Page 15 of Within the Hollow Heart

He was rarely idle, no matter the reputation he’d earned, and being trapped inside any space for long made a desire to climb the walls rise up in him. He’d had enough wall climbing, he reminded himself, fingers dancing along the keys with a favorite sonata.

When Jules sauntered closer, he glanced sidelong to discover she was watching his hands. He found himself shifting into a more complicated piece, and the set of her mouth shifted with it. He teased, “What have you to say, fair maiden whose name I wear etched on my heart?”

Her dark eyes slid to his. “For one who so dislikes birds, you do a great deal of preening, Lord Brigham.”

Nickolas’s playing broke off. He turned to her where she stood, too near his perch on the delicate embroidered bench. “You think me displaying my plumage, then.”

Her gaze moved meaningfully toward his hands.

He held them up for her inspection. “These?” It felt oddly dangerous, playing this game. He knew precisely what she was implying. Hehadkept on with the playing to impress her. He couldn't seem to stop himself.

“Yes, those. You wave them about as if baiting a fish.”

He stared at her.

“Everyone knows what you’re about.”

Nickolas attempted to appear as innocent as possible. “Ladies have a preference for capable hands?”

She gave him a level look. It was particularly level, as he was sitting and she was standing before him, finally bringing them eye to eye.

He leaned into a more casual stance, one foot sliding forward. Toward her. “Forgive me, my lady, but how else am I meant to catch a wife?”

If color touched her cheeks, he could not see it, because Jules turned away and resumed her perusal of the books. She had not moved far, though, only paces from where he sat. “Perhaps they are not falling for you because your interest is clearly not genuine.”

Perhaps he didn’t really want to bring them into his life.

“Perhaps,” she continued, “you might aim instead for one who doesn’t care only for fancy feathers.”

He scoffed. Jules did not take the opportunity to say more, despite that he’d crossed a boundary already.

He watched her silently, the sunlight catching on her dark upswept hair before she shifted farther into the shadows. When she reached as if to draw a book from an upper shelf, too far above her, Nickolas stood. He stepped behind her, one hand brushing her waist to still her as his other slipped past hers to draw the book from its place. He lowered the volume, and Jules seemed to hesitate before taking it from his hand.

Saints, she smelled faintly of violets, of sun-warmed books, and the bare skin of that elegant neck was only a breath away from his, from his own breath because he was practically panting on her, for the love of—

He stepped back. Cleared his throat. “A repast,” he heard himself say. “We’ve been inside far too long. Let us take a break, go outdoors, and rest your eyes before returning to work.”

Jules glanced back at him, clearly unhappy at the prospect.

“Only for a bit. We can come back straightaway, and if you do not find your answers today, we will return again until you are satisfied.” When she looked doubtful, he added, “Think of the bird. Poor Frederick needs some air.”

From his cage atop a table by the chaise, the bird squawked in contempt.

Nickolas gave Jules a look to imply her creature was in agreement and felt warmth cut through the knot inside him at the hint of her sardonic smile. “It is agreed, then.” He held an arm forward to lead her from the seeming confines of what was, truly, an impressively spacious room.

CHAPTER8

The Filmore gardens were absolutely lovely, some of the best the kingdom had to offer, and it took no time at all for the fresh air and bright sun to bring a pleasant languor to both Jules and Nickolas. Frederick, however, adopted an even surlier demeanor. Jules had taken the bird from his cage and placed him gently in the grass beside the spot where they had spread their meal. The creature stared on, mostly at Nickolas, refusing both the coddling and bread his mistress offered, wings tucked tightly to his sides and complaints rattling loudly from his chest.

It was evident his discontent weighed on Jules, but no matter her coaxing, the bird refused to move away. She’d been trying to set him free, she’d said before. Nickolas wondered at the pair, as clearly Jules might just leave him should she want badly enough for him to be free, injured wing notwithstanding. But Nickolas did not wish to pry into a situation that seemed so unlikely to end well for either the bird or his caregiver. “The Filmores keep no predators in this garden,” Nickolas said. “You may rest easy on that front.”

Jules leaned onto an elbow, just as she’d been convening with the bird, then sighed and laid her head on her arm.

“Your eyes are heavy,” he said. “You’ve time to rest.”

“I have no time,” she told him. “That’s the problem. Time is spending faster than I can…”

There was an unmistakable tremble to her words as they trailed off. He wondered why she seemed so weary despite her nap in the carriage. Perhaps her worries had brought sleepless nights. But it seemed nothing should trouble her in such a fine sunlit garden, someone to watch over her while she slumbered. “Come.” Nickolas opened an arm so that she might lie against him instead of the ground. “Troubles only grow larger when one’s in need of rest. You may tackle it after. Half an hour will not break you.”

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