What he hadn't counted on, though, was earning her friendship as well. Nor had he expected to like her.
But he did. A lot.
Guilt raked through him like a sharp set of claws. Lord knows, I hate the necessity of lying to her. But the wheels had already been set in motion, and there was no stopping them from spinning. His fate was fixed now and hers along with it.
///
He took care to be as honest with her as he could, however, not simply because it made things easier, but also because he wanted there to be as much truthfulness between them as possible. After all, she was going to be his wife.
When he'd discovered she was the G. L. Danvers, his surprise and admiration had in no way been feigned. He really did own one of her folios, and his esteem of her artistic talent was genuine. His motives and methods in pursuing her might not be strictly honorable, but that didn't mean the whole of their dealings were false. Of course, Grace might not see it that way should she ever learn about his bargain with her father, he thought with an inner wince.
But she won't find out, he promised himself. He would make certain of it. And so he had nothing to worry about. Nothing whatsoever.
"I understand there is a labyrinth here," he said, cutting off his own uncomfortable thoughts. "Do you like mazes?"
She nodded, her eyes appearing more blue than grey today in the brilliant sunlight, her red hair gleaming like fire-colored silk beneath her bonnet. His hands itched suddenly to slip the little hat free of its moorings and send it sailing so he could spear his fingers deep into her tresses. And then he would kiss her, taking her mouth in a zealous joining that would soon have her aching for more. He nearly reached for her, but stayed himself. He'd waited this long; he could wait a while more.
Quietly, he cleared his throat. "Shall we go inside, then?" he asked, directing their footsteps along the path that led to the labyrinth. "I'll even give you the advantage of going in before me. We can make a game of it and see which one of us reaches the center first."
"I haven't been inside a maze since I was a little girl," she confided.
"Then it would seem a repeat of the experience is long overdue."