by Lower, Becky
She nodded. “Perfectly all right. So then, let’s get started.”
He’d mistakenly thought sitting would further aid in his attempts to keep his hands to himself. He forced his fingers to uncurl from the tight fists they were in, and wrapped them around the pencil and sketchpad. His vision became unfocused when Violet leaned over the table to show him the dried pollen she’d cultivated several days prior. If he merely extended his hand, he could caress her breast and tease the nipple he’d gotten a glimpse of earlier. He held on to the edge of the table and refocused his good eye on the pollen. His own pollen maker cried out for relief.
“Notes, Parker. You promised this time you’d take notes.” Violet tapped the blank page in front of him, corralling his runaway thoughts and putting them back in line. “Can you see well enough to write with one eye closed, or should I jot down the steps for you?”
He straightened in his seat, willing his body to behave. “I can see plenty well with one eye. And I did see plenty a bit earlier.” His one good eye caught hers and he winked at her, amused by her sharp intake of breath.
She patted her out-of-control curls. “A gentleman would not mention it, sir.”
“Well, I’m no proper English gent then. I’m an American.” Parker patted his chest.
“And Americans are callous and crude?” Violet spoke in a low voice, which wobbled on the final word.
Did she really consider him callous and crude? If so, she’d never agree to come to America with him. Perhaps he fought an uphill battle for her affections. Perhaps he should throw in the towel. Perhaps he’d be better off merely taking notes and wrapping up his business here. He glanced at her as she bent to her work, thought of the bare shoulder he’d seen earlier, and groaned internally. Just get through the next few days, Parker, and you’ll be safely on your way home.
• • •
How did Parker manage to turn her world upside down with a mere glance? Violet attempted to control her wild thoughts, which were dashing every which way. The sooner they could get through the steps in the hybridization process and she could escape from the cloistered hothouse area, the sooner she could begin to put her life back in order again.
She cleared her throat. “The next step is to find a healthy, clean bloom on the female plant and remove its petals.”
“Similar to what you were doing to yourself this morning?” Parker’s eye twinkled in amusement. At least he’d enjoyed her embarrassment. Her cheeks flared as his gaze floated down her body, stopping momentarily at her breasts before coming back up to her eye level.
She cleared her throat. “Moving along. After we denude the flower, we pluck off the pollen from the bloom.” Parker’s brow climbed his forehead at her mention of baring the rose, and she gritted her teeth. “I’ll brook no more crude comments from you, Mr. Sinclair.”
He splayed his hands out, and his one good eye widened with innocence. “I didn’t utter a word.”
“You don’t need to talk to get your lascivious comments across, you cheeky American. Please don’t act the child. We are discussing serious business. Read back to me what you’ve written so far.”
He glanced at his notepad and flashed her a sheepish grin. “I’m afraid I got caught up in the spectacle of what you were doing and neglected to write anything down. Take me through the steps once more, please.” He picked up a discarded petal from the Lady Banks rose, lifted it to his nose for a sniff, and rolled it between his fingers. The lump in Violet’s throat grew as he caressed the petal. She attempted to speak, but no sound emerged. What would be the sensation if his fingers slid over her cheek in such a fashion?
She broke from his mesmerizing one-eyed stare and denuded another bloom, plucking off the pollen. She then took a small brush, rolled it into the dry pollen harvested from the male plant, and applied it to the stigma, relaying to Parker in exacting detail every step of the process. She took a quick glance over her shoulder, pleased to see Parker finally writing things down. Perhaps they could get through this item on Parker’s list unscathed.
“I’ll apply the pollen two or three more times before I’m finished, since once is never enough.” She packed up her supplies and straightened. And froze. Parker stood directly behind her, and his arm snaked out to encircle her waist.
“You are correct, dear Violet. Once is never enough,” Parker whispered, his breath tickling the back of her neck. “I’ve been needing to take you into my arms again ever since our first time. There’s something about your hothouse that heats the blood as well as the air.”
Violet’s breath caught in her throat as his hand glided up from her waist and encircled her breast. Just a touch, so gentle she could barely feel it. But it set her on fire. She twisted around and faced him.
“Can I kiss you with your poor lip so damaged?” She ran her finger lightly over his split lower lip.
“If you don’t kiss me, I’ll surely perish.” Parker nudged her cheek with his nose.
She rose on her tiptoes, holding on to his shoulders for balance. Her kiss started off softly, his broken lip uppermost in her mind. He’d been beaten up because of her. The last thing she needed to do was to inflict more pain. He tugged her closer, and she could feel his manhood bumping up against her, sending a bolt of white-hot need to the spot between her legs, suddenly damp and sticky. Similar to her Lady Banks’ stigma.
He curled a hand around the back of her head and deepened the kiss, his damaged lip forgotten in the face of pure lust, pure need. Violet opened her lips and accepted his tongue’s exploration. He tasted of eggs and butter. A sizzle of heat ran down her spine, making her knees weak and her toes curl in her sensible work boots. Parker cupped her bottom through her gown, lifted her, and sat her on the table, which had been recently used as a place of instruction. Only now the instructor had become Parker, and she a willing student.
He leaned her back onto the table and stood between her legs, slowly moving the skirt up to expose her thighs. Her breathing became ragged as he continued to ply her with kisses, removing her attention from the way he lifted her skirts. His fingers caressed the delicate skin on her thighs, making her entire leg tingle and her center twitch in anticipation. For what, she only had a vague idea, but she couldn’t wait to find out more.
His hand kept moving higher and higher until he fingered the cloth of her drawers. Even then, he took his time, running a finger around the edges of the material, the whole while kissing her so she couldn’t get a breath, couldn’t slap his hands away and beg him to stop. Couldn’t beg him to continue.
His wicked, clever fingers found the slit in her drawers and shifted inside, tugging gently on the wedge of hair he found there. She gasped, she moaned, she quivered. Her body rose to meet his hand as he explored.
Then, he touched the spot that had been pulsating, waiting for him. “Ooh, Parker,” she whispered as he caressed her sweetness as if she were a rose petal. Her body tightened under his ministrations. His thumb continued to caress her while his finger slid inside her. “I’ve died and gone to heaven,” Violet whispered into his neck as she crested for the very first time, her entire body shivering in delight. Her hands were on his shoulders as he lowered her skirts again and sat her upright. “When is it your turn?” Violet brushed her finger over his poor abused mouth before she placed a hand tentatively on the front of his pants, over his bulging shaft.
He removed her hand hastily. “I can’t continue with you, Violet. I can’t compromise you. I’m about to leave the country.” He helped her off the table and took a step back.
Her eyes filled with tears as she brushed soil off her hips and back and straightened her skirts. “So I’m merely a passing fancy? Are you truly cut from the same cloth as Davey? It’s only unfortunate that you didn’t have a bet going. You got a whole lot further than he ever did.” Her voice broke, and his arms circled her again, tugging her close, kissing her cheek.
“Never consider yourself only a passing fancy. You’ve made me live again, to consider starting over again with
a wife and family. No one has been able to do that in all the years since Sarah died.” He kissed her hair, breathing in her essence. A few tears escaped as she stood in his embrace. “Your place is here and mine is thousands of miles away.”
“And you can’t forgive the British for what they did to you and your family.” She backed away. “Am I right?”
He plowed his hand through his long dark hair that she had only recently admired as it fell over his brow. Now, it drove home the fact he happened to be a disheveled American, not a proper Brit. She’d best keep in mind with whom she dealt until he left.
He raised his hands as if to disagree with her assessment of their situation. Then, he lowered them and shrugged. Words were not needed.
She strode quickly past him, out of the hothouse and into a cooler part of the greenhouse. She hid behind her desk, waiting to see what he would do next.
Her heart broke as the door closed behind him without a further word. She picked up her black pen to cross off Day Fifteen with tears in her eyes. Then she stopped, because she still had to suffer through a dinner and dance with Parker yet tonight. Dear Lord, how would she be able to face him again? In front of her father and Lord Weymouth? To discuss the merits of her work in a succinct manner when her thoughts were so disheveled? Lord Weymouth would certainly see her for the fool she was and never put in a good word for her with the Royal Horticultural Society.
Her hand shook as she lowered the pen. She would patch together her broken heart and get through the evening, not letting Parker see how he so devastated her. Then, she’d work twice as hard as she would normally, to get him packed up and on his way in just a few days instead of stretching things out. That had been her plan this morning, hadn’t it? And nothing had happened to change her plan. She closed her eyes and relived the sensation of Parker’s hand gliding up her leg to her center. Quite a bit had happened, actually. She sighed—a long, contented, satiated sigh—and then picked up her pen again. She could at least cross off half an “x.”
Chapter Nineteen
Parker waited with Edgar in the parlor of the Wilson home. Violet would soon enter the room, and Parker fidgeted with his poorly tied cravat as he waited. What could he possibly say to her? His actions in the greenhouse had been crude yet electrifying, his manner unforgiving yet stimulating. He’d been beating himself up all afternoon for taking advantage of her breathtaking lack of guile. Her sweet innocence. Which he had almost stolen. Well, he’d get through this dastardly dinner, pack his order in a matter of days, and be on his way home, leaving all temptation behind.
Edgar paid no mind to his agitated state. “This should be a most entertaining evening, Parker. I’ve only been inside Lord Weymouth’s home a few times before this and am anxious to see more rooms. Of course, one could visit the home twenty times and not see every room in the place, it’s so huge.”
“My thought exactly.” Parker nodded in agreement. “Why would someone need such a large home? Does his lordship have many children?”
Edgar chuckled. “There’s the rub. His wife and both his children have passed on before him, so he rambles around in the house alone. Of course, he has a full staff of servants, and he hosts parties at the estate that last for days during the season and the summer, and then there’s the big gala at Christmas time, so there’s usually more than just the staff and him in the house, but still . . . ”
Edgar’s musings were interrupted, and his gaze wandered toward the door. “Ah, this must be Violet.”
The swish of Violet’s skirts was the first sound Parker picked up on. His gaze fell on her as she entered the room, and he lost his breath. The wild mane of curls had been tamed into a lovely updo, with tendrils gracing her face. A shiny blue ribbon the same shade as her eyes had been woven into her hair. Her gown, a darker blue watered silk with cream accents, complemented her skin tone. The sleeves ended at her elbows and had lace dripping from them. She had a pair of cream-colored gloves in her hands.
“There you are, Violet,” Edgar intoned. “Had to keep the men waiting so you could make your entrance, eh?” He took a step toward her and kissed her cheek. “You are a vision in blue this evening.”
“Thank you, Father. If you’ll hold my gloves, I’ll tie your cravat, as always.” Violet handed the gloves over and wove the ends of the cravat properly.
“I can’t figure out why men’s fashion has evolved to this state, where a woman or a manservant is needed to help us get ready for a meal.” Edgar murmured while Violet worked on his cravat.
“It never bothered you when Mother was living. In fact, you rather enjoyed having her fuss over you.” Violet’s voice hitched, and she patted her father’s chest.
Edgar placed his hand over hers and kissed her cheek again. “From the looks of Mr. Sinclair, you’ll need to tie his as well. I’ll go see if the carriage is ready while you do so.”
Edgar handed back her gloves and departed the room. Violet glanced at Parker for the first time since she’d entered. She set her gloves on a table, took a step forward, her wounded eyes staring up at him, and Parker could feel his heart shattering. When she grabbed the ends of the cravat, he could feel her tremble, and he raised a hand to cover hers. She shook him off and yanked on the cravat, which quickly resembled a noose. Parker choked as Violet tightened the knot.
He put his hands up and yanked away the offensive tie, giving himself some breathing room. “I thought you said you didn’t strangle people in front of witnesses.” He tried for humor and caught a glimmer in her eyes. Maybe they could get through the evening.
“I changed my mind.” She tightened the knot again. “Besides, we’re alone for the moment. No one need ever be the wiser.”
Voices rang out in the hallway, and Poppy burst into the room, followed by Iris, who grabbed her arm.
“I apologize, Violet and Parker. I tried to keep her away.” Iris held on to Poppy and attempted to force her from the room. Poppy shook her off and stood in front of the couple. Violet had removed her hands from his shirt the moment the noise erupted in the hallway, and Parker missed her warmth. Yet he couldn’t help but smile as Poppy gazed at them.
“You’re a right proper country gentleman, Mr. Sinclair. The waistcoat and breeches fit you perfectly. I did a good job selecting your wardrobe. And Violet, you are beautiful. You should always wear your hair like that.” Poppy rose up on her tiptoes and brushed Violet’s tresses.
“Thank you, Poppy. Now that we’ve passed inspection, you need to run along. I must finish tying Mr. Sinclair’s cravat before we leave.” Violet’s eyes glimmered with excitement as Poppy and Iris exited the room.
“Saved from strangulation by Poppy.” Violet chuckled and tied off Parker’s cravat with a flourish. “I do agree with Poppy, though. Your attire fits you perfectly, and you could almost pass for a proper English gentleman. Until you open your mouth, anyway, and that crude American accent emerges.”
“And I agree with Poppy as well,” Parker replied as he brushed a curl back from Violet’s cheek. “You are beautiful.”
Violet swallowed hard at his statement, and her cheeks bloomed with color. She spun around to the door. “We should go. Father’s probably waiting.”
After assisting Violet to a seat in the open carriage, Edgar dashed around to the opposite side and climbed aboard, taking the reins in the center of the carriage. Parker had no choice except to sit next to Edgar, as far from Violet as possible. Considering her maneuvers with his cravat, he should be grateful he didn’t need to sit near her, but instead he chafed. She appeared the picture of grace and stateliness in her lovely gown as she tugged on her gloves. Parker took a deep breath of the cool night air and tore his gaze from her. But the sounds she’d made in the hothouse earlier, the little mewling moans and gasps, still rang in his ears, upsetting his plans to leave England with only plants. He couldn’t wait for this night to end. And he couldn’t wait for this night to begin. He’d slip his hand around her waist when they danced, inhale her musky rose scent, m
aybe nibble on an earlobe if he could get away with it unnoticed. He drew a deep breath of the night air, hoping to settle himself.
Lord Weymouth’s butler ushered the trio into the parlor, where their host and an assortment of other guests awaited them. Violet curtsied and Edgar shook Lord Weymouth’s hand. “Ah, Edgar, so nice to see you again. And Violet, you’ve grown into a lovely young lady since I last spoke to you.” His gaze lingered on Violet before he shifted his glance to Parker, extending his hand. “And you must be the American the whole town’s been talking about.”
“Guilty as charged.” Parker grinned.
“I got the full story about your run-in with Carson. I hope the incident hasn’t colored your opinion of our country.” Lord Weymouth ushered them to the fireplace where the other guests were already assembled, and they sat.
Parker took a breath. “Overall, this visit has been quite pleasant. I’ve seen your country in a completely different light.”
Lord Weymouth nodded. “Yes, I’m certain most of your country doesn’t hold England in the highest regard. I still recall your Mr. Jefferson’s intense interest in our English gardens when he visited here with John Adams years ago from the colonies. That, and our architecture, were about the only things he considered important.”
“But now that the wars are finished, I hope those of us in the States can have decades of prosperity ahead of us.” Parker wished to put an end to any discussion of any feelings he now harbored about the country, and one English lady in particular.
His wish granted, they were finally escorted into dinner. Lord Weymouth asked Parker about how Thomas Jefferson spent his time now that he was no longer president, and asked only a few questions about the man before his attention shifted from Parker to Violet. “Now tell me what you’ve been doing in the greenhouse with your hybridizing efforts.”
Violet’s eyes lit up as she spoke of the subject near to her heart, and of her Lady Banks. Parker paid close attention to Lord Weymouth, surprised he showed a genuine interest in her work. And in her. He had assumed the man had only a passing interest in roses and gardens and would not take her work seriously, despite his membership in the Royal Horticultural Society. Parker grew uncomfortable as the older man’s gaze traveled time and again to Violet’s décolletage during their conversation. Not just her work was enticing to the man.