He wanted Liliana as his wife.
Honest, forthright, curious, unconventional, passionate, brilliant Liliana.
But she didn’t want him. Not as a husband, anyway. She just wanted to experiment.
But he could change her mind. She’d given him the perfect opening, just the right ammunition—her nature. If experimentation was the way to a scientist’s heart, he’d oblige her. And every step they took would bind her more and more to him.
Deep in his chest, Geoffrey felt a smile form and expand until it couldn’t be contained. It built, rose in him until it burst forth on his face. He was more and more certain Liliana would be a good wife for him. She was one to keep herself closed, however, which gave him pause. She didn’t seem the sort who succumbed to tender emotions. Even if he were slowly coming around to the idea that opening his heart would make for a better marriage, he feared caring for a wife more than she cared for him. It would give her all of the power in the marriage, a power she could use to devastate him, as his mother had his father.
But then, Liliana couldn’t be any more different from his mother, could she? He couldn’t see her ever lying to him, deceiving or manipulating him, and that was what was most important.
How ironic that he was now no different from everyone else here at Somerton Park.
He was planning to trap someone into marriage.
Chapter Eighteen
L
iliana knew the moment they left the stables at a slow amble that something this morning was different. Since their glorious kisses at the mine two mornings past, each day had started with an exhilarating race to find the most far-flung spot on the grounds for another experiment in seduction. Yet when she’d arrived in Amira’s stall moments ago, her own body already buzzing with anticipation for this morning’s romp, Geoffrey had seemed in no hurry.
No, in fact, he moved slowly, and a mysterious expression that hovered between the hint of a smile and an arrogant grin flitted onto his face when he thought she wasn’t looking.
What could he be up to?
A delicious thrill unfurled upward from her middle, twining around her nipples and taking root in her chest.
Whatever he had planned, she was certain she would like it.
She covertly glanced at Geoffrey as he rode beside her. How could he look so relaxed when she was a brimming jumble of eagerness and desire? A lock of his black hair lay across his forehead, and his chest peeked at her through the open V of his plain cotton shirt, giving him a particularly adventurous appeal. He’d dressed simply this morning, as had become his habit the past two days for their rides—easier access for her experiments, he’d told her with a wink. And indeed, yesterday he’d allowed her to remove his shirt and explore the planes of his chest and the hard ridges of his abdomen, the lines of his back, the strong, sinewy musculature of his shoulders and neck. And when it had seemed he could no longer stand her exploration, he’d dragged her to him and kissed her quite senseless.
Her own desires had taken Liliana by surprise. She could hardly credit her boldness, nor—for once in her life—did she allow herself to think on it, to analyze it. Guilt did its best to gnaw at her, but she shoved it aside. She didn’t want to examine why she was acting thus, or how she’d not searched for clues since her foray into the village. Nor did she wish to contemplate that she might be able to use this connection growing between herself and Geoffrey to accomplish her goal—she didn’t wish to tarnish the glorious way she was feeling. She now knew in her heart that Geoffrey had had nothing to do with whatever had happened to her father. He’d shown himself to be too honorable a man. Yes, his father may very well have, or perhaps even his mother, and Liliana promised herself she would rededicate herself to finding the truth as soon as this madness passed.
But not right now.
For now, she was too busy just being. Just being a woman—not an oddity, not an orphan, not a deceitful interloper—but a woman. A woman who was discovering herself.
Her first revelation was that she was quite wanton, though she suspected only where Geoffrey was concerned. For another, she’d found herself rather enjoying a bit of frivolous society, as long as Geoffrey was by her side. They’d formed a passable whist partnership and she’d learned she was quite good at charades, though she admitted with some chagrin that she was sometimes too literal. She’d need to relax a little if she truly wanted to acquire some finesse.
But the finesse she wished to develop this morning had nothing to do with parlor games and all to do with the man by her side. A man who moved entirely too slowly.
Liliana hitched her legs and pushed Amira ahead, forcing Geoffrey to speed up to take the lead, which she knew he would because he obviously had a destination in mind.
They circled the east side of the park until they came to the largest of Somerton Park’s three lakes. Geoffrey slowed and Liliana followed suit, delighted when she realized where he was taking her.
The abandoned folly stood nestled in a grove of old-growth trees and overlooked the water from the farthest side of the lake. As they drew closer to the columned circular structure, with several of its massive foundation stones darkened with age and moss, Liliana couldn’t contain her gasp of pleasure.
“This is lovely,” she said, her gaze sweeping the view. The waking sun reflected in the lake, casting pink and orange shadows over the faded stone steps leading to the folly’s entrance.
“Yes, it is,” he murmured, yet his eyes stayed solely on her.
The vines of desire rooting beneath her breastbone stretched and tightened.
“The design was inspired by a Greek revival temple,” he said, releasing her from the intensity of his gaze. “My great-grandfather, William Wentworth, commissioned it just before the end of the seventeenth century. I understand he was taken with ancient ruins while on his grand tour.” Geoffrey led her to a marble mounting block and they tied the horses.
“He enjoyed a touch of whimsy, too, did he?” Liliana asked as they climbed the stairs. She pointed to the faded painted ceiling as they passed under the columns where caricaturized scenes from Greek mythology graced the domed panels.
Geoffrey laughed, a rich sound that echoed off of the stone. “No. Well, perhaps. William was quite a character if the stories I’ve heard are true—brash, adventurous, lucky in love but not at the card table—but the farcical ceiling was the work of my father,” he said.
Liliana turned at the strained note she heard in his voice. A tightness had appeared around Geoffrey’s eyes, but his smile seemed easy enough. Yet something tugged at Liliana that made her sad—an intimate understanding, perhaps. It was apparent that Geoffrey had loved his father, just as she had loved hers.
“This was our special place,” Geoffrey said. “My father…” He coughed, one short little burst. “My father painted those one summer, and we would sit out here for hours when I was a boy, lying on our backs, looking up and concocting ridiculous stories to accompany the scenes.”
Looking up, Liliana noticed the faded scenes, and yet some of them were bright with fresh paint. Had Geoffrey been restoring the panels?
Geoffrey pushed open the wooden doors, which, to Liliana’s surprise, opened easily, with no creaks and groans. As she stepped inside, she realized that this place had not been abandoned at all. It was clean and tidy, and while the furnishings were sparse—two overstuffed chairs, a daybed, a writing desk and a small table—they looked comfortable. She turned inquiring eyes to Geoffrey.