Spurred by the thought that this was her last chance to be alone with him, as they were all returning to London tomorrow, she hurried downstairs. The housekeeper emerged from the drawing room and gave Talia a pleasant smile.
“Lord Castleford missed his tea, my lady, so I left a fresh pot and a platter of cakes.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Danvers.”
The older woman nodded and puffed toward the kitchen. Talia stepped into the drawing room. Her breath caught in her throat.
James stood beside the fire, glancing through a sheaf of papers. The crackling flames cast his tall, muscular figure in brilliant illumination. His overlong brown hair curled around his ears and the top of his collar, the dark strands etched in reddish-gold light. Shadows danced over the masculine planes of his features, the slanting cheekbones, sharp nose, and thick-lashed eyes that Talia saw in both her waking and nighttime dreams.
“Hello, poppet.” James glanced up and smiled, the warmth in his eyes mitigating the hard edges of his jaw.
The nickname, which Talia had always enjoyed due to its affectionate undercurrent, now reminded her all too forcefully of his indulgent view of her.
“You’ve passed a pleasant afternoon, I take it?” James asked.
His deep voice rolled over her like sunlight. “Yes…yes, thank you, James.”
Talia moved to sit on the sofa, ensuring her shawl sufficiently covered her bare skin. She poured the tea, then watched as James walked to put the papers on the desk.
She would never tire of looking at him. She had memorized all his unconscious movements over the years—the way he rubbed the back of his neck, folded his long body into a chair, curved his hand around a teacup or glass of brandy.
A restless energy radiated from him, evident in his utter lack of idleness. He paced when he spoke, tapped his fingers on his knee when he was seated. He smiled often, laughed, and made broad gestures with his hands as if words alone could not express everything he wanted to say.
No one except Talia knew all the subtleties of how James Forester moved and behaved. She was certain of that.
“Lists of the expedition members and transportation plans,” he explained, nodding toward the papers.
Unease knotted through Talia. James sat across from her and studied the tea tray, which was filled with a variety of breads, cakes, muffins, and tarts.
“You’re leaving in the summer then?” Talia asked, handing him a cup of tea.
“Next month, actually.”
“N-next month? So soon?”
He reached for a slice of plum cake. “I thought we’d be delayed because we had to secure a new medical officer, but we’ve managed to book passage on board the Ballarat, which leaves from Southampton in mid-June.”
“Alexander said you were going to New South Wales.” It sounded like the end of the world.
“Yes. The Royal Geographical Society requested a survey of the territory, including several rivers. I submitted a plan of exploration in November, but didn’t receive word until recently that the governor had sanctioned it. So preparations have been a bit hasty.”
“I thought you’d planned a trip to Asia in the fall.”
“It hasn’t been funded yet, so this one takes precedence. With any luck, we’ll finish the survey before summer’s end and be able to journey directly to the Malay Peninsula.”
Talia’s heart sank at the thought of having to worry about him traveling from Australia to Asia. Every time he left England’s shores, she worked herself into a frenzy thinking he would end up dead, or that he would decide never to come home, or that he would return and announce that he’d married a beautiful princess from some exotic land.
Thus far, saints be praised, none of those lamentable circumstances had occurred, but time was running short for both of them. Even if James returned from this particular expedition whole and hale—a year from now? two years?—Talia could wait no longer.
“Well.” She forced a smile to her lips. “Won’t you need to return to London soon?”
A frown creased his forehead. “The estate manager handles things in my absence.”
“Yes, but he can't be in charge forever, James. Surely you’re expected to carry out your duties and even to…marry soon.”
“There’s a distant cousin somewhere, I’m certain.” James shrugged and picked up a wedge of pound cake. “As long as there’s an heir, the lineage is secure regardless of what happens to me.”
Talia curled her fingers around her shawl, disliking his indifferent view of his own future. She’d often thought of little else in recent years, clinging to the hope that James’s future