my husband. That was the day he slapped me for leaving him. I never attempted to do so from that day forward. I had learned my lesson, and I knew whom I could trust. No one but myself.”
He brought her hand to his lips for a kiss, feeling as if a knife twisted in his gut at her recollections. “My God, Hyacinth. How old were you? You must have been little more than a girl.”
“I was nineteen,” she said softly. “But you see? Our past only makes us stronger. I am a different woman now than I was. I am free.”
“Thank the Lord for that,” he said grimly, holding tight to her hand.
And he was free too, he realized. Completely and utterly free. And there was nowhere else he would rather be than here with Hyacinth. She fascinated him, awed him. She made him want her more than he could ever recall wanting another before her.
This time, Hyacinth brought Tom’s palm to her lips for a kiss. “Thank you for sharing your past with me, Tom.”
Her gratitude and her caring both humbled him. “Thank you for sharing yours with me as well.”
He could not resist cupping her cheek and sealing their mouths together for a slow, deep kiss. A kiss that left them both breathless when they parted, Hyacinth’s eyes glittering and her mouth charmingly swollen.
“Now, I suppose we ought to eat our dinners,” he told her with the greatest of reluctance. “Otherwise, how shall we keep up our strength?”
She gave him a wicked smile. “How indeed?”
They turned their attention back to their meal.
But Tom could not shake the feeling that they had crossed boundaries this evening together. Boundaries that, once crossed, could never again be redrawn.
Chapter Eleven
Hyacinth was on her knees in her herb garden at Willdon Hall. The plants were her sole comfort, her only escape. Her gown was drab gray and serviceable. No crinolette was worn beneath it, enabling her to kneel in the dirt and tend to the plants. The act itself, like the garden, was forbidden.
Her secret with Will, the head gardener.
He had saved this space for her, against her husband’s edict. And she would be forever grateful. This time of quiet, this communing with nature, lent her peace. Until she had to return to the main house again. Until she saw Southwick again.
She knew each flourishing plant by name. Knew the healing properties of every one.
She plucked weeds by hand, fingertips kissing the dirt.
Southwick would never know. He could not see her here. Could never find her. He prohibited her from performing such a task. Southwick was cold and unforgiving, filled with anger that festered from the inside. The whispers from the servants suggested why, but she was too afraid to believe them.
Instead, Hyacinth preferred to lose herself in her gardens.
She chanted the names of each plant. Ran her fingers over their soft leaves. The bee balm smelled of catmint and oregano. Pungent and calming, the scent rising in the warm air.
Once, summer in the country had been beloved to her. It had been a time of warmth and sun and growing grass. Of leafy trees and rain puddles and fresh berries bursting with ripeness. Now, each season was no different than the last. Each one an endless refrain.
Oh, to be a plant. Unencumbered. Nothing to do with her day save raise her face to the sun and worship. No one to crush her. Nothing to fear.
Footsteps crunched behind her on the gravel walk.
Her heart pounded in her chest. All the saliva fled her mouth.
No, no, it could not be. She would not look. Surely it was not her husband chasing her here, to the far edges of the garden. Why, he was supposed to have gone. He would not return for another three days.
And she was free to tend her garden all day long as it pleased her.
Rosemary, lavender, chamomile, raspberry—
“What are you doing, my lady?”
The voice was stern. Disapproving. It raised the hackles on her neck. Intruded upon her idyll here in her garden, the only source of peace she had. How had he found her?
When had he returned?
On her knees, she braced herself, preparing for a stinging slap. She knew he would not hesitate to raise his hand to her. Southwick had already done so once, had he not, after her family had forced her return to Willdon Hall? And he had warned