Sweet Enemy

by Heather Snow

  Geoffrey shook his head but couldn’t contain the half smile that spread his lips. “You have outdone me once again,” he said, giving her a nod. “And unlike last time, allow me to extend my sincerest congratulations.”

  She shrugged nonchalantly, but the effect was ruined by her delighted smile. “Thank you.”

  Good God. He would let her win at anything and everything to see that self-satisfied grin upon her face. Of course, he’d prefer to see satisfaction of a different kind overtake her features.

  “This is becoming a rather annoying habit,” he added, knowing she’d take it to mean her besting him. But the truth of the matter was that she kept him in a constant state of arousal.

  Her grin slid into a throaty chuckle that shot straight to his groin.

  He was in serious trouble. Without even trying, she was luring him in like a fat trout.

  He cleared his throat, striving to keep his voice normal. “As promised, the bogs lie just below. Shall we?”

  He motioned her to follow down an ancient winding path, past two-hundred-year-old gnarled holly trees interspersed with rowan, birch, oak and crab apple.

  Perhaps mucking around in the swampy undergrowth would get his mind out of places it shouldn’t be.

  They rode companionably through the landscape, the rich flora proving a needed distraction from the disturbing undercurrents of desire. Geoffrey had forgotten how much he loved this part of Somerton Park…the sounds, the smells. The bluntly toothed petals of mountain pansy and the flowering stalks of heath speedwell that grew on the grassy verge looked exactly as he remembered. These pastures and the woods that surrounded them had been a favorite stomping ground of his as a boy—and a good place to avoid the countess. He wondered if Liliana had been drawn to similar places in an effort to avoid her interfering aunt.

  He veered right as they reached the floor of the valley and dismounted. “The ground becomes quite spongy here,” he said. “We’ll need to go the rest of the way by foot.”

  “Of course.” Liliana climbed down from Amira without his aid, and he couldn’t help but notice her long, long legs as she swung from her mount. His throat went dry and he stepped back.

  He found a spot to rest the horses away from the crab apple trees. Grin nudged him in protest. “Much too much temptation over there,” Geoffrey mumbled, as much to himself as to the horse. “You, my friend, have an appalling lack of self-control.” As does your master. “And I have no desire”—to find myself married to a woman completely wrong for me—“to nurse a sick horse all the way home,” he said, patting Grin on the rump. Grin whinnied and flicked his tail, slapping Geoffrey with coarse, stinging hair.

  Liliana did a poor job stifling her amusement. But as her laughter died, she regarded him with an evaluating look that made him wish he could see her thoughts. “You have great affection for him,” Liliana said after a moment. “And he, you. Did your love of horses lead you to the cavalry? Or the other way around?”

  “My years in the regiment deepened my respect for horses,” he said as they secured their mounts to an ancient oak, “but I learned to love them here at Somerton Park.”

  “Did you ride with your father then?” she asked as they picked their way down the path toward the marsh.

  “No. Alone.” More hovered on his tongue, but he wouldn’t share that, even then, riding had been his escape—only he’d been running from his mother or his parents’ vicious fighting rather than his demons. A change of subject was in order. “Ah, here we are,” he said, gesturing to the largest of the valley’s bogs. “What think you? Is it all that I promised?”

  Liliana pressed her lips together, and her brows dipped into a slight frown, but as she turned, her expression changed. Her head tilted ever so slightly to the side and her gaze fixed on the area, as if she were examining the landscape. Gauging it somehow, giving Geoffrey an intriguing glimpse of the chemist in her.

  “It’s incredible,” she said, walking forward. She hesitated at the edge of the water only a moment before wading in with no missish qualms. She reached for a bunch of bright yellow starlike flowers with leafless stems and snapped a few. She held them up to the light, inspecting them, turning them in her hands. “You’ve a hearty patch of moor-golds,” she said.

  “Moor-golds?”

  “Narthecium ossifragum,” she murmured, her mind clearly on evaluating another stalk of the rather ordinary plant. A wry smile crossed her face and she looked up at him. “Bog asphodel,” she clarified. “I wish I’d brought my satchel. I’d love to collect some.”

  “Pick whatever you wish. I’ll carry them back to the manor for you.” Geoffrey stepped into the marsh, venturing the few feet to join her. “But you must tell me why you want it.” He reached out and brushed his finger over the spiky petal. “It seems a rather ugly flower, as flowers go.”

  She laughed and selected a large, healthy-looking stem. “If you were cursed with the King’s Evil, you might find this ugly little flower quite beautiful.”

  “King’s Evil?”

  “Yes, scrofula,” she said, snapping more stalks. “It’s a form of consumption that attacks the skin, causing great ugly growths, mainly around the neck. It sometimes accompanies traditional consumption, but more times than not, it is curable.” She chose several more flowers, and rather than break them, she tugged them gently from the peat, holding up the clumped root-ball. “Bruised asphodel root can be used to dissolve scrofulous swellings,” she explained, “and the rest of the flower is used as an antispasmodic as well as”—she blinked in her recitation and a light blush stole over her face—“to assist with feminine concerns.” She ducked her head and went back to tugging flowers with a vengeance.

  “I see,” he said, and he did. Saw yet another reason Liliana could never be for him. At four and twenty, she was dressed like a man, standing knee-deep in muck, when by all rights she should be in a parlor somewhere, children tugging at her skirts. He certainly couldn’t see the woman before him, plucking herbal remedies from a swamp, hosting Peers of the Realm and their wives at political dinners. So why did his traitorous body—and he feared something more tender—seem to hope otherwise?

  “So your experiments have something to do with plants, then?”

  She looked up at him, her eyes gauging the intent behind his question, no doubt. By her wary look, Geoffrey imagined she’d experienced much ridicule over the years—indeed, even from him when she’d offered to help him that first night in the library. He kept his gaze open and nonthreatening, as despite his better judgment, he wanted to know more about her. How had a gently bred young woman escaped marriage and pursued science and healing instead? What did she hope to accomplish?

  “Partially,” she said, the word drawing out slowly from her lips. Her gaze shifted over his shoulder, her attention drawn to something behind him.

  Geoffrey turned. Liliana brushed past him and stopped before the strangest-looking plant he’d ever seen.

  “Sundews,” she said, reaching out but not touching. Petals burst from the stems in bright colors—some red, some green, some pink—reminding Geoffrey of Chinese fireworks when they spread through the sky. Each bloom had tiny tentacles with glistening drops of moisture beaded on the tips. “It’s a carnivorous plant, much like a Venus flytrap,” she explained. “But this little beauty has superb medicinal properties.” Liliana looked the plants over, then selected one and reverently plucked it. “Sundews are invaluable in the treatment of lung diseases, severe coughs and breathing difficulty.” She picked three more, cradling them protectively as she waded out of the bog.

  Geoffrey followed, carrying his armful of asphodel, his curiosity riding higher. “So your experiments are partially concerning plants…and?”

  She looked over at him, as if debating how to answer. He remembered her gibberish scribblings. More likely, she was debating how much he’d understand, which irked, true though it probably was. He sensed her mental shrug. “And water and air and living organisms, human and otherwise.”
She paused, thinking. Melodic chirps and the crunching of leaves under their boots filled the silence. Liliana pursed her lips and her brow furrowed, as if struggling to express herself.

  Geoffrey found the effect endearing, which only increased his attraction to her. He shook his head. He was beginning to think that anything Liliana did would arouse him, which was all the more reason he should steer clear of her after this morning.

  “I believe chemistry and physiology are interrelated,” she said. “Inside each living body, chemical processes are occurring all of the time. Much of what we understand of experimental chemistry has changed in the last few decades, yet great debate exists as to whether the chemical substances found in living things are fundamentally different in character from the inorganic.”

  Enthusiasm bubbled in her voice, and her eyes had taken on a zeal reminiscent of passion. Geoffrey glanced away, his body reacting to her excitement, even though his mind knew it had nothing to do with him.

  “I also believe the processes are more similar than we think, and if I can prove the correlation, just think what we could learn about precisely how our bodies work and how to prevent, or at least better treat, disease.”

  He couldn’t keep his eyes from her for long.

  “There has to be a way to isolate the chemicals within living things,” she continued, holding up one of the strikingly beautiful sundews, “like plants, and synthesize and reproduce them to create even more potent medicines.”

  How fascinating she was, and how wholly different from any woman he’d ever known.

  “So you’re trying to…”

  “Ease people’s suffering,” she said, raising her chin. She stared at him, as if debating her next words. “Like yours.”

  Shame heated his face, remembering how she’d offered to help him that first night and how curtly he’d dismissed her. “I owe you an apology—”

  She raised a hand to stop him. “There is no need. You were in pain, which can make even a saint snappy. I had thought it was due to your catching my fall. But now…”

  He stared at her, uneasy and yet fascinated with the turn the conversation was taking. He couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Now?”

  “It’s clear to me that you are in pain almost constantly.” She watched him avidly, and he did his best not to squirm. Her eyes were so large, so very expressive. “And not from any recent injury.”

  Geoffrey regarded her with admiration. She was incredibly perceptive. Hiding the constant pain he’d been living with the past two years had become second nature. He hardly even noticed anymore, it being always in the background…a part of him now, more a constant tension of the muscles around his injury, strained from trying to compensate.

  Still, he didn’t care for the vulnerability Liliana’s words and looks made him feel.

  “Perhaps,” he allowed.

  “Your war wound?” she asked, not mincing words.

  He nodded, not surprised she knew of it. It was no secret, after all, though he never spoke of it.

  “Can you tell me the nature of your injury?” she asked. “I really may be able to help.”

  He regarded her, the desire to open himself both alarming and relieving. “I took a bayonet through the side,” he said. “Actually, it went in my back but came out the side,” he said, remembering the hot white agony, the spill and stench of his own blood. “But I was lucky. It missed my vitals.”

  “But it tore through your muscles,” she said, nodding, “which would have stitched themselves back together however they could. I notice you often smell of mint. Is that a liniment you apply?”

  Again Geoffrey was struck by her perceptiveness. “Yes, an old stable hand suggested I use a salve he’d made for horses.” He shrugged. “It helps.”

  Liliana tugged at her lower lip. “Would you be willing to try a few of my suggestions? They might help as well.”

  “I would,” he found himself saying.

  She smiled, and he was absurdly pleased to have been the one to have caused such a radiant expression. “First, I suggest we add some meadowsweet to your liniment. If we boil the root, it will help with the pain. How do you sleep at night?”

  Geoffrey grinned at her rapid-fire responses. His intoxication with her grew, but this time not because of any physical stirrings, but because of her passion. “Not well. I’m usually so knotted, I require several drinks to relax. And then my bed is so uncomfortable, I end up sleeping on the floor.” He couldn’t believe he was admitting such delicate information.

  “Hmm…” Her mouth twisted to the left. “I suggest less alcohol because it can actually inhibit sleep. We should try a few drops of willow bark beneath your tongue at night and before you do anything vigorous.”

  Geoffrey felt himself flush hot, picturing vigorous things he’d like to do with her.

  Oblivious to his randy thoughts, Liliana went on. She made suggestions such as a heel implant inside his boot on the injured side to compensate while he was walking or standing, and hardwood slats beneath his bed to make it firmer. Simple things that made common sense, something so many young ladies were lacking. But Liliana proved herself every day to be more than just a typical young lady.

  Still, why did she affect him so? He took in her open, easy expression, her simple, free hairstyle, the rough, practical nature of her attire, boys’ togs though they were. She reminded him less of a society debutante and more of…

  Of the women he’d become friends with during the war. That must be why he felt so comfortable with her. Several women had accompanied his regiment throughout the years—wives, mistresses and camp followers alike. Many a night was spent around the fire talking with this woman and that. He was always fascinated by their strength amidst the horror, by their courage, by their natural acceptance of life as it was—sometimes painful, sometimes beautiful, often fleeting. How frivolous those women would find the lives of the ladies of the ton, how impractical. How wasteful. Much like Liliana seemed to.

  He actually smiled. That must be it. No mystery, no stirrings of dreaded love, just comfort breeding familiarity and all that.

  “How did you know I suffer with chronic pain?” he asked, curious. “Most people cannot tell. Or at the very least, they never mention it.”

  She blushed at his reference to her boldness. But she answered. “My father was a scientist—a chemist, actually, but after he met my mother, a local healer, his passion turned to more medicinal science. He had many great theories, was working on several projects that would have helped mankind, but…” She looked away. “He was killed suddenly.”

  Geoffrey blanched at the raw pain in her voice. “Killed? How?”

  She turned her gaze to him and stared into his eyes, as if searching for something. “By street thugs,” she said finally, “when I was ten. My mother died when I was three. She contracted smallpox while caring for a local family.” Liliana lifted her shoulders in a vulnerable shrug that caught at his heart. “I suppose I am an amalgam of my parents. My life’s work, an extension of theirs. I want to use my knowledge and skills to make people’s lives better.”

  Her life’s work.

  Odd to hear the term from a woman. Utterly captivating and provocative and completely misplaced for her gender, as well. Yet he understood, having an overriding passion of his own. But how did she think to carry on such an endeavor with the responsibilities of home and famil— “You really don’t intend to marry at all, do you?”

  She stopped walking, her eyes wide. With a slow shake of her head she said simply, “No.”

  And at once several things about her made sense.

  “You’re only here because your aunt forced you to come,” he said, remembering now how it always seemed Lady Belsham was dragging Liliana around, indeed even that very first night when they’d been introduced.

  A slight frown marred Liliana’s face, but she gave a short nod.

  She’d told him she had no desire to marry, of course, but he realized now that he just hadn’t believed
her, hadn’t understood.

  His chin lowered and he felt his shoulders loosen, as an unexpected mixture of disappointment, regret and relief flowed from his chest through his limbs, muddling his thoughts.

  He should be thrilled, feel quite relieved, as it were. Knowing he could indulge his increasing desire to spend time with Liliana without fear of expectations, that he could enjoy the company of a female who wanted nothing from him but possibly friendship, should fill him with pleasure.

  So why didn’t it?

  Chapter Fourteen

  “M

  other wants to know what you’ve done to run off Lord Aveline,” Penelope inquired as she and Liliana trailed behind a dozen other girls through the high street of the village. The caravan of young misses drew curious glances as they passed, while shopkeepers threw open their doors, rushing out to display hats and ribbons or trays of divine-smelling cinnamon buns in an effort to entice the group inside. “She insists you must have tried another one of your theories on the poor man.” “Of course not,” Liliana said absently. She glanced behind her. Unfortunately, another half dozen girls followed, making it impossible to slip away.