The maid did, and Cordelia went out, looking about her, feeling refreshed by the mere sight of such gay flowerbeds amidst luxurious lawns. She bent to smell a rose—and as she straightened, she saw Forrest watching her.
"Like will to like," he said.
She blushed and looked away, hoping he spoke only of herself and the flower, knowing he hinted at more. "You have me at a disadvantage, sir."
"The best way." He stepped up, proffering his arm. "Come, shall we discover what wonders this garden holds?"
He was almost courtly about it, his manner reminding her that he was gently born and well bred, no matter what he had become. Almost against her will, she slipped her arm through his, knowing it was dangerous but finding that gave spice to the stroll, making it almost an adventure.
They strolled between beds of glorious flowers. "Truly a riot of color," Forrest said. "Do you not find them attractive, my lady?"
"Indeed I do," she sighed. "He who laid out such beds must have been truly inspired."
"But why should it have been 'he'?" Forrest asked. "Might not a woman prove as proficient at laying out beds as a man?"
She wondered again if he meant more than he said. "I should think a woman's taste in color and form should be equal to any man's," she agreed.
"Nay, far more." He halted, and she realized that they stood in a corner of the hedge, screened from view of the house—and he stepped closer, his face coming nearer. "A woman's taste should be far superior to a man's," he breathed.
Transfixed, she stared at him—and he lowered his face, touching his lips to hers.
It was almost as though sparks spangled across her mouth, seeming to sting even as they tasted amazingly sweet. For a moment, her eyes fluttered closed, savoring the delicate, exciting sensation ...
Then she felt the tip of his tongue touch her lips, and a stew of emotions boiled up within her: longing and revulsion, yearning and fright. A tickling began deep within her and spread ...
No more! She stepped back, with a gasp of surprise. "Oh, nay!" he pleaded. "A moment more, only a second longer . .."
Somehow, the plea frightened her, and she darted away from him, pausing ten feet away, hands clasped at her waist, striving for composure ...
Forrest laughed, and leaped after her. Cordelia gave a cry of alarm and ran. Forrest gave a joyful shout and chased.
It was the joy in his voice that banished her fears, his laughter that made it a game. Breathless, she nonetheless found herself laughing, too, as she dodged behind a tree, then peeked out to see if he still followed—and found herself staring straight into his face.
She ducked back behind the tree, out the other side, found him there before her, ducked back twice more, then ran, laughing. Crowing with delight, he followed.
In and out among the hedges, under arches of roses they fled, he chasing, she fleeing with a high, wild excitement singing through her. Finally her steps began to slow, and he reached out and caught her. She turned to fight him off with joyful squeals, but tripped over a root and fell backwards. Unfortunately, she caught at Forrest for support, and instead of holding her up, he fell with her—and landed on top.
He caught himself on his forearms, so there was no impact—none but the softest, of his body against hers, sending wild currents of heat all through her. She panted, her bosom heaving, staring up into his eyes, only inches away. "Oh, sir, you must let me rise!"
"Must I?" He grinned, his face coming nearer, his voice husky. "Wherefore?"
"If you are a gentleman, you must!"
"Oh, then, I pray I may not be a gentleman!" he breathed, and kissed her.
She stiffened, galvanized beneath him, as the unfamiliar welter of emotions churned up within her—but she was truly frightened to realize that she wanted him to go on. And on, and on. She wrenched her head aside with a little cry, protesting in earnest. "Nay, sir, you must let me up! Would you force a lady against her will?"
"If I must, I must," he sighed, but she wasn't sure how he meant it. "Come, then, milady, I shall do as you askbut you must pay a ransom."
"What ransom is that?" She regarded him warily. "One more kiss," he breathed, and lowered his lips again.
She was taut for a moment more, then reminded herself that he would let her go after only one more, and let herself relax a little, let the wonderful, frightening feelings well up within her ...
Then his fingers touched her breast.
She lay rigid a moment, her whole consciousness focussed on that one touch, turning now to a caress, trailing fire through the cloth across her skin, the maelstrom of feelings boiling up toward it, threatening to engulf her ...
The fright was too great. She broke away from his lips with a gasp, then slapped his cheek with all the force she could muster—which was not very much, given her position.
But it sufficed to startle him; he drew back just enough for her to struggle free. She leaped to her feet and backed away, pressing her skirts smooth and crying, "For shame, sir! You have taken far more than the ransom you stated!"
"I have, I will own," he said, all contrition. " 'Tis only that you are so irresistible to me, that I crave more and more of you. I implore you, sweet lady, do not disdain me for naught but love's labors."
"Love's labors will be lost, unless they be less free," she replied tartly, and hurried away, face flaming.
At the opposite edge of the garden, Alain plodded moodily along. He, too, had felt the need for a walk before bathing, but to his eyes, the beauty of the garden seemed dimmed. He was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Cordelia was lost to him, if he could not learn to be more romantic—and he did not think he could, for truly, he was not romantic by nature. All he could do would be to learn to be false. As he was, all he had on his side was sincerity, and what use was that?
A bunch of roses caught his eye-white, and near them, a bush of pink ones. Behind them glowed blossoms of deep red. Alain gazed at them moodily, reflecting how much they seemed to be like Cordelia, and himself ...
He stiffened, struck with inspiration. He had only sincerity to recommend him, had he? Well, mayhap sincerity could be romantic, in its way! Kneeling, he plucked a few of each color of rose, then hurried back toward the house, face glowing, hoping to come upon Cordelia.
He found her almost on the threshold. She, too, seemed to have been for a stroll, and surely, it seemed to have been good for her. She seemed filled with energy, and her cheeks were rosy.
"Alain!" She saw him, and brought up short. "What do you here?"
"Only strolling in the garden," he explained, "feeling the need to let my limbs cool ere I heat them in water." Her eyes fastened on the bouquet. "Whence came those?"
"I found them in the garden." He pressed them into her hands. "I could not help but pluck them for you, sweet Cordelia, for they remind me so much of yourself—at least, the white blooms do, for they are so pure, like yourself. The red, alas, are steeped in passion, as I am when I gaze at you—and the pink are, I hope, the love I feel for you: my passion allayed by your purity."
Cordelia felt her heart melting, so touched was she by his clumsy tenderness. She leaned forward to give him a quick peck on the cheek, but even as she did, she remembered Forrest's kiss, and felt leaden guilt within her. She turned away, ashamed.
"Ah, once more I have offended!" he cried. "Say, fair Cordelia, what have I done?"
"Only what is right," she answered, trying not to let her anger at herself turn into anger at him. She turned back, managing a flirtatious smile. "If only you had done it sooner! And if only you would do it more often, my Prince, you might yet save me from a drastic fate!"