“Oh.” Eli swallowed. “I see.”
Did he see? Eli wasn’t certain what was happening.
He was the amateur who consulted others. Eli had never been the one consulted before. He’d had to force his revolutionary ideas onto his father, who to this day believed botany to be frivolous.
Thus far, Eli’s grand plans for the Harper farm lived exclusively in his head and his notebook. He had not yet thought of an appropriately persuasive argument to convince them to put their greatest enemy’s heir in charge of their precious pastures.
And now...
“The castle will compensate you for your time and expertise, of course.” Mr. Thompson gave a jovial laugh. “Even in a village called Christmas, we don’t expect everything for free.”
Paid.
For his expertise.
“Yes,” Eli said quickly. “Absolutely. I would be happy to help. Delighted to help.”
He was happy. Unreasonably happy. He felt as improbably jolly as the solicitor looked.
“I’ll just... I have notes in here.” Eli held up his notebook. “I’ll create a report and sketch out a map and timetables for watering and—”
“Brilliant. Make sure to include your fee and I’ll write a check at once.”
“Er...” said Eli. “Shouldn’t we negotiate the price?”
“What do I know about such things? If we were remotely knowledgeable on the subject, we wouldn’t need your expertise. More importantly, I trust Miss Harper, and Miss Harper trusts you.” The solicitor clapped Eli on the shoulder. “The castle’s coffers are nearly bottomless, my boy. Charge what you deserve.”
What was happening?
To say this was not at all how business was conducted in London would be a gross understatement.
Eli was... Eli. And he’d just been handed carte blanche not just on the castle conservatory, but on his own recompense.
He’d never been paid for the work he did for his father. It was his duty as heir, and future owner.
That his allowance in the meantime was a pittance was due to his father’s displeasure with Eli’s scholarly ambitions. The marquess couldn’t understand why his son would waste time trying to improve the lives of others, when he could concentrate on lining his own pockets instead.
Being valued for something he was passionate about was a heady prospect indeed.
“I could help with your pastures,” he blurted out. “I’ve seen where you stable the horses that pull the sleighs. I have several recommendations.”
Now he’d done it. If helping the Harpers would turn his father livid, helping the Harpers’ entire village...
“Put it in your report and price accordingly,” said Mr. Thompson. “Miss Harper wouldn’t accept payment on those horses, so the money might as well go somewhere.”
“The Harper family provided all of the hacks for free?”
Of course they did.
Not only because they lived in a village of eternal Christmastide. The Harpers Eli had come to know bore no resemblance to the manipulative, vengeance-deserving monsters Father had always claimed them to be.
“The Harpers are wonderful,” Mr. Thompson confirmed. “The arrangement Miss Harper brokered was to provide the horses for free, on the condition that the castle provide sleigh hackney rides for free. She rightly pointed out that although our tourists have plenty of money, not all of our neighbors do. The castle’s guest quarters are quite dear, but we’re famous for offering services to the community free of charge.”
That was... really lovely.
The Harpers were incredible. Castle Marlowe was incredible. The Christmas village of Cressmouth was incredible... It was no wonder people flocked here year after year, and so many chose to stay.
Eli tucked his notebook back into his pocket. “I’ll send over preliminary recommendations in the morning.”
“Splendid. Happy Christmas!”
He walked back to the Harper farm in a daze, barely registering the colorful sky as the sun set behind the castle. All he could think of was Olive.
It was a good thing that the Harpers’ servants had returned from their holiday earlier that day. Otherwise, Eli might not have been able to prevent himself from sweeping her into his embrace and kissing her until they were both panting for air.
Or naked.
When he entered the house, Olive was in the parlor, dressed in a gown of ivy-colored muslin, decorated with red rosebuds and an intricate pattern of embroidered leaves about the wrists and hems.
There were no maids in sight.
She grabbed his lapels and kissed him, ruining any pretense of control Eli had been hoping to maintain.
He kissed her as deeply and as thoroughly as he’d been yearning to do all day.
“You smell like... exotic flowers,” she murmured against his lips, her eyes playful. “It’s oddly seductive. Shall we move this kiss to my bedchamber?”
“Er...” said Eli.
It was as much objection as he could muster. There was nothing he wanted more than to be alone with Olive in her bedchamber. He’d dreamt about it from the day they first met.
He hung up his hat and coat and followed her down the corridor.
Olive’s room was draped with dark blue silk and warmed by a low fire. A dozen tapers stood on silver candelabra, highlighting the plush softness of her carpets and the seductive nearness of her four-poster bed.
“Why, Miss Harper...” He narrowed his gaze. “Is this a seduction?”
She widened her eyes. “You are clever, Mr. Weston.”
“You do realize,” he pointed out, “that it is four o’clock in the afternoon.”
She nodded. “Father and his friends are attending this evening’s play in the amphitheatre. No one will look for me until breakfast.”
Eli blinked. “This is an all-night seduction? What about your maid?”
“We have house maids, but I’ve no lady’s maid. Not that it matters. Our servants don’t carry tales, and even if they did...” She shrugged. “Half the village has already seen me in breeches. I lost any hope of being ‘reputable’ long before you paid a visit.”
He locked the door just to be safe.
“Can you be more specific on what exactly you’re proposing?” he enquired politely. “Just so I’m clear on the parameters.”
“More specific...” She tapped the side of her chin. “Unlimited kisses in unlimited places, accompanied by unlimited lovemaking...”
He choked. “Unlimited lovemaking?”
“Within the constraints of our ten-day agreement, of course.” She motioned to the clock on the mantel. “Unlimited lovemaking is for the next forty-eight hours. Well, the next forty, most likely. I imagine you’ll want to be on your way back to London with as much daylight as possible.”
“On my way,” he repeated. “To London.”
“I’m not proposing marriage,” she reminded him. “I’m proposing a tryst. Temporary lovers. No ties to one another, and no contact once you leave.”
This was... not the arrangement Eli wanted.
It was also the best arrangement he was likely to get.
He had proposed twice. Once, under duress, and not very elegantly. A “Here I am on your doorstep, and what’s this? A marriage license in my pocket!” sort of gambit.