Lady Adalyn (The Saga Of Wolfbridge Manor Book 1), Sahara Kelly [the best e book reader .TXT] 📗

The whole business of being the Lady of Wolfbridge was becoming real to Adalyn. Each day she made a new decision or consulted with any of her gentlemen—it was a reinforcement of who she was. And the men supported, encouraged and at times demanded she assume the role without hesitation or question.

One morning she spent some time with Evan, discussing food, his cooking facilities and finally, as her curiosity grew, stepping outside into what was currently the kitchen garden. She pulled her shawl around her, for the day was grey and chilly, but the wind had lost its bite and she felt no need for her coat.

“Spring is on the way, I think,” she lifted her head and sniffed. “Can you smell it?”

Evan chuckled. “I think you’re smelling the wet leaves, Lady Adalyn.”

“No, really.” She blinked at him. “There is something in the air when the seasons prepare to change. You must have noticed in autumn…the way the world smells of chrysanthemums.”

He shook his head. “I can see you’re a person who has what’s called a nose, my Lady. Your sense of smell is beyond us mortals.”

“Nonsense,” she chided him. “I have a perfectly normal nose. And it’s telling me this is your mint.” She stooped to a small recessed area in the wall of the kitchen and picked off a leaf from a plant, rubbing it between her fingers and sniffing with delight.

“You have found it. Sturdy little plant, isn’t she?”

“She?” Adalyn quirked an eyebrow. “Your mint is a she?”

“Of course.” He looked at her in surprise. “There are beautiful tiny flowers in early summer. A scent that lingers faintly even after you’ve put down the leaves, and a root that takes hold and refuses to let go.” He grinned. “What else could it be but a female?”

Adalyn laughed. “I’m thinking your opinion of women must be quite confusing, Evan. But I’ll agree with you on the mint.” She walked on a little, taking the narrow turf path between the flowerbeds. “What other herbs do you have?”

He followed behind her, pointing out various plants, some still green, others which had died back to mere dry stumps.

“You know this garden well,” said Adalyn as they reached the end. “How long have you been at Wolfbridge?”

“About two years now, I suppose.” He bent and gently freed a tiny green sprig of something, allowing it to breathe beneath a larger leaf. “Sometimes I feel as if I’ve been here much longer than that.”

“You were a cook before you arrived, I take it. Such delicious meals don’t spring to life from the hands of someone who has no experience.”

“One might say that, yes.” He turned away and starting walking back toward the kitchen. “My mother loved to cook. I believe I inherited her fascination with the colours, textures, tastes…the business of combining so many wonderful flavours to produce an even more splendid dish.”

“She must have been an amazing woman,” said Adalyn quietly.

“She was.”

He reached the kitchen and turned, his hazel eyes lowered. “My Lady.” He held the door open for her.

“I’m sorry, Evan.” She touched his arm. “I did not mean to resurrect painful memories. I deduce from your words that your mother is no longer with us. You have my deepest sympathies.”

“You are very kind,” he nodded. Then ushered her back into the warmth of the kitchen. “I think she would have enjoyed what I plan for this evening’s sweet.”

“Really?” Adalyn smiled. “Do tell.”

He shook his head. “Not a whisper. ’Tis to be a surprise.”

“Grrr.” She mock-growled.

“Patience, my Lady. It is like a good story. Some things must unfold gradually so the revelations are all the more exciting.”

Blinking at that somewhat obscure statement, Adalyn merely nodded. Then held out her hand. “Thank you, Evan.”

“For what?”

“For taking the time to show me your garden. And for being patient and kind.”

He lifted it and cradled it in both of his, warming it a little before raising it to his lips. “You deserve all the kindness I have to give, my Lady.”

She melted as his eyes met hers, and she saw the heat there, banked, but simmering. “Call me Adalyn,” she whispered.

He turned her hand over, unbuttoned her cuff and stroked the soft skin of her forearm.

Shivers ran over her, delicate dancing sparkles of sensation. Then he tilted his head and gently touched his tongue to her pulse.

She released a ragged sigh, lost in the wonder of his sensual gesture.

“Thank you, Adalyn.” His breath was cool against the wetness of her skin.

Then he buttoned her cuff and freed her. “Save some room for the sweet.”

She had to clear her throat before replying. “I will.” And she turned, hurrying for the stairs, urged away from Evan and his dangerously appealing eyes by the knowledge that she found them—and him—far too attractive for her own peace of mind.

Her personal retreat had become the Rose room, the books it contained to hold endless fascination for her. She heard the rain begin and her footsteps took her there, almost without her conscious effort. Since gardens were uppermost on her mind, she located a book she’d started reading a few days ago and turned to the section on kitchen gardens.

She was surprised to be reminded by Giles that her lunch would be served shortly.

“Might I have a tray in here, do you think? I’ve found this marvellous dissertation on something I believe would appeal to Evan. It’s about how to make a perfect kitchen garden, and I’d love to discuss it with him…but I need to finish the relevant passages.”

“I believe he would enjoy that, my Lady,” nodded Giles in approval. “It shall be as you wish.”

He left, and Adalyn mulled over his words. As you wish. What could she possibly wish for that she didn’t already have?

It was a strange and unanswerable question, but she put it aside when Evan entered with a tray. The next couple of hours passed quickly as they