Chapter 5

Fitz let his valet, Stewart, finish dressing him for dinner. His mind was miles away as he struggled to understand what had happened that afternoon. From the moment Tabitha Sherborne set foot in his home, he had been on edge. She had disrupted everything.

It wasn't simply the passion that had ignited between them in the drawing room, although he could die a happy man with that memory alone. Lord, the way she'd pressed her body so eagerly against his own, the softness of her skin, the way she'd tasted... Those memories would fill his dreams for years to come. But what would haunt him forever was the way her cornflower-blue eyes had filled with wonder as she'd experienced carnal pleasure for the first time. He had been enraptured by the expression on her face, the intensity, the shock, and then the delight he'd felt as she'd allowed herself to trust him in that moment.

They were practically strangers, and yet that thread of connection from the night of the musicale had proved stronger than he'd imagined.

Which was why the pain on her face when she'd spoken of her past—of cold days and empty stomachs—and her turning away from him, had struck through him, hot and angry. Though his anger was not directed at her. Far from it.

He needed her to trust in him, and he felt eager to prove himself worthy of it. Her inability to confide in him made him question himself more than he cared to. He stared unseeing at himself in the mirror as Stewart used a soft brush to remove dust from his coat. Stewart then gave Fitz's patent leather shoes a quick shine.

"Thank you, Stewart."

Fitz left his bedchamber, replaying his conversations with Tabitha as he walked. He was still confused about who she truly was. He knew three things for certain: she held a distrust of wealthy men and women, she had gone through a lengthy period of hardship, and she wasn't Hannah Winslow's cousin from the country.

He trusted Evan enough to know that if the man claimed to have researched the matter, it had been researched well. If he said there was no cousin from the country named Tabitha, then there wasn't.

So who the devil was she?

He could easily confront Tabitha and Hannah about their deception while they were here at his home, but there was no guarantee they would tell him the truth. They would most likely leave the house party in disgust, and he might never have the answers he so desperately wanted. Until he understood why he was obsessed with Tabitha, he didn't want to scare her or her friends away with bold accusations.

His mind caught upon a memory of her hands, the fading calluses on the pads of her fingers and palms. What had she done to earn them? His stomach knotted at the thought of her working in some match factory late into the night, desperate for coin to feed herself. But the calluses were faded, so something had changed in her circumstances for the better. How could one woman create a so many questions?

As he descended the stairs, the butler rang the gong for dinner. Blast, he was late. That hardly ever happened. He met the guests and his grandmother as they left the main salon. His grandmother waved him over and leaned in to whisper when he reached her.

"You will escort Miss Sherborne to dinner."

It was a command, one he had expected since he'd overheard her plotting. Normally he would have battled her, but in this instance he was happy to comply. Although he'd been upset with Tabitha this afternoon after her accusations about his character, he still wanted to be near her. She was a puzzle begging to be solved.

He slid through the crowd and halted at the sight of Tabitha. Among all the other ladies, she stood out like the first spring flower to grow after a hard winter. Her evening gown was a blend of exquisite colors, with a cream underskirt embroidered with jonquils, dahlias, and peonies amid green leaves. The exquisite embroidery made it appear as though a garden grew on her underskirt. The bodice and overskirt were coral, and the front of the overskirt was pinned back to flare at her hips, displaying intricate folds with a sunny yellow satin backing. Fine layers of lace trimmed the hem of her underskirt and bodice. He could see the swell of her breasts through the wispy layers of lace along her décolletage.

She turned his way, and their eyes met across the room. His pulse quickened. The world beneath his feet shifted, and he braced his legs a little wider so as to stay steady. What was wrong with him? The mere sight of a woman shouldn't have affected him like this, but it did.

He moved toward Tabitha, aware of everyone's eyes upon him as he approached. He offered her his arm in silent invitation. For a moment, he feared she wouldn't accept. Then, with a rising blush in her cheeks, she slipped her hand through the crook of his arm. Together, they led the rest of the procession into the large dining room.

Neither of them spoke as he seated her next to him. He was seated at the end of the table as host, and she was placed directly to his right. Mrs. Higgs, a friend of his grandmother, sat down to his left. She was in deep discussion with her escort, who happened to be Beck. Beck flashed Fitz a subtle, questioning look, flicking his gaze quickly at Tabitha and then back to Fitz.

Fitz returned the look, silently assuring Beck that he would delve into the question of Tabitha's story further, just not at this moment.

"We have activities planned tomorrow. A picnic, riding, badminton, and croquet," Fitz found himself saying as Tabitha placed her napkin in her lap and sipped from the goblet of wine a footman had placed in front of her.

Tabitha glanced his way. "Oh?"

"Yes... and I thought perhaps we might play a game together, or..." He paused, trying to best assess how to broach the matter of their reacquaintance. He kept his voice low, even though Beck had thankfully captured Mrs. Higgs's full attention now. "We could try again."

"Try again?" Tabitha asked innocently, but her eyes held a fiery challenge, assuring him she knew precisely what he meant.

"Yes. This afternoon was..." He struggled for the right word.

"A mess?" she supplied, a hint of mischief in her eyes.

"Yes." He hoped she would admit they'd both been a mess, as she put it, but she didn't. She let him claim that blame fully on his own. Perhaps he deserved it, since he had been the one to kiss her, to take such liberties that opened up the discussion that followed and their subsequent quarrel. But he was committed to starting over with her, and if that meant accepting all of the responsibility for their last encounter, so be it.

"Right, well. My given name is Fitzwilliam, but I would like very much for you to call me Fitz, as my friends do."

"Do you wish to be friends with me, Fitz?" Tabitha inquired, her tone softening. Her gaze grew pensive as she studied him. He was finally having a victory of his own.

"Yes," he said without hesitation.

Her gaze shot down the length of the table, where Hannah and Julia were engaged in lively discussion with their own dinner companions.

"Then I suppose it would be all right if you called me Tabitha."

By the flush in her cheeks, he knew she was remembering that moment when he'd spoken her name while he'd pleasured her. He wanted her to remember that when he called her Tabitha, the delicious pleasures that could be had.

"Excellent." He drank his wine as the footmen set out dishes to be passed around the table. His grandmother preferred a less formal dining style where most of the dinner dishes were cut up on the sideboard table, then handed around to the guests. It required fewer servants to handle the demands of the guests. His grandmother liked the intimacy of a gathering where people shared food between each other, rather than having servants do all the work for them.

As they dined, Fitz juggled his conversations with Mrs. Higgs and Tabitha with more ease than he expected, in part because Beck was purposely keeping Mrs. Higgs distracted to allow Fitz to focus on Tabitha.

"Tell me, did you and your cousin see much of each other as children?" he asked as the dessert course was brought around. He'd avoided any sensitive subjects the entire meal as he sought to gain more of Tabitha's trust, but now he was ready to test her.

She glanced away, her gaze focused on the brightly colored little cakes being laid out in front of her. "Oh, not often."

"Do you enjoy sweets?" he asked. The desserts weren't overly fancy, but rather something one might find in a confectioner's shop in the shopping district. His grandmother had a soft spot for pastries and asked for them rather than the fancy desserts one expected to eat in a grand house.

Her hands moved restlessly in her lap. "I used to, but I don't eat them anymore."

Hoping to tease her into a better mood, he lowered his voice a little so that only she could hear.

"Oh? Tell me you aren't a woman who worries about her figure. You are beautiful, and any half-decent man likes curves on a woman. It gives a man something to hold on to when—" He stopped, but only because he realized his scandalous comments were being completely ignored by her. He reached under the table and gently clasped one of her hands, which had fisted in her skirts. She jerked a little at the touch and turned her head his way. Her face had drained of all color.

"Tabitha, are you all right?" he asked. "You've gone very pale. What's the matter?" The poor creature looked ready to faint. He prayed it wasn't what he'd said to her. He'd only meant to tease her and win a blush, or perhaps a smile.

"I... I am almost too embarrassed to admit it." Her gaze turned down toward her plate, which was empty of sweets. He squeezed her hand gently, encouraging her silently to continue.

"When I was about thirteen, I went with a few girls I knew to buy sweet cakes from the confectioner's shop near where I lived." Her eyes darted briefly toward the cakes on the plate. "The girls became violently ill. Two of them died. They seized violently and seemed to have been poisoned. Someone finally realized they'd all eaten the same thing, those cakes. They were found to contain chromate of lead. The baker had used it as a substitute for eggs. It was a sort of yellow substance, as I understand, and he believed it would be fine to use to achieve the color he desired when creating an egg-based glaze."

"He adulterated the cakes." Fitz's tone was grim.

"Yes." She swallowed, her eyes darting back to the desserts. "I just keep seeing those girls shaking upon the floor, frothing at their lips as their faces turned blue..." She shuddered.

"Keep your eyes on me, darling," he whispered and squeezed her hand. It drew her focus back to him. "Food adulteration is all too common a practice among lower-end food sellers."

It wasn't unusual for people to add things to food to increase the weight or change the color. He had once heard that some poorer bakers in town added ground-up bones, plaster, lime, pipe clay, and alum to bread. Well-off families only purchased food from reputable shops who did not take part in such practices. But a good reputation carried a premium price. Until this moment, he hadn't thought about those who had no choice but to take their chances, nor had he considered the idea that one could die from such unethical behavior.

"Did you fall ill?" he asked in concern.

"No. I gave my cake to another girl who needed food more than I did. She was one of those who died." A sharp hitch in Tabitha's breath warned him she was deeply upset. "I killed her."

"No, you didn't," he whispered. "That irresponsible baker killed those girls. Not you. Do you understand?"

Her teary eyes met his, and she drew in a shaky breath. They both knew she couldn't cry at the table in front of everyone.

"Right, yes," she said slowly. "Of course."

Fitz's heart stilled in his chest as she recovered her composure. The grief that lay inside him reminded him she was a fellow sufferer. She truly had been through something terrible. If she had once lived as poorly as he now suspected, he couldn't begin to imagine what else she might have endured. This was no pretty young woman raised in the protective shelter of a rich family. Tabitha had endured things that he likely could not fathom. And simply knowing that created a deep chasm in his chest, making it hard to breathe.

"Forget dessert," he said. "Perhaps I can show you more of the house?" She nodded, and Fitz caught his grandmother's eye at the end of the table. He gave her a nod to indicate he wanted to break tradition and allow some people to leave the table early. She acknowledged his silent message with a returned nod.

He released Tabitha's hand and stood, catching the attention of his guests.

"If you are done, the gentlemen may gather in the billiard room. Ladies, you have the salon at your disposal. Otherwise, please stay at the table and enjoy dessert."

Beck said something to Mrs. Higgs, and she blushed and thanked him for the lovely dinner conversation. Then Beck stood up. A few of the ladies and gentlemen followed suit. His grandmother remained at the table with the guests who wished to stay seated and finish their desserts.

Fitz offered Tabitha his arm. "Miss Sherborne." She stood and followed him out of the dining room, her arm tucked in his again. It was strange how the practice of escorting a lady had always been something he felt obliged to do per the requirements of his station, but with Tabitha it was different. Any excuse to touch her, to shield her, to have her close to him was fast becoming an addiction. One that he was too afraid to examine closely.

"This way," he whispered in her ear. They left the other guests behind and quickly snuck away. He led her down a dimly lit corridor and out of one of the side doors of the house onto a narrow gravel path. The night was clear and full of stars. They both took in the fresh air and let out a deep breath together. The tension in her expression receded almost immediately.

He tilted his head back to look up at the blanket of thousands of stars over their heads. "Feel better?"

"Much, thank you."

"Of course. It is what friends do, isn't it?"

She laughed. "How are you somehow both charming and infuriating at the same time?"

"It's part of being a duke," he joked. He had never considered himself an amusing man. Evan was usually the more jovial one of his set of friends, but he wanted to make Tabitha laugh.

"It is better out here," she admitted. "Just seeing those cakes brought back all those terrible memories. In all my recent social engagements, I've somehow been lucky enough to avoid such desserts. Usually, I find other ways to occupy myself and manage to escape dessert altogether."

"These are quite atypical of a grand dinner party dessert. My grandmother likes more common desserts like these, and the cook knows she does."

Fitz made a mental note to instruct the cook to avoid all future sweet cakes.

He patted her hand as he led her to the hothouse. The windows were fogged with the warm air inside, and it would afford them some privacy.

"You had a difficult childhood after your father died, didn't you?" He gently pressed upon the subject he wanted her to discuss.

"Yes," she answered, but didn't elaborate more than that.

He buried his frustration. He wanted this woman to trust him, to realize that he would do anything for her if she but asked. She had that power over him, and he would not deny it. He also wasn't used to a woman who didn't readily accept his help, and it confused him more than he cared to admit.

"You can trust me, Tabitha. Nothing you say to me will be spoken of to anyone else."

"You wish for me to spill my secrets?" she teased.

"All of them." Even though he was rather serious about it, he flashed her a crooked grin that never failed to charm women.

She let out another soft laugh. "Well, I suppose all women do have secrets, don't we? 'Tis our nature. The moon has secrets, as does the sea, and women are connected to both. So why shouldn't we have secrets as well?"

"I quite agree with that logic, and you should have secrets—it's part of what makes you so charming and mysterious," he agreed.

Fitz opened the door to the hothouse, and she entered ahead of him. He wasn't a romantic sort, but the separation of their hands, even so briefly, sent a pang through his body, as though she might slip away from him forever.

He closed the door behind them and joined her on the gravel path, taking her hand again as they stood in the middle of the hothouse. He threaded his fingers through hers, and the moment she curled her fingers against his hand in return, a heady warmth that had nothing to do with the air around them blossomed inside him.

"Shall we test your knowledge of the language of flowers?" Tabitha asked.

With a grin, he plucked a nearby hyacinth and held it to his nose, taking in its scent. "Will I win a kiss if I do well?" She had no idea that this was a game he would win. His mother had long ago taught him the language of flowers, and he'd never forgotten a single lesson.

"I suppose that would be fair enough..." She touched the flower he held. "What does a hyacinth mean?"

"Your loveliness charms me," he said. His mother had brought him to this hothouse every Sunday in the spring and explained to him what each flower meant and how it could someday help him find the woman who would hold his heart. He'd thought it silly at the time, but now he cherished the memories of those hours with her.

Tabitha laughed in delight. "Correct."

Fitz slid an arm around her waist and pulled her into him. He claimed his prize and kissed her softly, sweetly upon the cheek.

Then he glanced about before he retrieved a red fuchsia bloom. He trailed it over her lips, and her lashes fluttered.

"And that one?" Her voice was breathless as her lashes flared up and their eyes met.

His voice dropped as he stared at her mouth. "I like your taste ..."

"Correct again, although I feel you're imbuing the word taste with a different meaning." Her cheeks gave a blush that even the reddest rose would envy. "I'm beginning to believe you might know too much of flowers."

"I had a most excellent teacher. My mother was a woman who adored flowers. She would put them in the rooms of every guest, fresh blooms daily. She loved the possibilities that flowers and things that grow in the soil had to offer. ‘New life is beautiful,' she used to say."

"She sounds like she was quite wonderful," Tabitha said.

"She was," Fitz agreed. Tabitha was still in his arms, and he leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. She laughed again, the sweet sound filling him with delight. He chose a red carnation next and looked at her expectantly.

"Your turn."

She took the carnation, her eyes softening. "My heart aches for you," she finally said. "That's what a carnation means."

He placed the carnation in a nearby vase as she moved away from him to look at the other flowers. He plucked a wild red rose and came up behind her, gently taking her by the waist as he kissed the shell of her ear. Then he lifted the wild rose up to her face.

She reached up, her fingers careful to avoid the thorns of the stem. "Pleasure and pain," she breathed, her breasts rising and falling as her breathing quickened.

"All of life is torn between those two," he said as he nuzzled her neck and pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. "When I first saw you, it was your eyes that held me rooted in place. They are the color of cornflowers."

"Do you know what cornflowers mean?"

She pressed back against him, and he wished they were free of their clothing so he could enjoy the feel of her skin against his.

He turned her face so he could kiss her, but a moment before their lips met, he spoke the words that her eyes now begged of him. He wanted her to know that he understood what she was asking of him. "Be gentle with me... that is what a cornflower means."

She nodded, as if silently asking him that now with eyes that spoke the language of flowers.

He wanted to sweep her up in his arms and carry her to bed right then and there. He wanted to show her how gentle he could be and that someday, when she trusted him, he could set her free, teach her to be a wild creature in his arms when she finally felt safe enough to let go.

"Who are you?" he whispered as he turned her in his arms to face him. "Tell me something about you, anything," he begged. He wanted to know everything. Right now, he'd only glimpsed the surface of the sea that was this woman's soul.

The heavy blooms around them and the soft moonlight seemed to make him feel like there was no past and no future, only this present moment with her.

Her lips parted, but she betrayed no secrets, shared none of that glowing soul that burned so fiercely in her eyes. She clung to him, and if all he could have in this moment was her trust in him to hold her, he would take it.

"Anything, Tabitha, please," he whispered as he closed his eyes and covered the crown of her hair with soft kisses.

"Please, Fitz, please ..."