Chapter Seven

L ondon sweltered under a dome of heat, the air thick with the unfulfilled promise of rain. The city's denizens moved as if through a miasma, collars wilted, brows beaded with sweat, yearning for the relief of a rain shower that lingered, teasingly, just beyond reach. How odd for Londoners to crave rain when they usually complained they had too much of it.

Edmund regretted that the evening hadn't gone as planned. He hadn't impressed Lola with the dinner, an unfamiliar experience because people usually feigned delight just by the virtue of dining with him.

Lola hugged herself. "You didn't need to accompany me. It's my phaeton."

"Certainly, I did."

They passed the apothecary's building at 87 Harley Street and pulled into a small alley between the buildings.

His mind chewed over what Marlowe had said: better to preserve than to restore . How could this work in a world where one had to produce, sell, and be faster and more efficient than one's competition? And why? Could Brewster be wrong?

Edmund's head spun with so many questions that he didn't pay much heed to the rusty hinges of the crooked back door Lola had led him to. After he followed her up a winding staircase to a door that was more of a hatch, he waited while she lit a lantern, and he found himself in a tiny room with the basics of a functioning household: a cot with a clean pillow and a small escritoire with an ink well and a quill that had seen better days, a small table with a washbasin, a fogged mirror hanging above it. There was a low door that reminded him of one for a chicken coop on the wall across from the entry; he doubted it led to another room. This was it, all she had. Edmund's heart clenched. She deserved better than this.

"Do you live here alone?"

"Yes, we sold our cottage when my parents died. It was just… too…" She gasped for air as if choking back sobs.

Edmund could understand. He'd done so many times, at least when he was younger and the death of his parents was still new. "Painful. Everything reminded you of them."

"Yes. You must know how stepping into your father's shoes as the duke feels?"

"I can never get away." Edmund still couldn't hide the grief, nor did he wish to. Not from her.

Lola dusted off her new dress as she hung it on a hook he hadn't noticed at first. Then she dropped the shawl on the bed with a proprietorial air and turned to that chicken coop door. Was it a closet of a sort? But no. Ducking through the opening, he followed her into the dark, muggy summer air he so hated in London. In the dim light, he saw they were in a flower garden on a rooftop.

Lola lit a lantern and handed it to him. "This is my business." She lit another and hung it on a thin wire hook on the side of the building.

The whole roof came alive, a lush summer paradise with a view of London. Cultivated beds of color glowed in the orange flicker of the lantern.

Edmund walked through the corridor between the raised beds. "You did this?"

Lola spread apart some bushy greens with yellow tips on their buds. "Look. This is Hypericum , St. John's Wort. Once the yellow flowers show tiny black dots, I'll harvest them. The little leaves have tiny holes, which are actually glands." She picked a leaf and handed it to him. "St. John's Wort is good for the nerves, rashes, and burns. Mr. Collins makes cold compresses with it, or sometimes mixes it into oils."

She pivoted to the raised garden bed behind them. "There's not much left in this bed because I harvested the crocus in March, the dahlias in July, and the foxglove was late this year, but I had a good harvest in May."

"You grew all that here?"

"Yes. I rent the room, and Mrs. Kitty lets me do what I want with this space. She wouldn't use it otherwise. I built this to pay for everything."

"You built the raised beds?" Edmund walked to the edge of the one that had been harvested and searched for the mark. There it was, in the corner, a burn mark with his crest. "These are planks from Northumberland." His wood.

"Yes, they were used for a box to transport a piano. I got the planks for free and built this." She smiled, pride mixed with a je ne sais quoi that made his breath hitch.

"How many of the shipping crates did you need to build all this?"

"Ten. Twelve perhaps. I collected wood whenever I could."

She'd put his wood to better use than he ever had. "And the soil?"

"Carried it."

Edmund swallowed hard. She'd created a rotating crop system out of nothing. Nothing that she'd had to purchase, anyway, except perhaps seeds. But the point was that even after months of drafting the environmental restoration plan for Marlowe's land, he hadn't produced a coherent approach like this. His eyes fell on a few little coniferous trees at the end of one of the raised beds. "Will you sell those in the winter?"

"No, this is rosemary." Lola bent down, tore a few needles off, rubbed them between her hands, and held them out for him to smell.

A potent blend of pine and mint carried a freshness to his nostrils that invigorated his senses, and something woody let him forget how hot the night was. "How can something smell cool?" The question spilled out of his head before he'd finished forming it.

"It has camphoraceous undertones and a lemony sweetness, see?" Lola took one of the crinkled needles and brought it to his mouth. "You can eat it."

*

Lola placed two wrinkled rosemary needles in Edmund's mouth, and he chewed them, suddenly able to take a deep, cooling breath. He gently grasped her wrists, lifting her hands with the remaining dark green needles to his face, and dipped his face into her palms.

At first, she thought he'd smell them, but with the softness of down whisking through the air, Edmund placed a kiss on her left palm. Then her right.

Lola's heart dropped to her knees and her hands relaxed.

"People rarely surprise me." His voice became muffled as he cupped her hands with his, pulling them toward him. He kissed her wrist.

Lola reached and touched his hair, just above the temples where the tension bore testament to his sleepless nights. He let go of her hands and put both of his on her waist. She met his gaze, his deep gray-green eyes like the velvety surface of sage leaves.

When his attention fell to her mouth, her lips tingled in anticipation, and she parted her mouth.

"This was not part of our arrangement but may I—"

She didn't let him finish the question lest the mention of their reason for being there ruin the moment. For once, Lola wanted to feel seen by a handsome man like this duke, held in his strong arms and cocooned in the magic of the moment. She no longer wanted to be the girl who could merely supply the flowers for the backdrop of his dining room, she wanted to be the light in every room with him. It was presumptuous. Insolent even. But she didn't care. The summer heat, combined with the blood in her body that he'd set aflame with his tender touch, melted her resolve.

For a moment, Lola ceased to be the flower girl who planted and raised the most beautiful and fragrant blossoms, only to deliver them to someone else. This time, she'd reap what she'd sowed.

And it was glorious. As soon as her lips touched his, he inhaled sharply and opened his mouth.

She knew what to do, how to invade and explore. And his response nearly made her legs buckle. He hesitated at first, but then his soft lips melted onto hers. Could this be his first kiss?

The London heat was forgotten, replaced by a different kind of warmth that radiated from him, spreading through her like wildfire. Every inch of her skin tuned into his touch as her body awoke, responding to the sweet pressure of his kiss. His mouth was tender like a rose petal's touch but firm and delicious at the same time.

He reached for the back of her head, pulling her closer. She felt the length of his hard body pressed against hers, yet longed for more, closer, deeper. When he broke their kiss and looked up at the dark sky, she longed to bring him back to her.

Something cold on her cheek pulled her out of her reverie—a raindrop. She looked up to see sparkling drops falling from the sky as if the summer was weeping for her, the stupid flower girl who'd fallen for a duke. But she ignored her conscience because she wanted him now. Never mind tomorrow, it would come soon enough.

Another raindrop fell, and another, until it wasn't just drops but sheets of water cascading down from the heavens, soaking them to the skin. The sudden chill was a stark contrast to the heat of their kiss, but it did nothing to dampen the magnetism between them.

Edmund raised his brows.

She shrugged, and they broke into laughter.

Without a word, he scooped her into his arms and carried her through the pouring rain back to her tiny attic room, where he gently laid her down on the bed.

His eyes were dark with desire. His hair was slicked back from the rain, droplets trickling down his forehead. He wiped them away with the back of his hand before turning his attention back to her.