Page 73 of A Season for Scandal

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The hotel was directly opposite the Louvre, and – because I had no idea where we were – Oliver guided us under a cool stone passage and through to a large square, each side bordered by the grandest buildings I had ever seen. It was strange to be alone with him like this, but now that we were here, in another country, where not a soul knew us, it was suddenly easy to shed the restrictions of propriety and it felt delicious.

The size of the buildings around us was overwhelming. At the bottom, a covered walkway ran behind rows of graceful, symmetrical archways, each column topped with a statue of a man looking wise and dignified. The facade stretched up, hundreds of windows in neat rows, punctuated by monumental gateways, all topped with a grey slate roof that seemed to shine under the August sun.

I stood, frozen and gawping until Oliver chuckled. “Quite the sight, isn’t it?”

I was relieved to hear him laugh. He had been tense and silent since we left the hotel suite, not that I could blame him. There was a lot to sift through.

“All of this is a museum?” I asked, dazed.

Oliver nodded, pulling me along through the milling crowds. “Stuffed full of art,” he said, “but I think I know somewhere thatyouwill find more beauty and artistry than any wing of that museum.”

We walked towards an enormous stone arch, topped with a statue of a woman driving a chariot, flanked by two golden figures.

“It’s a triumphal arc.” Oliver gestured towards it. “Built by Napoleon, as a lot of these grand monuments were, to celebrate all his successes. Unfortunately for him, the statue on the top these days represents Peace in her chariot – celebrating his failure instead. Funny how quickly things can change.”

We passed under the arch along a wide path, cut between perfectly manicured lawns, and down a set of shallow stone stairs.

“Oh!” I exclaimed softly.

“The Jardin des Tuileries,” Oliver said.

“You brought me to a garden?” I was absurdly touched.

He shrugged. “It seemed the right thing to do.”

And of course it was. The sun shone, dazzling overhead as we stood in the middle of the elegant gardens stretching out endlessly in front of us. “So much green,” I murmured. There were avenues lined with trees leading down to a large pool with a tall fountain. Children were floating little boats with red sails across the surface in noisy races.

Beyond the trees I could see the rooftops I already recognized as being quintessentially Parisian with their soft blue-grey slate above straw-coloured stone. Standing to the west of us, somewhere in the distance was the Eiffel Tower, and I started at the sight. I had seen pictures, of course, but it felt so strange to see it in real life. The tallest building in the world.

And then, because I couldn’t help myself, I pulled Oliver away from the path where fashionable couples were perambulating, the sensible ladies holding pretty parasols to protect them from the August sun.

I pulled him past the wistful, classical-looking statues of suffering women, and plunged towards the flower beds, which – even in this formal setting – were rioting, full of colour and texture that spilled over their neat borders.

“I might have known you’d be straight in the dirt,” Oliver said.

I knelt down on the grass and brushed my fingers with delight against one of the fat apricot-coloured blooms.

“Just look at all these dahlias!” I exclaimed. “I’ve never seen such huge flowers. The French are actually at the forefront of many of the advances in our field. I was talking to Win about it the other day, and she said…” I trailed off, looking up at Oliver whose expression was almost fond. I cleared my throat. “These white ones too. So beautiful, though I’m not sure of the variety. Fleurel, perhaps.”

“Dahlias,” he said with no sign of impatience at my enthusiastic rambling. “Let me think. Eternal love and commitment, wasn’t it?”

The words were mild, but they set my pulse thrumming. It was that reminder of being in the flower room. The fact that we almost kissed but didn’t … and then we didn’t talk about it. I’d be lying if I said that particular moment hadn’t been playing on a loop in my head ever since.

“Mmm,” I managed. “That’s right.” I forced my attention back to the flowers. “This planting is so creative; I seeamaranthus,leonotis leonuris…”

“Leon-what?”

I grinned. “We call it lion’s tail. It’s this orange one here. And look at these beautiful salvia plants, the purple and the orange together… It’s quite feisty for a public space, isn’t it? So vibrant.”

Oliver only made a slightly perplexed sound of agreement.

“Perhaps I was wrong about the colours you should have in your garden,” I mused. “A space like that could handle something bold, don’t you think?”

“I think Lockhart Hall could certainly benefit from a bold presence.” The touch of gravel in his voice had me looking up, though his face was in shadow under his hat, and I found it hard to read his expression.

He held out his hand to me, and I accepted so that he could pull me up to my feet. The instant our fingers touched I felt the now-familiar tingling that spread like a cold shock through my body.