"Aye, well-I doubt we'd be able to get such things now. Takes a mite of effort to do such work."

"Oh, there's no need for new ones. The troughs are at the far end of the orchard, almost overgrown, but I'm sure they can be dug out."

"Mmm." Edwards's frown returned.

"There're also two matching troughs, smaller ones, that should sit on the top steps of the porch. They're presently in the field behind the stable."

"Used for horse troughs, they be."

"Indeed, but Jacobs is quite sure his charges do not need anything so fancy." Francesca met Edwards's eyes, overhung and half-obscured by his shaggy brows. "I'll make a bargain with you. I will allow you to put in the six trees, rather than plant the entire beds with flowers, provided you oversee the disinterring of those troughs-all four of them-and their cleaning and replacement in their proper positions. I've heard young Johnny likes planting and tending flowers, so, under your instruction, he can fill the troughs and plant the appropriate bulbs-I want tulips and daffodils, followed by other flowers as the seasons progress. I don't know what grows well at this time of year"-she smiled-"but I'm sure you and Johnny will."

Turning, she surveyed the presently bare beds. "Now, how soon do you think that can be done?"

"Mmm. I know where we can get the pines... I suppose we'd have it done in a week." Edwards glanced at her. "Be faster if we didn't have to do those troughs-"

"The troughs and trees all at once, please."

"Well, then, a week."

"Excellent." Francesca nodded, then smiled confidingly. "My uncle and his family will be arriving in a week's time, and I would like the house to look well."

The faintest tinge of color showed under Edwards's weathered skin. "Aye, well," he said gruffly. "We'll have the place all right and special for ye in a week then, p'raps sooner. Now-" Stepping back, he looked around.

"Now you must return to your trees." Francesca nodded a dismissal.

Gyles had been watching from the shadows of the porch. Seeing Edwards lumber off, he strolled out and down the steps. Francesca saw him. Smiling, she came to meet him.

"Did you succeed?" Taking her hand, he drew it through his arm, covering her hand with his.

"Edwards and I have come to an understanding."

"I never doubted it could be otherwise."

They turned toward the bluff, strolling around the Castle to where Edwards's beloved trees gave way to shrubs and the occasional rose.

"I received a packet from Devil this morning." Gyles broke the companionable silence as they reached the old ramparts and the wide vista of his lands opened before them. "He and Honoria are back in London. He sent the latest parliamentary deliberations of note."

"Is Parliament sitting at present?"

"Yes-the autumn session is under way."

Gyles thought of it-his normal life until now, the ton largely back in residence, the usual round of balls, parties, and the even more important dinners, the jostling of the hostesses for prominence and the more serious discussions that took place behind the glittering facade. For years, that had been the focus of his life.

They paused, looking out over the land, ablaze in autumn's glory.

"Do we need to go to London-for Parliament?"

"No."

He'd thought of it, but not as we. He glanced at her, met her eyes briefly, tucked a whipping lock of her hair behind her ear, then looked back at the view.

His aversion to the idea of returning to London alone should have surprised him, yet it hadn't. He was, it seemed, getting used to the fact that, when it came to all matters pertaining to her, his barbarian self ruled. His true self would not be parted from her, would not even consider it.

They stood side by side and he surveyed his domain, then he lowered his arm, closing his hand about hers. "Come. Let's go down to the folly."

Folly indeed.

Later that night, Gyles lay on his back in the dark warmth, and listened to the soft sigh of his wife's breathing.

Hands behind his head, he stared up at the canopy, and wondered what the hell he was doing. Where he thought he was going.

Where they were going.

The correction summed up his problem. He could no longer consider the future from his standpoint alone. No matter what tack he took, what frame of reference, she was always in the picture.

In truth, her happiness was now more relevant than his, because his depended on hers.

Was it any wonder he was struggling?

It would have been easier if she'd made demands. Instead, she'd left the choice to him, avoiding the pitfall of setting her will against his. He was conditioned and prepared for such battles; the outcome would have been swift and certain.

And he wouldn't now be lying here, engulfed in uncertainty.

She'd made her position clear. He ruled, he made the decisions-and if she didn't like them, she would go her own way.

He didn't doubt she would. At her core lay a stubbornness he recognized, an unswerving devotion to her cause.

A devotion he coveted for himself. Not just for his political ambitions, not just for his marriage, not even for the effect such a devotion would have on his life.

He wanted her devoted to him.

Wanted to see it in her eyes as she took him in, feel it in her lips as she kissed him, in her touch as she caressed him. All she gave him now, he wanted-forever.

He glanced at her dark head, felt the warmth of her body, relaxed and boneless against him. Felt an immediate urge to seize, to lock her to him.

Looking back at the canopy, he wrenched his thoughts back to his problem.

He wanted her love, her devotion, wanted her exclusively focused on him. She was prepared to offer him that. In return, she wanted one thing.

He wanted to give it to her-wanted to love her-but... that, in and of itself, was the very last thing he wanted to do.

The ultimate contradiction.

There had to be a way around it. For his sanity's sake, he had to find it. Had to find an option that would satisfy her, but still leave him unexposed, emotionally invulnerable.

The alternative was unthinkable. Still was and always would be.

Chapter 13.