Bound by Honor

Chapter 12

Sudden embarrassment filled her, along with the heat spreading in her

cheeks. She had a plan to break this marriage. He was helping her to

achieve that goal. And she, instead of focusing on her future,

contemplated the shape of his mouth!

“Do you like it? Will it suit you?” He didn’t step back. From the short

distance, his voice sounded also different, softer, huskier.

Her insides clenched unexpectedly. Letitia forced herself to step away

from him.

“Yes,” she replied, trying to ignore the little twisting sensations. “You must

know I do not allow anyone in my studio, except Jose—that is, Miss

Fourier.”

“No one comes in here anymore,” he said. His tone was again distant and

businesslike. “Petre, my steward, can move the plants to one of his

hothouses, or sell them.”

“Oh.” She blinked at him, shocked, but his features became once more an

inscrutable barrier. The regret that the lush greenery would be removed

gave way to the sudden realization of who had created this garden. “The

large trees can stay,” she suggested. “But what about the fireplace? Even

with the glass, the sun alone will not keep this room warm in winter.”

“Do you see the openings in the floor, covered with the iron grills?” he

asked, and when she nodded, continued, “Petre found a way to heat this

entire room without a single fireplace by conducting the heat pipes under

the ground, more or less the way hothouses are kept warm, but without the

accompanying odor. This is probably the most comfortable room in the

entire house in winter.”

“You won’t regret losing your garden?”

“No.” He glanced around. “The gardener has enough to do without tending

to a jungle every day. Besides, it shall be easier to make the necessary

changes here than elsewhere in the house.”

Aware of his presence immediately behind her and careful to avoid

another collision, Letitia headed for the back wall. She stopped in front of

it, looking at a four-armed figure in a strange stance with one leg lifted, and

stole a quick, sly glance at Sir Percival.

The scowl on his face suggested he would be happier elsewhere. Or

maybe he would be happier if she were elsewhere. Why give her the

orangery, then?

Letitia answered her own question. He was as coldly practical and as

calculating as her father. Adjusting the orangery for her was, by his own

admission, cheaper than altering some other part of the house.

But why should it matter to her? She would have a wonderful space in

which to work and prepare for the day she could leave this place forever.

The more paintings she took with her, the better.

“I shall give you the details tomorrow,” Letitia murmured, noticing his dour

expression.

“Very well.” He nodded. “Let me find Mrs. Waters.”

Percy followed Letitia along the path chartered by tubs and containers.

She was as much in awe of Sarah’s creation as everyone else. She ought

to be. He had spared no expense to please Sarah. Just those pieces of a

ruined temple decorating the wall had commanded the price of a small

cottage. At the time, he’d been ready to spend tenfold as much just to see

Sarah smile.

Now Letitia would have her painting studio in here. If that kept her off his

back, it was going to be worth all the trouble.

A scent both new and almost familiar wafted by his nostrils, and Percy

inhaled deeper to confirm his guess. Yes, it was the same scented water

he smelled yesterday when he kissed her at the altar.

If one could call it a kiss. But that was an entirely different subject

requiring no further consideration.

As soon as he and Stanville signed the papers, Percy had decided to

keep this marriage white. The apprehension, if not fear, with which Letitia

had eyed him yesterday had reinforced his conviction that he made the

right decision. He hoped she had slept peacefully in her new bed, as he

had told her she could.

A twinge of compassion touched his heart. He knew how one felt,

uprooted from home and transplanted to an unknown place, with only a

few possessions at hand forming connections with the world of the past.

No wonder Letitia was so protective of her companion, the only person

here she’d known for more than a couple of days.

His gaze slid to the pale-gold mass of hair confined to the knot near the

top of her head. Fleetingly, he imagined taking it down to see how long it

was. She was a beautiful woman, though her looks didn’t matter one whit,

of course. Once he had made the decision to barter his freedom for his

deepest desire, her youthful attraction was entirely beside the point. He

would have married her even if she were ugly as a gargoyle and twice his

age. So allowing himself some pleasure offered by her appearance was

not going to change anything.

Percy inhaled deeply again in hopes of catching another waft of Letitia’s

perfumed water. Though not overbearing, it held its own against the

fragrance of Sarah’s plants.

He forced himself to get off that path. It was too slippery. His mind turned

to practicalities. He would eventually inform her of his plan. If, after a while,

he decided she was responsible enough to live on her own, that indeed

there would be no other scandal, he would offer her a separation and a

few thousand a year from her own dowry, the money he had already made

hers when he was in London.

He had no intention of taking a single penny of Stanville’s money for

himself. He would keep only what was his. But he also had no intention of

spending a single penny of his own money on Stanville’s daughter. If she

survived him, she would be a very rich widow, without any detriment to his

estates. If he survived her, he would give away her fortune to various

charities, under her name. If all went well, after a year or so of this

not-to-be-consummated marriage, they would probably never see each

other again.

They would not see each other very often anyway. The morning visit to

Wycombe Oaks from which Percy had just returned before she got out of

bed confirmed what he already knew. His old house was going to claim

much of his attention for months to come. He had already sent an

advertisement to hire a second steward. Petre could not be expected to

handle everything by himself.