Meet the Earl at Midnight (Midnight Meetings) (9 page)

She bobbed a curtsy and smiled. “Miss Lydia Montgomery. And yes, I’d love a cup.”

“That won’t be necessary, Hux. Miss Montgomery won’t stay.” Edward gave her a pointed look and added, “I’m sure she must be exhausted after such a late night, and have need of more rest.”

“No need. Once I put head to pillow, I slept quite well, thank you.” One thick, feminine eyebrow rose. “And as I recall, you mentioned last night a
morning
discussion regarding various details about our…the arrangement. It is morning, however late, and I’d rather not delay.”

“Not even to complete your morning toilet?” he said behind his cup, giving her unbound hair the once-over.

Huxtable sucked in a loud breath. Edward didn’t mean to be unkind; what was meant to be an observation came out sounding bad, but Miss Montgomery stood undaunted. Intriguing.

“Oh.” She laughed softly and checked her dim reflection in the glass. She brushed back stray wisps of hair and faced him again. “Don’t have my own things, remember?” She pointed at a small stain on his shirt. “What’s your excuse? You’ve certainly overlooked a few articles of gentlemanly attire this morning, milord.”

Huxtable coughed into his shoulder. “Gives as good as she gets, milord. I like her already.”

Edward checked his garb: an older linen shirt minus neckwear, no waistcoat, buff-colored breeches, and the same well-worn leather knee boots. He’d shaved and clubbed his hair at least, not that he really cared. A glimmer of admiration for Miss Montgomery sparked. He wasn’t the easiest person to be around by any stretch, but Huxtable saved the moment.

“At least his shirt’s tucked in proper like. Doesn’t always manage that. He’s not usually testy in the morning. Not much sleep last night, but you look lovely, miss. Why we watched you come across the lawn, what with your hair flyin’ about and all.”

Edward cringed. Miss Montgomery must think they ogled her like a pair of overzealous lads. And she knew very well why he’d had so little sleep…at least part of the reason. The odd thing was she looked at ease despite his prickly demeanor, and the smile she gave Huxtable would probably send his ancient heart into arrest.

“Thank you, Mr. Huxtable. Now about that coffee you offered? A bit of cream, if you’ve any.”

This didn’t bode well. A cup of coffee meant conversing. Here.

“O’ course, miss.” Huxtable fairly skipped off to the supply room to do her bidding.

Edward wanted to issue his edict that the greenhouse was closed to visitors, when Miss Montgomery clasped her hands behind her back and stretched her lovely neck to examine the high ceiling. The whole place flooded with natural light, even on overcast days. That light played over her, making her eyes shine like polished sea glass.

“I’ve never seen a greenhouse quite like this. Bigger than some homes. You even have large trees growing inside. Incredible.”

“It is both a greenhouse and a laboratory.” Pride found its way into his voice. “It may not be the cleanest greenhouse, but it is the most prolific, with the rarest, most sought-after specimens in England.”

Her head tipped farther back as she visually explored the magnitude of the place. Two stories high, half-brick, half-glass, the place was impressive. Sometimes he got lost in the minutiae of what he found under the magnification glass, that the scale of his surroundings disappeared. Her awe made a pleasant reminder of how far he’d come.

“And warm, too,” she said, unclasping her red cloak, letting it slip from her shoulders.

Dark hair spilled in a shiny cloud down her back. The full circles of her breasts pressed against her dress. She was neither small nor large, not quite the full size of his hand. The center of his palm tingled at the image of placing his hand there. Ample cleavage spilling over plunging square necklines was the mode of the day, yet Miss Montgomery’s rounded neckline stopped modestly at her collarbones. He stared at the light green fabric that swathed the skin high on her chest. Would the flesh be the same smooth, fair shade of her cheeks? Or whiter?

Her shoes crunched gravel as she circled about, taking in the expanse overhead. “I see why your skin lacks the paleness one might expect of a recluse.”

He tensed, poised for the worst. Instead, she set her cloak on a nearby table and touched the leaves of a juvenile potted tree; her fingers caressed dangling, yellow-gold fruit. The tip of her nose touched the luscious orb, and she inhaled, long and slow. Wasn’t she going to explain her comment?

“Ahh.” Her eyes closed a second, and she smelled the fruit’s perfume. “What’s this?”

“Chinese pear.”

A lone feminine finger traced the skin, following the subtle indent that bisected the round pear. But what was this about his skin and being a recluse? Would she make disparaging remarks about his scars, as did his last betrothed?

Edward cleared his throat and braced himself. “How did you come to this conclusion about my skin?”

His question pulled her from the lure of the unusual golden fruit, and she faced him, blinking.

“Your skin? Oh, yes.” Miss Montgomery tipped her head back as her hands waved at the surrounding glass. “Wide-open glass everywhere, constant sun exposure. Your skin’s bound to darken if you spend all your time here.” She gave him a triumphant smile. “Mystery solved.”

He took another sip of his coffee, tensed for the worst. The fact that she likely had more questions about him settled in, as did the lack of commentary about his scarred visage. But his morning guest acted more struck, like a child in some kind of wonderland. She stepped closer to a wide window to trace a line on the foggy pane.

“A bit damp in here.”

“You could say so, miss.” Huxtable’s footsteps crunched the gravel as he approached with her mug of coffee. “Here you go. With cream.” Huxtable pointed at light condensation frosting the window. “Tells me I’m doing my job right, keepin’ the tile stoves going…invention of some Swede scientist of his lordship’s acquaintance. Special kind of stove keeps the whole place warm. Best for the plants. Makes ’em think they’re still in the West Africa jungle.”

“West Africa? How exotic,” she said, eyes rounding. She sipped her coffee, and her fingers plucked at her neckline, lightly fanning her collarbone. “A bit balmy.”

“O’ course. That’s why we don’t stand on ceremony with waistcoats and such. Too warm.” Huxtable chuckled. “As a boy, his lordship was always hiding them fancy wigs his mother made him wear, and stuffin’ coats and such into nooks and crannies in the house.”

“A little slapdash about his dress as a boy, then?” She smiled behind the steam wafting upward from her mug.

“And the same he is full grown.” Huxtable grinned.

This walk down the annals of boyhood verged on being too personal.

“Hux, perhaps you could check the compost for me and see if the morning post has arrived.”

“And I’ve been dismissed,” the old man said with a flourish. “But let me say, pleased I am that yer here, miss.” With a wink and a tug on his forelock, Huxtable jammed his pipe between his teeth and ambled away.

Miss Montgomery pulled up a tall stool and sat facing him. She wasn’t fastidious about her skirts on the rough, splintered stool. One shoe heel hooked on a rung, and the other braced the floor, an exact mirror of how he sat. Both hands cupped her mug, and her gaze wandered around the vast greenery.

“Your greenhouse is impressive. All of Greenwich Park that I’ve seen so far is impressive. I couldn’t imagine the job of cleaning the place. Must take an army.”

He took another sip and made a humming sound of agreement. Details about cleaning never crossed his mind, best left for Claire. Then again, Edward scanned the broadsheets once in a while; since he shut his door to Society, people postulated ridiculous ideas about him and the state of his home. Would Miss Montgomery be any different? His thigh tensed again, and the sole of his boot wedged into the gravel.

“Your home’s nothing like I expected,” she said before taking another sip.

“What did you expect? A beast living amongst cobwebs and bats?” he asked in a droll tone.

“I wondered about the state of things.” Her fingernails drummed the cup, clinking porcelain. “You were much nicer last night, you know.”

“You mean when I ordered you out of my room?”

“No,” she said, drawing out the
O
. “I am referring to when you were discussing our mutual predicament at the inn. I came here with the intention of having a pleasant conversation with you, my lord. Not to wage battle.”

That got him square in the chest. He was being a horse’s arse. His sister, Jane, would have said as much and given his arm a feisty slap if she were here.

“My manners aren’t in top form this morning.” He made an effort to smile. “I’d like to say circumstances have made me the man I am today, but that wouldn’t be true. I’ve always been private, preferring science to society. I take people in small doses.”

“Private’s what you call it,” she said, not budging from the stool. “I see.”

He sighed. “This is as good a time as any, Miss Montgomery, for me to politely lay a few ground rules. Visitors are barred from my laboratory, and I prefer not to be disturbed when I’m in my room. I like my solitude.”

Her eyes rounded. “Are you asking me to leave, my lord?
Right
now?
”

“I am.” He held up his hand when her eyes flashed with the beginnings of feminine ire. “Please, wait. I realize this is a most unusual situation. I thought last night’s discussion would suffice in lieu of this morning, but the inner workings of Greenwich Park are new to you, so I’m prepared to give you some leeway.”

“Only
some
leeway, my lord? How good of you.” She huffed. “I think I begin to understand. You have an irritating propensity for lordly arrogance.”

Edward smirked at that set down. He deserved it, but his accuser was only warming up. Her face flushed becomingly as he sipped his coffee.

“Is that because you’re the mighty Earl of Greenwich? Or do I alone bring that out in you…
my
lord
?” Her mug clunked on the worktable, and she muttered, “Self-serving nobles.”

His jaw tightened. Best to lay down logical parameters now.

“You also need to know that I can’t abide hysterical women.”

“Good heavens, no hysterical women allowed? Then last night must’ve been quite a trial for you.” She tapped her fingers with rapid counting. “Let me see if I’ve got this right: one, no coming in your greenhouse; two, no going in your room, and three, no hysterical women.”

This was deteriorating quickly.

He took a deep, calming breath and cradled his mug in both hands. “You’re getting perilously close to histrionics, and no, last night was enlightening. You are enlightening.”

Her eyes narrowed on him as if to gauge his sincerity. She snorted in a most unfeminine manner, but his sincere compliment must’ve taken. His pretty, dark-haired interloper fidgeted and gave her attention to the Chinese pear tree while speaking to him in a world-weary voice.

“Discourse between a man and woman will, from time to time, become heated”—she crossed her arms tightly over her bosom and looked him in the eye—“even passionate. To expect otherwise is foolish.”

At least she didn’t shriek and kept something of a level tone with him. They stared, wary and watching like opponents saving energy stores for later, but the heat of their exchange dissipated. Last night, Miss Montgomery was pretty in demure white velvet; in the high color of the moment, she nettled and fascinated him all at once. She tilted her head, and daylight diffused by clouds made her eyes glimmer.

“This is not the best of circumstances.” The corners of her mouth curled up. “We must be able to bear each other’s company for a short time, at least…if you plan for an heir.”

He raised his cup in salute and matched her triumphant grin with one of his own.

“Touché.”

That simple acknowledgment on his part sufficed as a truce, though so far, she’d said nothing of leaving. A pair of birds flew overhead, chirping joyful songs to each other. He and Miss Montgomery followed the line of flight.

“It’s a slice of paradise in here…a garden of Eden.” Her soft voice mixed awe and woefulness.

When Edward’s gaze returned to Lydia, he noted the slump of her shoulders and the edges of her teeth chewing her lower lip.

“My lord, I came fully prepared to continue last night’s discussion, and you bit my head off about holding a door open and about my attire, which I’m happy to point out is due entirely to your own haste. You’ll remember: I wanted to go to my own home last night.”

She clasped her hands in her lap and waited. The volley was his. She looked at ease, and he admitted a growing ease with her and some admiration. Miss Montgomery posited herself in his lair with nary a note of nervous chatter or ridiculous tittering like other aggravating females of his unscarred past. Edward set his cup on the table and tipped his head, conceding the point.

“You have the right of it. Despite what I know is ahead, I wasn’t ready to face the obvious change your presence here means. My solicitor, Mr. Aaron, dealt with marital details in the past. This is new ground for me.”

“You courted a woman by a solicitor?” Her jaw dropped inelegantly.

He grinned. “Sounds bad, but, no, I didn’t court by my solicitor. Negotiations, however, are a reality of my station. But I am of the opinion life would be easier if all relations were transacted thus.”

“And all these years I thought it was about a man and a woman.” She sighed, giving him a teasing smile before slipping off the stool to reexamine the Chinese Pear.

Miss Lydia Montgomery had a way of making things elemental; the awareness of this facet and her quiet intent slipped under his skin. Edward shuffled some of his books and picked up a lead writing stick. He needed to return to his work, could feel the push-pull drawing him.

Her fingers cupped the golden, apple-shaped fruit. “I should very much like to paint this.”

“Is that a passion of yours? Painting?” he called over his shoulder.

“Yes, and I don’t mean dabbling with watercolor.”