Val nodded solemnly. “Always an important consideration. I thought of some more words.” He took the plate in one hand and Ellen’s wrist in the other and tugged her toward the balcony.

“What kind of words?” Ellen went willingly. The balcony was cool and shady—and safer than the bed.

“Pizzle,” Val said, setting the cake down on a wicker table. “Putz, which I think is a German word, as is schlange. In German it means snake, but the connotation is clear.”

Ellen grinned and did not meet his eyes. “You’ve put thought into this?”

“No,” Val admitted, seating himself beside her on a chaise. “The words keep occurring to me, so I’m passing them along. What have you been thinking about, Mrs. FitzEngle?”

Her past, Ellen wanted to say, but honesty was not going to win this day, not if there were to be happy memories from it.

“Vegetables,” Ellen improvised. “Do you have a favorite?”

He held a forkful of cake before Ellen’s mouth. “At lunch, my favorite was the asparagus with Hollandaise sauce, but the peppers stuffed with potatoes and sausage were also quite good.”

“Naughty man.” Ellen’s mouth watered at the thought of such fare even while Val put a bite of cake on her tongue.

“Very.” He passed her the fork and met her gaze.

He wanted her to feed him. A bolt of heat leapt through Ellen’s middle, and abruptly the cake in her mouth tasted richer, sweeter, and more pleasing to her palate. She took the fork and offered him a small bite. He slipped his lips over the fork and closed his eyes as Ellen withdrew it.

“Delectable.”

“How do you do that?” she asked, passing him back the fork.

“Do what?” Val asked, lashes lowering. “Eat cake?”

“You take a simple moment, something completely mundane, and imbue it with… passion. With subtleties and complexities and unspoken feelings. One feels like one was wading in the shallows, and suddenly, the bottom isn’t there and isn’t anywhere to be found, either.”

“I like the analogy.” Val fed her another piece, sliding the fork very slowly from her mouth, pausing, then removing it entirely. “But I can’t say it’s conscious on my part. Rather like making love or making music—a function of an artistic temperament, I suppose. Let’s fetch a blanket, take these books, and find a quiet, shady spot out of sight of the house.”

She didn’t even think of refusing him but let him lead her at a meandering pace to a spot along a rushing stream where the air was a little cooler and the stream bed a fine, sandy gravel perfect for wading.

He read an Austen novel to her, which was more entertaining than Ellen wanted to admit, and he dozed beside her on the blanket, and he fed her more kisses. The afternoon was turning out to be sweet, lazy, and altogether enjoyable, when Ellen heard Val’s voice in her ear.

“You, my love”—he kissed her neck—“are not wearing drawers.”

“It’s too hot,” Ellen said, smiling at his wicked tone of voice.

“Perhaps.” Val’s hand slid up her leg, hiking her dress along with it. “Perhaps it’s too hot for even the clothing you have on.”

“Valentine.” Ellen opened her eyes. “It is broad, sunny daylight. Will you behave?”

“Misbehaving is always more fun in broad, sunny daylight, and I’m not asking you to take your clothes off, just let me move them aside.”

“Has this been your objective since you came to my room?” Ellen asked, trying to peek over her shoulder to read his expression.

“Honestly?” Val met her gaze. “It became my objective the moment I first kissed you, and yes, I do mean that first kiss, a year or so ago. Lie back, Ellen.” Val’s voice dropped, and his touch became silken. “Let me pleasure you.”

“You will not… spend inside of me?” She was proud of her ability to use such language, though with Val, it wasn’t naughty, it was somehow simply intimate. Wonderfully intimate.

“I will not, though not for lack of wanting to.” His eyes followed his hand where it caressed her knee. “It has been a long week, sweetheart, and though I love holding you and talking with you, I want to pleasure you now while we have the time and the privacy.”

What did he have in mind? Ellen could not guess, though she tried to read his intent in the way his gaze dropped to where his hand now stroked her hip. He looked at her as if he could see through her skirts, as if his eyes could touch where his hand rested.

What he had in mind turned out to involve his mouth, his beautiful, luscious, naughty, knowing mouth, and Ellen’s most intimate person. She was scandalized and shocked and most of all, she was pleasured.

* * *

Long moments later, with Ellen’s clothing still in disarray, Val gave her some time to compose herself. He rummaged in the hamper, poured himself a drink, took a sip, and passed the mug to her.

“Cider,” he said. “Sweet, like you.”

“God in heaven.” Ellen raised her head enough to take a sip from the mug he held for her. “Merciful, everlasting God… Where does a man learn to do such things?”

Val took that as proof dear Francis had not done such things, at least not with Ellen. The man was a fool, a blazing, benighted fool, and to be pitied for his waste of a wonderfully passionate and generous wife.

Wife. The thought landed like a flaming arrow in the dry tinder of Val’s imagination, but he pulled it out and ruthlessly doused it in common sense for later consideration. Again.

Val smiled down at her where she sprawled in boneless, satisfied splendor. “Let me cuddle you up, and no, you are not to put yourself to rights. I’ll do it, when needs must.”

Instead of tidying her up, he drew her down to curl on her side, then spooned himself behind her. “Go to sleep,” he urged, his hand finding her breast and cupping it gently.

She subsided, no doubt hearing in his voice how pleased he was.

Leaving Val to hold her in the sheltering curve of his body and wonder again what crime such an innocent could have committed that was worse than murder.

* * *

Dinner on Saturday night was a lively affair, with Phillip and Dayton providing much of the entertainment as they regaled their parents with stories of the mishaps and altercations of the week past.

Abby rose at the conclusion of the meal. “Ellen, would you join me on the back terrace for a cup of tea?”

“It would be my pleasure.” Ellen smiled, meaning it. The day had had a few dips and bumps, but the afternoon and evening had been lovely. A cup of tea with good company would finish it pleasantly indeed. The gentlemen rose and repaired to the library, leaving the ladies whispering, arm in arm as they left the house.

“You didn’t eat much at dinner,” Ellen observed. “Is it the baby?”

“I get a little queasy.” Abby linked her arm with Ellen’s. “It passes, and then an hour later, I am stalking through the kitchen like a hungry wolf.”

“Peppermint tea sometimes helps, or it did me.”

“I wasn’t aware you’d carried. Will it offend you if I order peppermint tea for us now?”

“Of course not.” Ellen sank onto a wicker rocking chair. “After such a rich meal, I could use some too.”

Abby took a second rocker and smoothed a hand over her skirts. “So you lost your baby?”

Ellen did not meet Abby’s eyes in the silence that followed. She could mutter some polite inanity—she had on many occasions: It was a long time ago. It wasn’t meant to be. The Lord makes these decisions.

Except the Lord hadn’t made the decisions.

“Three,” Ellen said in low, bitter tones. “I lost three babies, all in the first half of my terms. I was miserable with the pregnancies—couldn’t keep much of anything down, and I survived on mint tea.” On what she’d thought was mint tea, God help her.

“Oh, my dear.” Abby reached over and took Ellen’s hand. “I am so, so sorry.”

“I shouldn’t be telling you such things. Your disposition cannot benefit from such a tale.”

“But it’s part of life,” Abby countered. “Axel’s first wife lost two babies, and he said that, more than anything else they faced, daunted her spirit. He did not know how to comfort her, but it’s why in seven years of marriage they only had the two boys. Axel would have loved a daughter, though.”

Ellen met her gaze in the waning light. “And all you want is a healthy child who grows into some kind of happy adulthood.”

“Desperately,” Abby said, and they shared a silent moment of absolute female communion. “I pray without ceasing for it, and I know Axel does too. But let me order our tea, and we can watch the moonrise while we discuss more pleasant things.”

A deft signal the topic was to shift, and Ellen was relieved. She hadn’t spoken of the babies to anyone, but Abby was becoming a friend, and five years was long enough to live in silence without a single friend.

* * *

“You’ll need it.” Axel held out a snifter of brandy to his guest.

“I’ll not refuse it,” Val said. “Nick has vouched for your kitchen, your cellars, and your hospitality.”

“We are going to have an uncomfortable discussion.” Axel poured himself a drink as he spoke. “I will impugn, or possibly impugn, a lady’s honor.”

“We’re not going to discuss Abby, are we?” Val said, slowly lowering his drink.

“Move over.” Axel settled beside him on the couch facing the hearth and bent to take off his boots. “Feel free to do likewise. You had a bath today, and I have sons.” He fell silent for a moment, staring at his drink. “Abby and Ellen shared a bottle of wine earlier today and certain confidences were parted with. Abby brought them to me.”

“I happened to overhear some of the same conversation, since the ladies were on the balcony adjoining my room,” Val said, watching as Axel set his boots aside. “It gets worse. Ellen has the local solicitor collect the rents then puts every penny into a London account. As the holder of the life estate, she is the landlord and liable for all improvements, and she has made none.”

“What is she doing with the money?” Axel asked, settling in with a sigh. “Hoarding it for eventual flight to the Continent?”

“Could be, or it could be she’s being blackmailed.”

Axel nodded, obviously more than willing to consider this possibility. “For her terrible crime, worse than killing her own husband, whom she professed to love.”

“She did love him, and he loved her, and they should have lived happily ever after. I simply cannot see Ellen as a murderer.”

“Neither can I.” Axel took a sip of his drink. “I still think you should make some inquiries. Find out if the money remains in that London account, for starters. That will tell you whether somebody’s bleeding her or she’s hoarding it. Either way, her behavior points to guilt over something, though I can’t see her as a murderer, either.”

“Why not?” Val let the slow burn of the whiskey take the edge off the need to get away from this conversation and play fast, complicated music far into the night.

“She’s a gardener,” Axel said, contemplating his feet. “She makes things grow; she isn’t a destroyer of life. Every time I see them, her gardens have that look of exuberance. They don’t simply grow, they thrive and glory in her care. Everything I’ve heard of her marriage to Lord Francis suggests he was thriving in her care, as well.”

Val really did not want to hear that. “For example?”

“When I ran into the man at my club, he never tarried in Town but professed to be eager to get home to his wife. He did not vote his seat when she was in anticipation of an interesting event. The birth would have been months away, and he remained in the country with her.”

“Blazes.” Ellen had carried a child?

“They never entertained over the holidays,” Axel recalled, “and the explanation Roxbury offered was he wanted the time to enjoy being with his wife. He was smitten, and one gets the sense she was pleased to be married to him as well. You know the lady better than I.” Axel saluted a little with his drink. “If she loved him, she likely didn’t kill him.”

“She might have inadvertently caused his death, provided a second dose of laudanum when a first had already been given, something like that.”

“A mistake.” Axel nodded agreement. “You are hoping it was a mistake, and so am I. The only reason I am telling you this is because I think Ellen could use a friend.”

“I am her friend. Maybe her only friend.”

“As her friend, you should make those inquiries. Find out what’s to do with that money; maybe dig a little regarding the late baron’s death.”