and scent. Perhaps the peaceful beauty of the place would soothe her temper, Arthur thought. But he didn’t know what would gain her confidence.
The gurgle of the stream grew louder, and then there it was, a thread of clear water tumbling over rocks. Bluebells, ferns, and mosses bent over the banks. Soft moisture wafted through the air. Señora Alvarez breathed it in. “Hermosa,” she said.
She was, but Arthur was not foolish enough to voice his opinion. He could not resist stepping closer.
A partridge erupted out of the bracken with a violent whir of wings. Arthur started, twisted one bootheel on a stone, missed his footing with the other, and stumbled toward the stream.
She caught him with an arm about his waist, stopping his slide to a certain dunking. They teetered together on the bank. He held onto her shoulders to regain his balance. Though she was much smaller, her grip was strong, her footing solid. She could hold her own and more. Her body felt soft and supple against his as they came safely to rest.
Arthur looked down. Her face was inches away. Her dark eyes were wide, her lovely lips slightly parted, as if primed for a kiss. She raised her chin. He bent his head to touch them with his, an instant of exquisite pleasure.
She jerked away, nearly sending him reeling once again. Her expression had gone stark. All the beautiful animation had drained out of it. “Do not play such games with me,” she said.
“Games?”
“I told you that what I said at the theater meant nothing!”
“So you did,” replied Arthur, stung. “And I heard you.”
“Yet you try to take advantage.”
“The bird startled me. I tripped.”
“Into my lips.” Her tone was contemptuous.
“I beg your pardon. In the moment I thought you…”
“You know nothing about me. But I will tell you that I despise tricks like that.”
“It was no such thing.”
She made a derisive sound.
She had no grounds to address him with such disdain, to practically call him a liar. “Do you doubt my word?”
“I observe your actions,” she answered, moving away from him. “Where has Tom gone?”
“I have no idea.”
“Tom?” she called. “Where are you?”
“Here,” came the reply from downstream. “Come and see. There’s a waterfall.”
Señora Alvarez walked away. Arthur paused to master his annoyance. It took a few minutes. Perhaps he had mistaken her reaction. Though she’d looked… But she said he had, and that was that. He was sorry. He would apologize more fully if she allowed it. But honest mistakes did not deserve such complete contempt. She must know him better than that by now. Yet it had seemed that nothing he could say would change her mind.
There was worse, however. He still wanted desperately to kiss her again. He wanted more than that. She’d set him afire, as he hadn’t been for years. If she felt nothing for him, his prospects were melancholy. The situation seemed all difficulties and little hope.
When he finally made his way down the stream bank, he found her with Tom, admiring a small cascade in the stream. She did not look at him, and Arthur’s spirits sank further. “I meant no insult,” he murmured as they walked back toward the carriage.
“We will not speak of it again,” she snapped and hastened away.
He could only follow.
At Tom’s urging they went on to Penn Ponds, two small lakes in the middle of the park with water birds nesting in the reed beds and groves of massive oak trees nearby.
“This old fellow’s been through a bit,” said Tom, running his fingers over a lightning scar in a huge oak’s bark. “How old do you reckon it is?” he asked Arthur.
“Four or five hundred years, I expect,” he replied absently.
“Here before Mr. Shakespeare then?”
“I would say so. It might have witnessed the Wars of the Roses.”
“Does England have fighting flowers then?” Teresa heard the anger in her voice when she spoke, but she couldn’t help it. She was furious—with the earl, with the world, but mostly with herself. How she had wanted to kiss him! He hadn’t been wrong. Pressed against him, feeling the lean length of his body on hers, she had longed to do more than that. She was still flushed with desire. The mere touch of his lips to hers had told her that lovemaking would be intoxicating with this peligroso earl. Intoxicating and disastrous. It would wreak havoc in her safe, settled life. This was very bad.
“Warring roses, battles among the bluebells,” said Lord Macklin.
Was he joking about it?
“Battles?”