“There are many more, but not—”
“May I see?”
He had his hand poised, ready to turn the page, but he waited until she agreed. She appreciated that he didn’t just paw through her sketchbook without waiting for her permission. So she agreed.
“You may look, but remember, these are only ideas—”
“I understand.”
She doubted it, but in this she erred. He flipped backwards through the pages and began asking questions. Why this over that? Did she consider such a thing? Oh yes, he could see that she had. But what about this? Oh, that’s clever.
On and on, and he never seemed to tire. And while her considerations had simply been for the flowers themselves, he thought about the workers assembling the crates, the ease with which they could lift and carry them. A dozen ideas discussed, sketched, and discarded again. It was awkward trying to talk to him across the carriage with him facing and her trying to see things upside down. Besides, Webster had fallen asleep and was pushing her knees into Gwen as she sank on the squabs.
“Give me your hand please,” Gwen said at one point.
Lord Sayres looked up from the current sketch with a frown. “What? Oh, certainly.”
He extended his hand and she gripped it tight, pulling herself upright such that she could spin around and drop down beside him. It was a tight maneuver, but it was necessary, especially as she wanted to see what he had written along the edge of the latest design thoughts.
She landed with an “umph,” then had to adjust her skirt from where it had twisted beneath her. Eventually she had it set and she blew out a sigh of relief. Webster was no longer pressing her knee hard into her thigh. No, instead she had the whole of Lord Sayres’s thigh hot against hers. His arm and shoulder knocked against hers until he shifted such that his arm lay behind her on the squabs. Indeed, given the confines of the carriage, they pressed rather intimately together.
“Is that better?” he asked.
“If you’re uncomfortable, I can go back,” she said. “I just thought this would be easier than trying to look upside down at the page.”
“I am most comfortable,” he drawled. “And you?”
She was hot because her cheeks were burning from the flirtatious look he gave her. It flustered her. Certainly gentlemen had flirted with her before, but this was the first time such a smoldering look had ever affected her. It was an invitation to things she’d been thinking about already. How could she not? The last time they were this close together, they’d been dancing. Or kissing.
Fortunately, he didn’t press closer or even keep his gaze on her for long. Within a few moments, he turned back to the sketchbook and she was able to breathe again. Which was a relief and a disappointment all at once.
He began asking questions again and before long they were deep in discussion. They finished on the design, proceeded next to his plans for this Season, then the next year’s Season, then the one beyond that. He had ideas for the next five to ten years depending on how quickly and how popular their business became. It was enough to fill the time through two changes of horses and supper. Her head was swimming by the time she climbed into the carriage after their third change of horses, but it was only after his explanation of the Dutch tulip market of the 1600s that she cried done.
She could take no more discussion, no more money talk, and certainly no more sketching because the light was gone. He was better than she at all of this business stuff, and all she wished to do was climb into a bed in absolute silence with only the smell of her plants to disturb her.
He chuckled. “Then it is a good thing that we will be stopping soon. I declare that we have made good progress this day on all counts.”
They certainly had in all but one. After today, she wanted absolutely nothing to do with the business of flowers ever again. But she couldn’t say that. She’d committed herself to this venture after all, but he had exhausted her.
“I think, my lord, that I shall rest my eyes until our last stop.”
“An excellent suggestion,” he agreed. “I think I shall do the same.”
And so he stretched out his long legs, and she was forced to tilt toward him for that was the only room left to her.
“Would it upset you if I put my arm here?” he asked as he extended it behind her head.
“I don’t mind,” she said. It wasn’t a proper position, but Webster was napping again. She wouldn’t see to object. And Gwen did like smelling his scent.
“Close your eyes,” he said. “I shall catch you if you fall.”
He adjusted until she was all but laying in his arms. Definitely not proper.
“Don’t forget,” he mused softly near her ear. “You’re on the shelf now and your harridan of a maid is right here to protect you. This has been a long day and we’ll have another one tomorrow. Whatever position we land in is perfectly proper.”
“That’s not exactly true.”
“It’s not exactly wrong either.”