before summoning her maid and deciding on the lavender chiffon. Apparently the effort had been worth it. ‘Thank you. Hartshaven was designed to be appreciated. It was meant to be a showcase for beauty.’
‘It certainly is.’ His smile deepened, exposing the dimple at the left corner of his mouth.
Good lord, could he turn every comment into a veiled compliment? What could she do but forge ahead and take it all in her stride? Annorah moved to the window and motioned for him to join her. She tried to redirect the conversation on to more neutral ground, ground that would be less likely to leave her feeling flushed and so focused on the night to come that her tongue was tied. ‘My great-grandfather had the initial gardens laid out by Kent and Bridgeman.’
‘I recognise the styling.’ He stood close at her shoulder. She could smell the faint undertones of his cologne; the lemon and fougère creating the scent of a summer fantasy, perfect for a night like this. She did not think a man had ever smelled this good. She was so intent on smelling him, discreetly of course, that she nearly missed his conversation.
‘I’ve had the good fortune of visiting at Chiswick House. Burlington’s gardens are exquisite, as are yours.’
Chiswick? That grabbed her wandering attention. Annorah couldn’t resist a sideways glance at her companion. Chiswick House was the domain of the Earl of Burlington. Nicholas D’Arcy, whoever he was, ran in vaunted circles if he was calling there.
He caught her glance before she could look away and smiled. ‘Surprised?’
‘I hardly know you. I think anything would count as a surprise at this point.’ Her tone was sharper than she had intended but she was grasping for any point of defence now. Hardly knowing him was not stopping her pulse from racing, or her mind’s apparent desire to hang on his every word. When she’d begun this, she’d counted on logic to protect her from any depth of emotional response. That strategy was clearly going to fail.
‘Touché.’ He reached for her hand and tucked it through his arm, his touch igniting little jolts. ‘We’ll rectify that over dinner.’ He nodded in a direction past her shoulder. ‘I think your butler is ready to announce the meal.’
Plumsby cleared his throat, drawing her attention for the first time. She’d been so riveted on Nicholas she hadn’t noticed his arrival. ‘Dinner is served.’
‘I’ve had Plumbsy lay the meal out in the informal dining room,’ Annorah said, glad to have something of proprietary to say. She was sounding less and less like a hostess with every minute, which was not how she’d imagined this interlude. When she’d pictured it, she’d cast herself in the role of the sophisticate, taking the lead in their encounters, commanding every social nuance. It was easy to see the flaw in her reasoning against the black-tie élan of his town bronze. She hadn’t half the polish he had. Annorah hoped her dining room did.
The room did not disappoint. It looked out on to the back veranda and the staff had set it to perfection. Of course, they thought it was a business dinner to discuss the library, but they still wanted their home to look its best. And it did. The rose shades of summer twilight filtered through the panes of the French doors, bathing the cream walls in dusky hues, but it was the table in the room’s centre that drew all eyes. Two tall white tapers stood like sentinels in their silver-candlestick holders atop pristine white linen, flames flickering an invitation. A bowl of yellow roses from the garden sat between them on the round table. In complement to the yellow roses, her favorite Wedgwood pattern of blue flowers was laid out in two place settings with slim goblets and silver. Cold champagne rested in a chilled bucket.
Two footmen seated them and Plumsby removed the covers, presenting the meal, but that would be all the service she required. She’d already made it clear to Plumsby they meant to dine casually, serving themselves from the dishes on the table. Plumsby had protested, but she’d argued all the fuss for one guest was hardly worth it. Since that guest was a ‘librarian’ there to do a job, Plumsby had eventually conceded the point.
‘Shall I?’ Nicholas reached for the bottle of champagne, uncorking it in a deft movement with the merest of pops. He poured the glasses and turned his attention to the chicken, applying the same dexterity to carving that he had to champagne. Effortlessly, he filled their plates with roasted chicken and salad greens. Gentleman born or not, he was skilled in the art of the dining room, offering her the best of everything the table had to offer. It made him all the more intriguing, all the more mysterious. What sort of man kept the company of Chiswick House, dined with the manners of a well-heeled peer and found himself at a socially retiring woman’s table under these circumstances? Goodness knew with looks and manners like his he would have been welcome anywhere.
‘A toast, Annorah.’ He raised his flute. ‘To summer evenings and new friendships.’
Their glasses touched in a satisfying chime of crystal against crystal. She sipped and let the cold liquid run down her throat. She loved champagne and could certainly afford to drink it every night, but it seemed a sin to drink alone—although in retrospect it seemed a very small sin compared to the one she’d commit tonight. She groped for something to say. Perhaps she should have spent as much time thinking of conversational topics as she had selecting a dress. She’d never learn anything about him at this rate. She had to try. Annorah settled on the one topic that came to mind.
‘Are you an aficionado of gardens, then?’
‘I’m an aficionado of many beautiful things, gardens among them.’ His hand slid idly up and down the stem of his goblet. On another man she might not have noticed the gesture. With him, she could hardly pull her eyes away.
‘What else do you admire?’
He smiled. ‘I admire you, Annorah.’
She looked down at her plate, flushing. She hadn’t blushed this much in years. Perhaps her social skills were more out of shape than she’d thought. ‘You are not required to say such things. Besides, you hardly know me well enough to come to any sort of conclusion.’
‘Do you think I don’t mean it? I assure you, I do. I’ve spent the afternoon being treated to this lovely home and I beg to differ with your assessment. An estate is often a reflection of its owner. You can tell a lot about a person by the state of his or her surroundings. I sense there is a story in you, Annorah, and I would love to hear it. How is it that you’ve come to be here?’
She met his gaze with a sharp look over her champagne. ‘Is that the polite way of asking how I’ve reached the august age of thirty-two alone?’
Nicholas laughed and leaned back in his chair. ‘What a prickly creature you are! Are you always this cynical? Since we’ve sat down to dine you’ve accused me of being insincere with my flattery and when I have sincerely enquired as to your history, you believe me rude. You present me with quite the conundrum.’
Oh, lord, she had. He was right. She’d been so worried about playing the decent hostess and at the first opportunity she’d performed poorly. She studied her half-eaten meal, gathering her thoughts. ‘I must apologise. I have little experience at this.’
He leaned forwards again, this time capturing her hand where it lay on the tablecloth. ‘No apology necessary. I find conundrums refreshing.’ He winked. ‘Have some more champagne. It will help and perhaps we’ll try again.’ He was tracing sensual circles in the palm of her hand that were both relaxing and stimulating.
No man had ever touched her as he did or so often. She’d been intimately aware of him since his arrival: the casual touch of her hand on his sleeve, the feel of his hand at her back, all
