A Growing Passion Read Free

caught in her gaze was disconcerting.
    She had definitely seen them.
    He sure as hell hoped she hadn’t heard Isabelle’s crude comment about his stamina . He said coolly, “I wasn’t out there very long. Lady Haldon wanted to show me some new shrubs she had planted recently.”
    “Is that what she wanted to show you?” Victoria murmured, her pretty face twitching into a mischievous smile.
    He sent a quelling glance at her, well aware that Clara was listening, and changed the subject. “Congratulations on having your article on your travels in America published, Tori. You didn’t tell me. That’s quite an accomplishment.”
    “You mean for a woman.” Victoria sighed, to his relief, seeming to accept the new topic. “You are so widely recognized as a botanical expert that I felt it was a bit humble in comparison, but thank you. I was pleased.”
    And he was pleased, he thought as they lapsed into silence with the cool autumn air drifting in the windows as the carriage rolled along, that she had chosen to stay home this time. Her father, who she accompanied often on expeditions, had gone to Arabia to search for plant life in the arid climate, but she had decided that the attitudes there toward women and the local customs might be too confining.
    It had probably been a wise decision, he thought, leaning back with his arms folded across his chest. She was infinitely noticeable with her unusual strawberry blonde hair and flawless skin, the contrast striking. Her face was oval, her cheekbones delicate, and her mouth soft and pink. . . . His gaze drifted lower, to where her breasts swelled above the bodice of her dark blue gown. They were so tempting, the pale mounds quivering slightly as they rocked over a rough patch of road. . . .
    But, he told himself, tearing his gaze away so she didn’t notice the lascivious way he was staring at her, she didn’t think of him in any capacity except that of friendship.
     
    What she was about to do was reckless. It was more than that actually, it was . . . wanton.
    Of course, she would be in trouble if he turned her down in the same honorable way he had turned down Lady Haldon. She could already feel an odd tingling in her nipples, and her breasts were tight.
    It had rained almost all day, gradually lessening to a fine mist, and Victoria tugged her hood a little farther forward, protecting her face and hair. Skirting a pile of fallen leaves, she didn’t bother to approach the front door but instead walked around her neighbor’s big house to the conservatory in the back. It was much more likely Stephen would be there, working with his plants. Opening the door with the ease of long familiarity, she slipped inside, assaulted by the fecund smell of soil and vegetation.
    And for once that odor, so beloved to her, didn’t stir her at all––but more the sight of Stephen, exactly where she’d expected him to be, quickened her pulse which was already racing.
    He was in the back, where he’d recently shown her his new experiment: hybrid trees that would produce fruit with fewer seeds and higher yields. Coatless, his white shirt open at the neck, sleeves rolled up to show muscular arms, he was bent over a small specimen in concentration and she stopped for a second, just studying him. He was very good-looking—she supposed she had always known that—but in more of an abstract fashion. But upon her return to England from this last trip to the colonies, where she and her father had explored the American desert, she had suddenly seen Stephen in a different light.
    It was odd how he looked so familiar, yet so . . . exciting. She couldn’t remember when she hadn’t known him. They had grown up together, their family estates not even a mile apart. Aside from the usual childish quarrels, he had been her best friend for most of her life. Two years older than she, he had tolerated a young girl tagging along, patiently teaching her how to fish, how to ride her pony. . . .
    There was