“Shall we meet in five minutes?”

“All right.” Lillian gave him a supremely unconcerned smile, as if she were quite accustomed to making clandestine arrangements. “I’ll go first.”

As she took her leave of him, she could feel his gaze on her back, and she knew somehow that he watched her every second until she was out of sight.

CHAPTER 6

As Lillian walked into the orangery, she was suffused in the scent of…oranges. But lemons, bays, and myrtles also cast their fragrance extravagantly through the gently heated air. The tiled floor of the rectangular building was punctuated with iron grillwork vents that allowed the warmth of the stoves on the lower floor to waft evenly inside the room. Starlight shone through the glass ceiling and glittering windows, and illuminated the interior scaffolding that had been loaded with rows of tropical plants.

The orangery was shadowy, with only the flicker of torches outside to relieve the darkness. At the sound of a footstep, Lillian turned quickly to view the intruder. A flash of uneasiness must have revealed itself in her posture, for Westcliff made his voice low and reassuring. “It’s just me. If you would rather meet in another place—”

“No,” Lillian interrupted, mildly amused to hear one of the most powerful men in England refer to himself as “just me.” “I like the orangery. It’s my favorite place in the manor, actually.”

“Mine also,” he said, approaching her slowly. “For many reasons, not the least of which is the privacy it offers.”

“You don’t have much privacy, do you? With all the comings and goings at Stony Cross Park…”

“I manage to carve out sufficient time for solitude.”

“And what do you do, when you’re alone?” The entire situation was beginning to seem rather dreamlike, talking with Westcliff in the orangery, watching the glimmers of stray torchlight score across the harsh but elegant modeling of his face.

“I read,” came his gravelly voice. “I walk. Occasionally I swim in the river.”

She was suddenly grateful for the darkness, as the thought of his unclothed body sliding through the water caused her to flush.

Reading discomfort in her sudden silence, and mistaking the cause, Westcliff spoke gruffly. “Miss Bowman, I must apologize for what happened earlier today. I am at a loss to explain my behavior, other than to state that it was a moment of insanity that will never be repeated.”

Lillian stiffened a little at the word “insanity.” “Fine,” she said. “I accept your apology.”

“You may set your mind at ease with the knowledge that I do not find you desirable in any way whatsoever.”

“I understand. Enough said, my lord.”

“If the two of us were left alone on a deserted island, I would have absolutely no thought of approaching you.”

“I realize that,” she said shortly. “You don’t have to go on and on about it.”

“I just want to make it clear that what I did was a complete aberration. You are not the kind of woman whom I would ever be attracted to.”

“All right.”

“In fact—”

“You’ve made yourself quite clear, my lord,” Lillian interrupted with a scowl, thinking that it was undoubtedly the most annoying apology she had ever received. “However…as my father always says, an honest apology comes with a price.”

Westcliff shot her an alert glance. “Price?”

The air between them crackled with challenge. “Yes, my lord. It’s no trouble for you to mouth a few words and then be done with it, is it? But if you were truly sorry for what you did, you would try to make amends.”

“All I did was kiss you,” he protested, as if she were making far too much of the incident.

“Against my will,” Lillian said significantly. She adopted an expression of wounded dignity. “Perhaps there are some women who would welcome your romantic attentions, but I am not one of them. And I am not accustomed to being grabbed and forcefully subjected to kisses that I didn’t ask for—”

“You participated,” Westcliff retorted, wearing a Hades-like grimace.

“I did not!”

“You—” Seeming to realize that it was an unproductive argument, Westcliff broke off and swore.

“But,” Lillian continued sweetly, “I might be willing to forgive and forget. If…” She paused deliberately.

“If?” he asked darkly.

“If you would do one small thing for me.”

“And that would be?”

“Merely to ask your mother to sponsor my sister and me for the coming season.”

His eyes widened in a most unflattering manner, as if the notion was outside the bounds of reason. “No.”

“She might also instruct us on a few points of British etiquette—”

“No.”

“We need a sponsor,” Lillian persisted. “My sister and I won’t make headway in society without one. The countess is an influential woman, and well-respected, and her endorsement would guarantee our success. I’m certain that you could think of a way to convince her to help me—”

“Miss Bowman,” Westcliff interrupted coldly, “Queen Victoria herself could not drag a pair of savage brats like you along the path of respectability. It’s not possible. And pleasing your father is hardly enough incentive for me to put my mother through such hell as you are capable of creating.”