Chapter 18

All Owen needed was to find a journal he had purchased on his last trip to Jamaica, from a farmer who had written greatly about the different textures of soil.

It was a fascinating read that he had enjoyed thrice over by this point. There was always something new to learn from it. Dirt was considered so simple, and yet he knew there was more to it. If the world was made of dirt, after all, it had to be important.

Especially for plants. And I need to see if I'm overwatering or underwatering plot C5 right now. I could have sworn that it only needs…

Whatever Owen had been thinking about a moment ago evaporated when he stepped into the library. He still wore his boots but had since lost the coat, cravat, and vest, as he often did while working in the greenhouse. The space warranted warmth, and those clothes could be much too stifling.

Upon stepping into the library, he'd grown a little chilly. If he stepped off the rugs in the halls, he would have noted the ground felt somewhat cooler. There were surely a few windows open as well, though he had been too lost in thought to notice them at the time.

But how could he be distracted when his wife was in the library?

Owen froze in the open doorway, only shifting upon noticing that Georgiana had not noticed him. This surely meant he could make his escape without her ever knowing he had been there. Quite possibly, he could grab his book as well without her turning around to see him.

And yet, as those thoughts roiled in his head, Owen found himself drawing closer to his wife. She was muttering under her breath.

"Silly books," he heard her say.

He found himself torn between feeling amused and feeling annoyed. It was as though she always knew where to be right before he arrived. Surely, she could not read his mind. So what was it that was pulling them together like this?

Though he meant to turn in the other direction, Owen found his feet guiding him toward his wife.

He moved a little faster as Georgiana reached far off from her ladder. The sight made his stomach clench. Stretching like that was going to throw her off balance. She could fall, and she wasn't close enough to the ground. In fact, she could very well––

"No!" Owen lunged forward when she slipped from the ladder just as he had feared.

It was his only focus. Three steps separated them. He sprang over to close the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her as they fell hard to the ground. The air was knocked out of his lungs. He stared up at the ceiling, holding back the urge to panic.

"Owen?" He tightened his grip on her when he felt her shift. "Good Lord."

He grunted, sharply inhaling. "Don't move."

All he needed was a moment. There was a thudding in his skull, and he felt as if he had broken every bone in his back. Bones, muscles—everything. He drew in another breath and then sighed in relief.

Georgiana's face came into view. She was lying on top of him, her elbow by his shoulder as she looked down at him. A long strand of hair had fallen across her cheek to settle on his chest.

"Are you all right?" she whispered.

"I think so. I'm not dead," he added when she bit her lip.

The view suddenly made him wish he was, when he found himself craving the chance to touch her there. Or kiss her. They hadn't really kissed yet, had they? What a shame. They were married, after all. They deserved a kiss. His heart rate quickened.

"You saved me." She smiled and tilted her head. Her hair brushed against his cheek some more. Upon smelling gardenias, his breath caught in his chest. "That was very kind of you."

I forgot how pretty those dark green eyes are.

He slowly shook his head. "Anyone would have done the same were they in my position."

"But no one was in your position," she pointed out. "Only you. You did it."

As she spoke, Owen became more aware of the rest of his body and how she was lying half on top of him. This was the closest he had been to his wife, so far. Though he meant to let go, his grip around her waist tightened. And she made no move to get away from him. He searched her face carefully, unable to look away.

It was only a moment, but it felt as though they were the only people in the entire world.

"Perhaps," he murmured.

His gaze landed again on her lips, and he shifted slightly. Then she did the same and began to lean down. It felt as though he had been buried in a field of flowers.

Before their lips could meet, however, they heard a squeak from the doorway behind them. "I beg your pardon!" Miss Helen squeaked. "I'll just leave."

Owen opened his eyes. Reality came crashing down around him harder than it had in a long time.

"What was that?" Georgiana looked over her shoulder.

"Mrs. Helen!" He nudged her off him, pushing her to the ground so he could sit up. "Mrs. Helen, it wasn't…"

Though he hurriedly pushed himself to his feet, the housekeeper was already gone, and the library doors were open just a crack. He ran his hands through his hair as he mumbled in irritation.

Behind him, Georgiana fumbled with her skirts. "What was that?" she asked. Her brow furrowed when they glanced at each other again.

"What was what?" he asked.

Nothing. That's what Owen was already telling himself. Nothing had happened, and nothing would happen in the future. Why he had let himself almost get carried away made no sense.

I don't have time for this. For her.

"I don't… Well, I'm not…" She scrambled up to her feet.

Belatedly, Owen realized he should have helped her up all the way, but he feared touching her now. Even as she took a step closer, he took one step back.

"Don't you want to talk about what just happened?"

He frowned. "You mean about your fall?"

Georgiana stared at him before folding her arms across her chest. "I was not talking about my fall. Besides, it was hardly a fall, and I was fine."

"I nearly wasn't. You could have crushed me," Owen found himself saying.

Opening her mouth, his wife stared at him for a minute. He replayed their conversation to see where he had gone wrong. His gut told him he could do better than this. But his stubbornness sank low inside of him, refusing to give up his position.

"I'm not that heavy. Already you said you were fine," she noted. "Besides, you didn't have to save me. I wasn't expecting you to show up."

"If I hadn't, you could have broken your neck."

"I already gave you my gratitude, what more do you want of me?" she asked in exasperation.

He grunted, stepping back at her attitude. It couldn't very well be his fault that she was in such a mood.

Squaring his shoulders, Owen said, "I don't want my wife to break her neck because she did something foolish. If you need something you cannot reach, you ask a servant to do the work for you. You don't need to risk yourself like that."

"Thank you so kindly for your advice," Georgiana returned drily. "Do you have any other wonderful words of wisdom before you disappear again?"

"I'm not disappearing. I have work that requires my attention."

"No, you're avoiding me," she responded.

Irritation flared within him. Owen sucked in a sharp breath, not appreciating being called out like this. How had she noticed? He wondered if one of the servants had told her what he was doing.

But it doesn't matter. It doesn't. She should be glad I'm giving her space and freedom. Georgiana has nothing to complain about.

"You…"

"Yes?" Georgiana prompted when he didn't continue. Her bright eyes flashed with indignation. She lifted her chin, waiting for him to continue.

What more could he say?

Owen huffed and shook his head, trying to find the right words. But being around his wife was too much. There was a reason he tried to stay out of her way. It was the best-case situation for them both.

"You should stick to what you know. Be a lady and stop being trouble," he huffed out at last.

Not wanting to risk her talking back at him, Owen turned on his heel and left. The library and his wife disappeared behind him. Down the hall he went and back up to the greenhouse.

His plants would be safe and secure up here, where they couldn't talk back or irritate him. Locking the door upon reentering the space, he paused and let out a heavy sigh of relief. This was his sanctuary. He didn't have to leave here for any reason for hours. He could have peace here.

There was a small shuffling sound up ahead. He frowned, reopening his eyes.

Out came his gardener. Davies sniffed at the sight of him and then frowned right back. "Where's the book?"

Right, the book. The book Owen had promised to retrieve from the library. The book he had forgotten about since he had found his wife there and saved her from breaking her neck.

"Hang the book," Owen muttered. "We don't need it."