Her reply elicited a quick grin from him.
“Seriously,” Vanessa remarked, “you do surp
rise me. Your interest in roses, for example. Horticulture is an unlikely pastime for a man of your stamp. Mrs. Nesbit tells me you rescued the gardens from near ruin.”
“It was merely a diversion I dabbled with many years ago, in my youth. The roses rarely require my attention now. I have an excellent head nurseryman in charge, and the conservatories are practically self-sufficient.”
“Your library seems as well tended as your gardens. I spent a few moments examining your collection this afternoon. I never expected to find such a wide selection of volumes-everything from novels to political discourses to technical treatises.”
“My secretary deserves much of the credit. Last year he arranged and catalogued the lot. The library in my London house has space for only a modest collection, so I usually have the volumes shipped here. You met George Haskell in London, I believe.”
“Yes.”
“Poor George. He’s a clever young man but intensely studious.” Damien flashed a self-deprecating smile. “He would doubtless be happier in someone else’s employ. In his opinion, I’m an abject failure.”
“A failure?”
“Because I won’t take my seat in the House of Lords. George writes excellent speeches that I have no intention of delivering.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve never taken much of an interest in politics. Yet he won’t give up hope that I will develop political aspirations someday.”
Vanessa eyed Damien curiously. “The books I saw in your library seemed to have been well perused. Did your secretary read them all?”
“No, I am the culprit, I’m afraid. I tend to read a great deal here. There is little else to do.”
“You actually read Wollstonecraft’s Vindication of the Rights of Women?”
“Yes. Have you?”
“Yes.” Her chin rose somewhat defiantly. Mary Wollstonecraft’s publication arguing against the subjection of women by men was considered seditious among the noble class. “And I found myself in accord with a number of her convictions regarding marriage. Especially those refuting the divine rights of husbands.”
“She made some interesting points about the social tyranny exercised by men,” Damien agreed, “but I thought some of her opinions stretched credibility.”
“Perhaps,” Vanessa acknowledged.
His glance seemed to measure her. “I confess, you are not precisely what I expected either. You are far more innocent. I never would have guessed you had been married before.”
“Why do you say so?”
“Because you’re so skittish with men.”
“Not all men.”
“Just myself?”
She gave him an arch look. “I think you’ve given me good reason to be skittish, if that is what I am.”
“Perhaps so. We will have to remedy that.”
Vanessa shook her head mentally at the velvet promise in his tone. It was mystifying, how she could feel safe with him when he had as much as threatened her virtue.
An easy, contented silence settled between them. Some moments later Damien broke the quiet spell by asking, “Do you always plait your hair before sleeping?”
“Usually.” She looked wary. “Why?”
“You have lovely hair. I want to see it loose and fanning across my pillow.”