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the back door instead of the front. When they stepped into the kitchen, Cook nearly
dropped her morning cup of tea. Three maids were clustered by the table where Cook sat,
like acolytes around their priest. All four females came to their feet.
Edward waved them back down again. No doubt he d interrupted a morning gossip.
Without explanation, he continued through the kitchen and out the back door. They
crossed the wide stable yard, his boot heels ringing on the cobblestones. The morning sun
shone brightly, and the stables cast a long shadow behind them. Edward rounded a corner
of the building and stopped in the shade. Anna glanced around, looking puzzled.
Edward had a sudden, awful feeling of uncertainty. It was an unusual gift. Maybe she
wouldn t like it or worse be insulted.
This is for you. He gestured abruptly at a muddy lump of burlap.
Anna looked from him to the burlap. What ?
Edward stooped and threw back a corner of the bundle. Underneath lay what looked like
a bunch of dead, thorny sticks.
Anna squealed.
That noise had to be a good sign in a female, didn t it? Edward frowned uncertainly.
Then she smiled up at him, and he felt warmth suffuse his chest.
Roses! she exclaimed.
She dropped to her knees to examine one of the dormant rosebushes. He d carefully
wrapped them in damp burlap to keep the roots from drying out before departing from
London. Each bush had only a few thorny branches, but the roots were long and healthy.
Careful, they re sharp, Edward murmured to her down-bent head.
Anna counted busily. There s two dozen here. Do you mean to put them all in your
garden?
Edward scowled at her. They re for you. For your cottage.
Anna opened her mouth and for a moment seemed at a loss for words. But . . . even if I
could accept them all, they must have been terribly expensive.
Was she refusing his gift? Why can t you accept them?
Well, for one, I couldn t fit them all in my little garden.
How many could you fit?
Oh, I suppose three or four, Anna said.
Pick out the four you want, and I ll send the rest back. Edward felt relief. At least she
wasn t rejecting the roses. Or burn them, he added as an afterthought.
Burn them! Anna sounded horrified. But you can t just burn them. Don t you want
them for your own garden?
He shook his head impatiently. I don t know how to put them in.
I do. I ll plant them for you in thanks for the others. Anna smiled up at him, looking a
little shy. Thank you for the roses, Lord Swartingham.
Edward cleared his throat. You re welcome, Mrs. Wren. He had a strange urge to
shuffle his feet like a little boy. I suppose I ought to see Hopple.
She simply looked at him.
Yes . . . Ah, yes. Good God, he was stuttering like an imbecile. I ll just go find him,
then. With a muttered farewell, he strode off in search of the steward.
Who knew giving presents to secretaries could be so stressful?
ANNA ABSENTLY WATCHED Lord Swartingham walk away, her hand fisting in the
muddy burlap. She knew how this man felt against her in the dark. She knew how his
body moved when he made love. She knew the deep husky sounds he produced in the
back of his throat when he reached his climax. She knew the most intimate things one
could know about a man, but she didn t know how to reconcile that knowledge to the
sight of him in the daylight. To reconcile the man who made love so sublimely to the man
who brought her rosebushes from London.
Anna shook her head. Perhaps it was too hard a question. Perhaps one could never
understand the difference between the passion of a man at night and the civil face he
showed during the day.
She hadn t realized what it would be like to see him again after spending two
unbelievable nights in his arms. Now she knew. She felt sad, as if she d lost something
that had never truly been hers. She d gone to London with the intention of making love to
him, to enjoy the physical act as a man would: unemotionally. But as it turned out, she
wasn t as stoic as a man. She was a woman, and where her body went, her emotions
followed willy-nilly. The act had somehow bound her to him, whether he knew it or not.
And he could never know it now. What had transpired between them in that room at
Aphrodite s Grotto must remain her secret alone.
She stared blindly down at the rose stems. Perhaps the roses were a sign that things could
still be healed. Anna touched a prickly rose branch. They must mean something, surely?
A gentleman didn t usually give such a lovely gift such a perfect gift to his secretary,
did he?
A thorn pricked the ball of her thumb. Absentmindedly, she sucked on the wound. Maybe
there was hope after all. As long as he never, ever discovered her deception.
LATER THAT MORNING, Edward stood calf-deep in muddy water, inspecting the new
drainage ditch. A lark sang in the border of Mr. Grundle s field. Probably ecstatic it was
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