Thus the necessity for diversification. He swirled the wine in his glass, fashioning a small vortex. If a cotton mill burns down, or the canal bringing iron becomes impassable, I have other sources of income.
Yet any one of those ventures is also vulnerable to misfortune.
Never the ones in which I invest. He could say this assuredly.
She tilted her head to one side, considering. Never?
Not a one. So youve no fear of becoming destitute.
Her laugh was unexpectedly low and husky, sensuous for all its innocence. Ive already been destitute. I have no fear of that condition. But, she continued,
how is it that none of your investments suffer disappointment? If what you have said is true, that most everything meets with failure at some point, you must be either very sagacious or very lucky.
A compound of both. The Devils gift remained a secret known only to him and the other Hellraisers. As far as Anne and the rest of the world understood, the Devil was an abstract, an idea preached about on Sundays and on street corners, but never truly believed as real. If he told Anne of what had transpired beneath a Roman ruin three months earlier, she would have him committed to Bedlam. There was nothing to be gained by telling her.
No, she could not know. Her learning about his magic would jeopardize this tentative connection growing between them, and he foundto his surprisehe valued that connection too much to place it at risk.
So it was luck and wisdom that saw you from a saddlers son to ... She waved her hand at the parlor, its walls covered in ivory damask, gilded carvings adorning the mirrors, moldings, and sconces. In truth, he found the style of the room to be oppressively ornate, but had permitted the designer to decorate the whole house as he pleased. Naturally, the man had employed the most expensive designs and artisans.
Leo had been home too infrequently to be bothered. So long as his house had displayed his wealth, he did not care.
Now, however, seeing Anne like a bryony amongst rotten hothouse roses, he found that he did.
Abruptly, he got to his feet. Anne blinked up at him in confusion, until he came around to pull out her chair. This room feels choked. Theres a garden out back. At least, he amended, I believe there is one.
It has paths and a fountain, though it is a little barren so early in the year. She rose, and he caught her scent of green meadow and young woman.
He had an urge to place his mouth at the juncture of her neck and her shoulder. But it was too soon. Instead, he strode to the door and said to the footman waiting outside, Have Mrs. Baileys maid fetch a cloak for her mistress. And dont light torches in the garden. After the glare of indoors, he wanted the darkness.
He turned back to Anne. You dont mind. Leo realized he spoke this more as a directive than a question, but he wanted out of this room, out of the house. And he wanted her with him.
I often walked in the garden at night. After the chaos of the day, it gave me some peace.
He would scarce recognize peace if it shot him in the face.
In a moment, Annes maid appeared with a sapphire woolen cloak. Leo took the cloak from the maid, dismissing her with a nod. He stepped close to Anne and, with a flourish, draped the garment around her slim shoulders. A flush of awareness pinked her cheeks as he worked the fastening at her throat. Good. He wanted her affected by him, for he found himself growing more and more responsive to her.
Claiming his glass of wine, he offered her his arm. Her fingers rested lightly on his sleeve. Had his other hand not been occupied with his glass, he would have clasped her fingers closer. A testing, to see whether she would retreat, or push forward. Yet without the slightest provocation on his part, her hold became more secure, fingers curving with purpose around his forearm.
Desire knifed through him. He mentally shook himself. Im a sodding boy again. A time in his life when just the fan of a girls eyelash could rouse his cock. Now, years later, only the firmer press of Annes fingers on his arm caused him to respond.
Comfortable? He wasnt.
At her nod, they walked downstairs and then out together. Brittle air scented with smoke and fog bit at exposed skin, but after the close heat of indoors, Leo welcomed the bite. He led her down pathways paved with crushed shells. Accustomed more to purposeful striding than a placid stroll, Leo forced himself into an even, steady pace, feeling the cold air abrade his lungs.
Bare-branched privet hedges squatted beside the path, and Leo could just make out in the darkness the skeletal arms of espaliered fruit trees reaching toward the sky. He tried to remember what might grow in the neat rectangular beds and found that he could not.
In the spring, this will be a very pretty spot. Anne spoke softly, a deference to night and its muted expectation. Broom, and Sweet William, and candytuft. The pear trees will have lovely white flowers.
It was the first he knew of it, or even what fruit the trees might bear.