“I had best arrange the journals, crayons and pencils that I wish to take with me, tonight, then so that I can be ready early enough tomorrow.”
She closed the window shutters, and turned back to the now darkened room. Gabriel had, as she went to the window, taken a few steps further into the room – initially to closer view her canvas. Now, however, she found herself face to face with him. Without thought, she allowed herself to act on impulse – she moved forward, until she stood almost touching him, then raised a hand to trail her fingertip across his lips.
He bent and brought those lips to hers in a kiss which melted her throughout, infusing her with heat, and a sense of the passion contained within him. She wanted nothing more than to press herself against him, to return that kiss with total intensity. She did not. Instead, she pulled back.
“No… you will become smeared with paint…”
He laughed – a sound as full of regret at the truth of her words as it was of amusement.
“And then what would people say?”
“They would accuse us of all sorts of impropriety. And, they would only partly be wrong.”
“And does that idea worry you, Primrose?”
She shook her head, smiling.
“Only in that it would reflect badly upon Raphael and Sera – and I would not do that to them.”
“A noble sentiment. But you are right, we should take care. Much though I might wish…”
She lifted her finger to his lips again, to still the words.
“Let us keep our wishes private. I do not feel that this house is the place for such things to be said.”
He nodded, acknowledging what was unspoken, then offered an elegant bow.
“Perhaps tomorrow, there will be some moment…”
“Yes.”
“I will see you at dinner.”
He bowed again, and left the room.
Primrose stood there, in the shadowy dimness, breathing in the heady mix of the fragrance of his cologne, the familiar scent of paints, and the odd overtones of the local ingredients. She was not sure which of those scents made her the dizzier.
<<<
The pre-dawn light cast a soft glow over the narrow street in front of Señor Pérez’s house as Gabriel settled the box with Lady Primrose’s artists materials into place in the bed of the wagon, beside the two large baskets which contained food and drink, and a smaller box with containers and tools for use, should they find a plant suitable for collecting to take back to the Duke of Elbury. With everything in place, he offered his hand to assist Mary up into the wagon bed, where a pile of blankets had been placed for her to sit on.
Once the back of the wagon was closed, he turned to climb up onto the bench beside the guide, then reached down to take Lady Primrose’s hand and help her up. She eased down onto the seat, her skirts tucked tightly around her, and he felt the heat of her thigh where it pressed against his, for the wagon was not all that wide, and the bench barely wide enough for the three of them.
The guide flicked the reins, setting the horse in motion, and they rattled over the cobbles of the street. As the sun rose behind them, the hill in front of them was bathed in gold, making the shadows of the ravine look even more mysterious. As they left the town behind, the road ceased to be cobbled, and quiet surrounded them, broken only by the softer sound of the wheels on dirt, and the calls of birds welcoming the day.
Beside him, Lady Primrose shifted a little, spreading her skirts about her such that they partly covered his upper leg – and her hand - where it lay, almost in her lap, but not quite. Under the cover of that primly arranged skirt, her fingers traced a pattern on his thigh. He swallowed. That touch burned – as much as fire would, branding him with her presence. Startled, he turned his head a little, and met her eyes.
She smiled, perfectly serene, but her eyes filled with mischief. After a moment, he met that smile with one of his own, and, releasing his hands from where they sat clasped together before him, he allowed the one closest to her to slip down, until it met hers, under the cover of that spread skirt.
Their fingers entwined. The day seemed suddenly crisper, brighter, full of potential.
As they climbed up away from the shore, the character of the vegetation changed, and, despite the distracting delight of her hand in his, Gabriel began to consider the land – did it meet the description of land suited to cochineal farming? Curiosity overtook him, and he started to ask the guide questions.
The man answered, as best he could, with descriptions of the local weather at different times of year, of the types of crops grown on the different parts of the island, of what flowers grew where, of what plants were useful, and what poisonous or pests. Soon, Lady Primrose joined the conversation, and they ended up releasing their grip on each other, for somehow, talking required gestures, and pointing, and more.
He was impressed by the thoughtful nature of Lady Primrose’s questions, and how well they resonated with his own, even though their reasons for asking were so different. They paused a number of times for her to pull out her journal and pencils, and capture some particularly interesting plant, or impressive view, but the guide encouraged them to not stop for too long – if they wished to see the best view, from very high up, then they needed to keep moving.
It was nearing the middle of the day when they reached a point where the narrow winding road came out onto a flatter area.
The steep hills were all around, but along the ridgelines, and in some of the shallower valleys, there were flatter areas – areas which had in some cases been cultivated, and in others looked as if cultivation would be possible. But the most spectacular thing about the place where they had stopped was the view.
With the mountain behind them, the land lay spread out below, a panoramic view down to the sea, where the city could be seen in the distance, with the Cathedral spire standing above it.
“Oh! Can we stop here for some time? I really have to draw this.”
The guide grinned at her reaction.
“Si, Doña Primrose.”
At his acquiescence, she scrambled down from the cart, and hurried to find a spot to sit, whilst Gabriel stepped down more slowly, helped Mary out of the cart, unloaded their food, and Lady Primrose’s box of art materials. She had found a cluster of fairly large rocks, just below a scatter of trees which provided shade, and he took the box to her, before setting about laying out their food on a blanket. Mary rushed over to them.
“No, no, Mr Morton, you mustn’t – I will deal with the food, it’s my job to look after you both!”
Gabriel laughed at her flustered insistence, and bowed, stepping back to let her do as she wished.
The guide took the cart a little further along the hillside, to a spot with even more shade, where a small spring bubbled up into a rock pool under a tree. He unhitched and watered the horse, then left it to graze.
Gabriel went to Primrose, who had extracted a large folding leather portfolio from the box, and opened it to reveal a small number of very large sheets of paper. With the portfolio effectively forming a portable desk, she was already sketching at a feverish rate, capturing the landscape before them with simple sure strokes which somehow magically conveyed far more detail than seemed logically possible.
He dropped to sit beside her on the rock, of necessity very close against her, and simply watched her draw, fascinated, as always, by her skill.
<<<
Primrose was in heaven. This was just the perfect day. There was so much to draw, so much beauty all around her, so many interesting plants, and the view…. and then, of course, there was Gabriel. Here, beside her, touching her, watching her with approval, rather than criticising.
It was all beyond wonderful.
They would have to come back on another day, she knew, for she could not possibly draw everything that she wanted to today, and still look for plants to take back for her father.
The rock was hard beneath her, but she barely noticed, for Gabriel sat bes
ide her, a little on an angle so as not to interfere with the movement of her arm as she drew, but so close, because of the size of the rock, that his body brushed her side, and her back. His scent surrounded her, as rich and warm as the sun.
Time passed, with no sound but the soft scratching of her pencil on the paper, and the quiet buzzing of bees on the flowers nearby. She had noticed the bees in particular, because they were almost all black, unlike the bees in England – they would feature in some of her drawings of flowers, soon.
Eventually, Mary brought plates of food to them, and cups of wine to accompany it, before quietly retiring to sit on the blanket and feed herself. The guide had brought his own food, and, from what Primrose could see, when she looked for him, had settled under the trees near his horse and cart for a siesta. She set aside her drawing, almost regretting the time that eating would take away from it, and turned her attention to the plate and the cup of wine which Gabriel was holding, waiting until she could take it.
As she turned, the movement pressed her against him, and a thrill ran through her at the sensation. His lips curved into a smile, and she knew that he had felt her reaction. She took the plate, trying hard for composure, and carefully balanced it on another of the rocks, then sipped the wine. He lifted his own wine from where it rested on yet another rock, and sipped as well. She watched the rich red liquid wet his lips, and wanted to kiss him, to taste the wine from his mouth.
He was watching her just as intently, and she licked her lips, suddenly nervous, feeling as if something momentous was about to happen. His eyes followed the movement, and became filled with a heated warmth of regard that left her breathless. She tore her eyes away.
“We should eat.”
“Indeed. Although I doubt that food will sate my hunger.”
Primrose stifled a gasp – did he imply…? She suspected that he did.
She lifted food from the plate, and made herself eat it, but she could not, in that moment, have told anyone what it was that she ate. Every part of her was concentrated on the man beside her, the man whose warmth was pressed against her side. They ate in silence, and at last, she set the plate aside, and wet her mouth with wine again.
Over on the blanket, she could see that Mary had succumbed to the warmth of the day, and drifted into sleep, leaning on the food basket. The silence wrapped around them. The bees were busy on the flowers, and a bird swept overhead with a light sweet cry. He met her eyes, and something passed between them, unspoken – complicity in the moment, in a choice.
He set aside his plate and cup, then took hers from her unresisting fingers, and placed it with his. Then his arms slipped around her, and drew her to him, hard against his body, and his lips came down upon hers. Her mouth opened in a little gasp of pleasure, and she allowed herself to melt into his embrace, her arms slipping up around his neck as his tongue traced the shape of her lips, then probed further to the warmth inside.
A moan escaped her, softly, and she traced his lips in return, tasting the wine on them, tasting the stuff of her dreams made real, her body aching with the sensation of his arms around her. The kiss lasted forever, and not long enough. Eventually, they drew apart, both breathing hard.
Primrose looked around, and was relieved to see that both Mary and their guide continued to slumber, unaware.
She turned her eyes back to Gabriel, and a sense of mischief bubbled up inside her – a bright joy in the day, and this moment.
“Well, Gabriel, that was considerably… more… than my imaginings. I don’t suppose you’d care to prove to me that such sensations are consistently repeatable?”
He laughed, his eyes bright with amusement.
“Of course, my Lady – how many repeats will it take, for you to believe in the consistency of my… performance?”
“As many as will fit in the time before Mary wakes, perhaps?”
He pulled her to him again, and whispered against her lips, before taking them more fully.
“Challenge accepted, my Lady.”
<<<
Señor Cristóbal watched from his upper window as the wagon drew up at the door, and Doña Primrose and Señor Gabriel descended from it, with their maid. He had listened to his father and Don Porthaven’s discussions again today, and he was not pleased. His father gave away too much to the Englishman, for too little in return, on a venture which would be years in the proving. There was only one conclusion possible – he would need to do something to prevent the agreement from being signed.
And he was beginning to have a good idea of exactly how to do that.
Chapter Thirteen
Raphael and Sera walked across the market square, arm in arm. In her other hand, Sera held a basket, now filled with a collection of brightly painted toys which she had purchased to take home for Domenic. Some were cunningly carved in the likeness of the birds found on the island, as well as the usual ships and carriages.
Sera leaned close to Raphael and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper.
“And how are the negotiations progressing? I had the impression, when we left the villa today, that you were not happy about something.”
He turned his head a little, to meet her eyes as they continued through the busy square.
“You know me so well. Yes, I was not happy. Whilst things seem positive, there is one aspect which concerns me. The father appears completely ready to commit to this venture on a fair and equitable basis. But the son does not.”
“Oh? Has he voiced his concerns?”
“He has not. He sits to one side, listening, and says little. But he scowls, and at times shakes his head. His father ignores him, barely asks his opinion at all. It disturbs me. If I understood his concerns, then I could address them, but I do not.”
Sera tightened her arm around his for a moment, a wordless reassurance, then spoke softly again.
“Then you must simply trust that the father knows the son well, and will address those issues in private. After all, it is the father who will sign any agreement you may make, in the end.”
“Indeed. But still, it nags at me, as if it matters – and I rarely ignore my instincts on such things.”
“Then perhaps, in the next few days, it will become clear, and you will be able to resolve the matter.”
“I certainly hope so.”
They walked on across the square, back towards the villa, enjoying the warmth of the day, together.
<<<
“I will send you a message, when I know the time and place. Be ready to act, for I may not have much warning. Rest assured, you will be well paid.”
“Si, Señor. You know how to contact me. We will be waiting. The… storage… space is already prepared. You will have the result that you desire.”
“Be sure that I do, or there will be consequences.”
“Si.”
The slightly scruffy man turned, without another word, and slipped into the alley which ran away from the market square towards the poorer part of the town.
His employer stayed, absolutely still, in the shade of an awning, and watched the Englishman and his wife as they crossed the sunlit space. He ground his teeth, irritation filling him. It was not to be borne – he would not allow the English the advantage. Soon, he would be the one with the power.
<<<
Primrose sighed with pleasure as she sank into the heated water. The villa, it turned out, had the luxury of a bathing room, with a deep tiled pool to soak oneself in, a pool which could be filled with heated water at the turn of a tap, from a cistern which was kept always warmed.
It was a luxury which she had decided should be installed into all large English homes. Having seen her settled in the water, Mary had gone to help Sera, who Primrose expected would join her in the warm water soon. For now, that meant that she was alone, which was very, very pleasant.
The water made small sounds as she shifted in it, which overlaid the water sounds from the fountain in the courtyard where the birds called to each other. Otherw
ise, all was quiet. She lay back, thinking of the things she had seen, up in the hills, and deciding what she most needed to return for.
Plants, for her father, definitely. And plants that she wished to draw, or sketch in colour with her crayons. And, if she was completely honest with herself, the hope of more stolen kisses from Gabriel, up there where the world lay at their feet, and there was no one to gainsay them. Her thoughts wandered, and she felt almost drowsy as the waters relaxed her muscles.
A shadow crossed the coloured glass of the window, moving towards the door, but Primrose barely noticed. The door moved, very quietly, then, as she turned to it, frowning, the movement stopped. Perhaps Mary simply hadn’t latched it properly on her way out.
Moments later, a tap came at the door, and then Sera’s voice, informing her that she was about to come in.
“Do! It is wonderful. I must convince Father to install a room like this at Elbury House.”
Sera stepped into the room, clipped the door shut behind her, and dropped a drying cloth and some other clothes onto the bench at one side. Short minutes later, she joined Primrose in the pool.
“You are right – this is wonderful. Have you had a good day? Is your painting progressing as you wish?”
“Yes – mostly. Some aspects of the colours on the birds are so delicate, they are very hard to represent accurately. And the landscape I am working on is just as challenging. I must go up into the hills again, to see the colours of the sea from up there, for I am sure that my memory is not serving me accurately.”
Sera laughed.
“Only you will ever know that. Others will find the art remarkable.”
“That may be true – but that does not stop me from wanting to make it perfect!”
They spoke for a while longer, then reluctantly rose from the water to dry themselves, dress, and go to prepare for dinner. As they walked along the side of the courtyard, Primrose was sure that someone stood in the shadows of a corner, watching them – but when she looked closely, there was no one there. She shook her head. She was obviously in need of sustenance, if she was imagining shadowy figures!
A Minx for a Merchant : Book 5: Primrose: Clean Regency Romance (A Duke's Daughters - The Elbury Bouquet) Page 10