The last thing he wanted was company, but he could hardly justify bringing his secretary to a house party unless he showed some evidence of needing him to work.
‘I will fetch my notebook, my lord, and will be back directly.’ Farnsworth excused himself and went out.
‘Sit with me while you wait for him,’ Sara said.
Reluctantly Lucian took Farnsworth’s chair. He did not want to be with Sara, not until he could work out what he wanted to be to her—lover or husband. Somehow there did not seem to be any other options.
Around them the room was emptying. Some guests were drifting out to the terrace to enjoy the afternoon warmth, others were talking of resting, letter-writing, a visit to the gunroom with their host.
Lucian leaned back, distancing himself from her to prevent any impression of intimacy. ‘A delightful meal. Your mother has the knack of entertaining, I think.’
‘Oh, yes. And wait until she has one of her picnics,’ Sara said.
Lucian repressed a start as her foot nudged his and then rose to slide up his leg until her extended toes just brushed the inside of his thigh.
‘It really is not fair to tease me with delightful possibilities, Lady Sara.’
Icicles, cold porridge, Latin verbs...
Sara’s teeth closed on her lower lip as she hid her smile. ‘Oh, a picnic is not merely a possibility, the weather is set to remain fair, I believe. Or was there some other activity you were thinking of? Something delightful...’
‘I might think all I wish, but I am under your parents’ roof,’ he said, low-voiced. ‘And you agreed with me that discretion was necessary.’
‘I know.’ That provoking toe-tip continued its exploration. ‘But they do not own the sky and, as I said, the weather is set fair.’
‘I am their guest,’ he said firmly as he reached under the table, seized her foot and set about establishing whether Sara was ticklish. ‘Misbehaving in the grounds is not acceptable either.’
‘We could explore the gardens together without committing the slightest improper—oh, stop it!’ she gasped as he slid one finger into her kid shoe and caressed her instep. ‘That is so unfair. Let me go!’
‘If you promise to behave.’ When she nodded, lips compressed on her giggles, he released the foot and Sara sat up very straight.
‘Gardens? Surely you can give Gregory some work to be getting on with and then be free for me to show you the lily pond and the rose garden and the herbery.’
‘You want to torture me, in other words.’
‘A medieval knight would regard it as a test of his devotion to his lady to put himself constantly in her way and yet resist the temptation to steal so much as a touch.’
‘More fool him.’ It sounded like a recipe for a permanent state of frustrated arousal to Lucian.
‘It was romantic.’ She regarded him, head on one side. ‘You are not at all romantic, are you, Lucian?’
‘Not in the slightest.’ Romance got a man into foolish entanglements and led to imprudent marriages. To his relief, because he could not tell whether he was being teased or had gravely disappointed Sara, Farnsworth came back into the dining room, deserted now except for the two of them at the table and the servants clearing the buffet.
‘I am ready, my lord. Lady Marguerite is playing battledore with the other young ladies and some of the gentlemen on the front lawn.’
‘Thank you. We will stroll to the lily pond, I think, if Lady Sara would be good enough to direct us. I do not expect it will take long, unless you have some knotty problems in the correspondence folder.’
‘Just the one about boundaries on the shooting-lodge lands, my lord.’
‘Walk straight across the terrace, down the steps, turn left and follow the slope of the lawn down,’ Sara directed them. ‘Do enjoy the dragonflies.’
* * *
So, her lover was not at all romantic. Sara sighed as she stood in the window, watching the two men strolling down the grassy slope to the hidden valley. Out of sight of the house the stream had been dammed to make a lily pond before making its way out over an artificial waterfall to join the main lake.
Michael had been romantic, given to quoting Shakespearean sonnets in the moonlight, or laying single roses on her pillow. He would come home, apparently preoccupied with his current problem in a Greek translation and surprise her with one perfect peach or a pretty silk handkerchief that he had seen in a shop window and thought she would like.
And in turn she would like to surprise him with little gifts tucked into his papers or by greeting him wearing nothing but a scandalous negligee when he got home and luring him upstairs.
Lucian was passionate and tender and exciting in bed, but he probably thought that romance was for foolish youngsters like Marguerite and Gregory and had nothing to do with the real world.
He was quite right to resist her teasing about making love out of doors. She would not misbehave here, inside or out, but a little flirtation, a few stolen kisses, were hardly outrageous and a week of frustration could only give their eventual lovemaking a passionate urgency.
How long to give the two men for their discussion? Surely the trickiest of boundary problems would not take more than half an hour. She would wander round to see how the battledore match was progressing and then go and admire the dragonflies herself.
Marguerite was sitting on a rug watching when Sara arrived. ‘Running around after a shuttlecock is rather tiring,’ she explained. ‘I thought I had best stop when I became breathless, because it will be no good for our plan if I am laid up in bed again.’
‘Very sensible. But no doubt the young men will want to take you for a stroll through the grounds soon. It might be best not to venture out of sight—the maze and the shrubbery are best explored in a group.’
‘Oh, quite.’ Marguerite laughed. ‘It is very flattering that they want to talk and flirt, but the young ones are so very young and the older ones are not a patch on my Gregory, so you need not worry that I might do anything imprudent.’
‘Of course not. Still, a little very mild flirtation will help divert suspicion when you and Gregory suddenly fall in love.’
‘It is lovely, isn’t it?’ Marguerite gave a happy little shiver and wrapped her arms around her knees. ‘Being in love. And I am so happy about you and Lucian.’
‘About...? Marguerite, I am not in love with your brother. I did explain about not getting married.’ What a disaster that would be! The moment they got out of bed they would be disagreeing about something and when those shutters came down behind his eyes she felt as though she was on the other side of a pane of glass, a moth fluttering helplessly against a barrier she could not see and did not understand.
‘Oh.’ The younger woman rested her cheek on her crossed arms and looked at Sara. ‘I am sorry. I know what you said, but every time I see you together I think that you and he are falling in love.’
‘There is desire,’ Sara said cautiously. ‘But not love.’
‘So you really aren’t going to marry him, then?’
‘No. I am sorry if that shocks you.’
‘Not shocks.’ Marguerite lifted her head and watched the flight of the shuttlecock, pursued