Marena was not one to run away. Her parents had raised her to stand tall in a world that sometimes didn’t see her at all, but this felt too risky.
“I have some things I need to do before this evening,” she said hastily, and made her escape.
As she reached her room, she told herself it was for the best. He would think her rude and not worth the trouble. When he did, she would lie to herself again and pretend that was exactly what she wanted.
“What are you doing?”
He could not decide if it was anger or exhaustion in her voice. Like the previous day, they were at door of the townhouse with Marena glaring at him. But if he had not let London’s high society get the best of him yet, he could surely navigate an afternoon with a surly Marena Baine-Torres.
“I’m coming with you,” he said pleasantly as he reached for his hat. He’d recognized the turmoil in her eyes at breakfast because it was exactly what was wreaking havoc in him. Arlo had expected the morning to be awkward, but he refused to be one of those men who let a bruised ego turn him into a brute. He’d been clear last night that he wanted more. She’d declined, and for now he had to accept it. He had only one alternative left—let her see for herself that what was happening between them was worth exploring.
“I don’t require a chaperone, Your Grace.” He raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed she could make sounds when her jaw clenched so tightly.
“I’m not offering to chaperone. I enjoyed our outing yesterday and was hoping you’d let me accompany you again.” He was proud of himself for not alluding to the other things he’d enjoyed doing with her and kept a very friendly, respectable distance. His efforts did not thaw Marena in the slightest.
She looked at her clothes, avoiding his gaze. Inspected them from the tip of her toes to the waist of her skirt, taking her time before she answered him. “I’m not going shopping,” she said, still not meeting his eyes. “I thought I’d walk to the river and spend some time at the Jardin des Plantes.” A flush stained her cheeks, and the urge to lift her chin and kiss her senseless was almost overpowering. “It’s my favorite place in Paris.”
If he didn’t already have a dozen reasons why he should be captivated by this woman, the fact that the old medicinal garden of Louis the XIII was her favorite place—in a city where one could find any indulgence possible—would’ve have left him hopelessly infatuated.
He had never seen anyone more enticing than this woman in a practical, unassuming morning dress, ready for a day of walking in the sun. She was in light green today, with a simple embellishment at the hems and waist, the cuffs at her elbow of a darker green filigree embroidery. She’d said she didn’t use long sleeves because she worked with tinctures so much and would always stain them. He looked at her hands—which she’d mentioned made her feel self-conscious because of their dryness—and felt an irrational urge to take each one and kiss her palm.
She wore no bustle as usual, not that she needed it. Marena made Botticelli’s beauties pale in comparison. Her hair was up, half covered with a bonnet, the rest coiled in intricate braids. An image of her with her hair down puttering in a garden, made his chest tighten with unbridled longing. He would upend his life to see that. To have the chance to walk in on her, hands dusty from her work, her face sun-kissed and warm.
“I’d love to see the garden again. I haven’t gone in years.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d sounded this tentative. Or the last time something so simple felt so enormously important. Yesterday, he’d felt content walking through that market. Happy in a way he had never felt with anyone but his grandmother. Despite how things had ended last night, he wanted more of that.
“It’s a long way there, and I plan to walk. It may get warm.”
“I’m wearing my walking boots.” he tipped one foot up. “And I am happy to perform basket-holding duties again,” he said as amiably as he could manage.
“No baskets today,” she said, a shy smile quirking her lips. “We’ll be back in a few hours. For when Lluvia and Delfine arrive.”
“Of course.” His heart pounded in his chest, giddy. He was giddy for a walk in a garden. Maybe this woman was a sorceress.
“Don’t you need Cyrus to…” She twirled a finger in the vicinity of his head.
“I’ve sent him on a special mission. Shall we?” he asked, thrusting her parasol at her. It was best to keep the purpose of the mission as a surprise for a later time, when he needed more ammunition for Ms. Baine-Torres’s resistance.
She considered him for another moment. This time, the smile reached her dark brown eyes. “There are going to be lots of bugs there.”
“I’m a devotee of gnats and all manners of flying insects,” he said matter-of-factly as they stepped out into the street.
“That is a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”
“Possibly,” he admitted as they walked, his chest expanding with every step he took by her side. “But I’d suffer through more than a few gnats for a little more time with you.” He was pushing, he knew that, but when he offered his elbow, she slid her arm into it. And in that moment, Arlo realized that if marriage were the only path forward, he would do it. If it meant keeping this woman long enough to convince her they made perfect sense together.
Chapter Twelve
“For a louse enthusiast you gripe in excess over a small bee sting,” Marena teased as they walked into the townhouse.
“It was a remarkably robust bee. The blasted thing practically blinded me.”
“It stung your cheek,” she exclaimed, barely able to talk through her laughter.
He grabbed her by the waist and pressed his mouth to her ear. “I thought I was going to get some tending to for my injury.”
“Arlo, someone could see us,” she said weakly, letting him turn them around so they were half-hidden in a small alcove by the entrance.
The visit to the gardens had turned into a picnic, and then some kisses in the shade of some horse chestnut trees. She should’ve resisted, but she hadn’t wanted to. Besides, their time was almost over. Once they saw Lluvia and Delfine she’d stop, she promised herself as she brushed her lips to the angry red welt on his face.
“I may have some lavender oil I could put on this tiny welt,” she said, feigning annoyance. “For such a big and strong man, you need a lot of coddling.” At that, Arlo turned his face and kissed her.
A kiss, and a taste of the blackberries they’d eaten still on his tongue. “I may be taking advantage of the fact that I have the most famed herbalist in all London to help heal my battle scars.” His mouth was already leaving a trail of kisses along her neck. “But may I request you thoroughly inspect for more bites or stings? I suggest we go to my bedroom and get undressed so you can properly investigate.”
She huffed a laugh even as she gave him more access to her neck. “You do not need to take off your clothes for a bee sting on your face, Arlo.”
“I meant undressing you,” he said, laughing so hard his entire body shook.
“Swine.” She could nor the life of her infuse the word with any rancor. She was hopelessly smitten.