“Very well,” she agreed, hoping she did not sound as disgruntled as she felt. Humph. Well, she’d politely stare at whatever this thing was he wanted to show her, then turn him around. Or she could just continue him along the same path, which would eventually curve around and lead to the back of the gazebo, albeit by a more circuitous route.

Anxious to get on with things, she started down the left path, barely resisting the urge to grab his sleeve and tug him along.

“Do you normally walk so fast, Catherine?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement.

“Do you normally walk so slow?”

“Well, this is supposed to be a stroll. Sadly, I did not remember to bring a dictionary, and it appears we are once again in need of one. You seem to have confused the meaning of stroll with that of sprint.”

“I do not require a dictionary. I am simply not a woman who likes to dawdle.”

“Ah. An admirable quality,” he said, slowing his steps even more. Good Lord, snails moved more quickly than this. “However, there are certain things that should be dawdled over.”

“Such as?” She wasn’t particularly interested, but perhaps if she kept him talking, he’d be distracted enough to move along a little faster.

“The sound of a night breeze rustling the leaves. The lingering scent of the day’s blooms…”

She barely suppressed a sigh of impatience. Heaven help her, here he was, waxing poetic about breezes and blooms, while she grew more frustrated by the minute. Could the man not see that she was dying to be held in his arms and kissed until her knees turned to mush?

Ohhh, she inwardly fumed. What sort of miserable luck had fallen upon her to curse her with an attraction to a man who was clearly as thick as fog? And who moved no faster than a sleeping turtle?

“… scent of a woman’s neck.”

That phrase yanked her from her brown study with a jerk. Scent of a woman’s neck? That sounded… interesting. Promising. Damnation, what had she missed? Before she could ask him, he paused, then stepped around to face her. She took note of their surroundings and realized they stood in her favorite spot in the garden, a small, secluded semicircle she fondly referred to as Angel’s Smile. He must have stumbled upon it accidentally, as it was hidden from the main path by tall hedges. A casual walker would pass it by unless they knew to look for it.

“This is your favorite part of the garden,” he said.

Her brows shot upwards. “How did you know that?”

“Fritzborne told me.”

“Indeed? I did not know you two were so… well acquainted.”

“We shared a lengthy chat the day I arrived. We also talked quite a bit while we cleared the debris from the room in the stables where I set up the pugilist’s ring, after which he offered me a glass of his whiskey. He’s a good man. Drinks absolutely vile whiskey, but a good man just the same.”

“You drank whiskey with my stable man?” She tried to imagine Bertrand ever doing something like that and utterly failed.

“I did. And the way that liquor tasted, I’m not sure I’d be able to repeat the task.” He smiled, and his teeth gleamed white in the moonlight. “Actually, it was only the first sip that hurt. After that, my insides turned numb.”

“And while you were drinking this whiskey, he just happened to mention that this is my favorite part of the garden.”

“It was actually while we exercised the horses that first day. I asked him to describe your favorite part of the garden. He told me it was a place you called Angel’s Smile and that it was a replica of your mother’s favorite spot in her garden.”

She nodded, slightly bemused. “Fritzborne planted the hedges for me, and I did all the flowers-mostly roses, asters, delphiniums, and lilies, as those were Mother’s favorites.” She looked around her, the peace she always felt in this spot infusing her. “You need to see it during the day to appreciate the beauty and serenity. The way the sun shines through those trees,” she said, pointing to a copse of towering elms about twenty feet away, “bathes this little nook with a semicircle of light that looks like-”

“An angel’s smile.”

“Yes. Before her death, my mother and I spent many happy hours together in the gardens. When I’m here, I feel as if she’s with me, smiling down at me from heaven.” Feeling suddenly embarrassed by her ramblings, she said, “It’s just silly whimsy.”

He gently clasped her hands and entwined their fingers, a gesture that simultaneously comforted and excited her. “It’s not silly, Catherine. It’s important to have places that mean something to us. Places where we can go to settle our thoughts. Find peace. Relive our favorite memories. Or just enjoy a bit of quiet.”

“You must have such a place of your own, to understand it so well.”

“I’ve had many during my travels.”

“Have you one in England?”

“I do.” He smiled. “When next you travel to London, I’ll show you my favorite bench in Hyde Park, and my favorite alcove in the British Museum.”

She returned his smile and firmly ignored her inner voice, which coughed to life to remind her that she had no intention of traveling to London in the foreseeable future. “Why did you ask Fritzborne about my favorite part of the garden?”

“Because I needed to know for your surprise.”

“Another surprise? I’m not certain how many more surprises I’m capable of experiencing today.”

“Have no fear. Come.”

He released her one hand, then, still holding the other in his warm grip, he led her toward the copse of elms. Curious, she looked around, but did not see anything out of the ordinary. When he stopped near the tallest tree, however, the scent of freshly dug dirt tickled her nose, and she looked down. And stilled.

There, in the pale glow of the moonlight, stretched an unfamiliar flower bed filled with a profusion of plants of various sizes surrounding the two outermost trees. She instantly recognized the familiar foliage, and her breath caught. “What is that?”

“Do you not recognize the plant? It is-”

“Dicentra spectabilis,” she whispered. “Yes, I know.”

“You said the bleeding heart was your favorite. I noticed a number of bleeding hearts scattered about your garden, but not a single large grouping.”

As if in a daze, she released his hand and crouched down to run her finger gently over a delicate row of tiny, perfectly shaped red-and-white hanging blooms. “You did all this?”

“Well, I cannot take all the credit. I enlisted Fritzborne’s and Spencer’s help.”

“They know of this?”

“Yes. Spencer helped me pick out the plants when we visited the village. Fritzborne hid them in the stables, then transported them here this afternoon. Spencer and I planted them.” He chuckled. “I think keeping this a surprise nearly killed the lad.”

“Yes, I imagine it did.” She pulled her gaze away from the stun-inducing wonder of the flower bed and looked up at him over her shoulder. “This is why you wanted to go to the village? To purchase these?”

“Among other things, yes.”

She moved to rise, and he immediately extended his hand to assist her. She slipped her hand into his, absorbing the warm, callused texture of his palm as it surrounded hers. When she once again stood facing him, she did not release his hand.

“Other things?” she repeated, her heart thumping in slow, hard beats. “Don’t tell me there are more surprises.”

He smiled. “All right. I won’t tell you that.” He brushed an errant curl from her forehead, and her hard-thumping heart skipped a beat at the intimate gesture.

“I cannot believe that the small flower shop in the village had such an abundance of plants available,” she said.

“Actually they had only a few. When I told the shopkeeper I wanted more, he suggested some of the village residents might be willing to sell their plants. So Spencer and I proceeded to knock on doors.” He laughed. “I think we met nearly everyone in the village in our quest for bleeding hearts.”

She could only stare. “You’re saying you went to the homes of people you didn’t know to ask them if you could purchase plants from their gardens?”

“That sums it up very well. Everyone was quite happy to allow Spencer and me to dig up their plants for ‘Lady Catherine’s surprise. ’”

Heavens, there had to be at least three dozen plants surrounding the elms. “You went to a great deal of trouble.”

“I wouldn’t call doing something for you trouble.”

Her gaze drifted downward again, and at the sight of what he’d done for her, a rush of tenderness swamped her, swelling her throat with emotion, and pushing moist heat behind her eyes. Returning her gaze to his, she squeezed his hand and spoke the simple truth, “No man has ever done such a lovely, thoughtful thing for me.” And romantic; her inner voice chimed in with a feminine sigh. You forgot to add romantic.

He raised their joined hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin inside her wrist. “I did tell you I enjoy being first.”

The feel of his mouth on her skin, the quiet words breathing heat, licked tiny trails of fire up her arm. He then lowered her hand to press it against his chest, where his heart thumped strong and fast against her palm. Almost as strong and fast as her heart was beating. Because of the way he was looking at her. How close he stood. And because of not only what he’d done, but the way he’d done it.

“The flowers are even more special because you included Spencer in your surprise,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

To her mortification the moisture building up behind her eyes overflowed, and a pair of tears leaked from her eyes.

His eyes widened with a look that could only be described as masculine panic. “You’re crying.”

He sounded so horrified and accusatory, the sob that was caught in her throat bubbled forth as a laugh. “I’m not.”

“Then what do you call this?” He caught one tear on the tip of his finger while his other hand frantically patted his pockets, presumably for a handkerchief.

Now amused-thank goodness-she slipped her own lace hanky from her long sleeve and dabbed at her eyes.

“Are you still crying?”

“I was not crying.”

“Again we require the dictionary.” He reached out and took the handkerchief from her, then gently dabbed at her cheeks. When he finished, he tilted his head first left, then right, peering at her closely. “It appears you’ve stopped.”

“I had not started. I’d simply… sprung a freakish leak of the eyeballs. Today’s Modern Woman does not cry when a man brings her flowers. Heavens, if that were the case, I’d have been in a state of constant hysterics for the past fortnight.”

She said the words in a teasing manner, but the instant they left her lips, she realized that these were not just any flowers. Moreover, it was becoming alarmingly clear that the man standing in front of her was not just any man.

He handed her back her handkerchief, which she tucked up her sleeve. “Well, consider me relieved that your, er, freakish eyeball leak has corrected itself.”

He did indeed look relieved, and she had to bite back a smile. Even in the aftermath of the shooting, he’d remained calm and collected. Yet the sight of feminine tears clearly undid the man, a trait she found utterly endearing.

Dear God. She simply did not want to find something endearing about him. Bad enough she already found him painfully attractive. Speaking of which, her inner voice interjected, ‘tis well past the time to put your plan into action.

Angel’s Smile would do just as nicely as the gazebo, and she did not want to wait any longer for him to hold her. Kiss her. Which, for some reason she could not fathom, he had yet to do. She wanted to grab him by the shoulders, shake him, and demand to know what the bloody blazes he was waiting for. Well, it was simply time to take matters into her own hands.

Giving him what she hoped passed for a carefree, yet with a hint of alluring smile, she said, “Your generosity and thoughtfulness makes me feel all the more guilty about the wager we made.”

“Wager?”

“Regarding you reading A Ladies’ Guide?”

His confused expression cleared. “Ah, yes. That wager. Why do you feel guilty about it?”

“When we made the wager, we’d agreed upon a time of three weeks. Since then we’ve mutually decided that you’ll only be in Little Longstone for one week. I’m afraid that given the time constraints and the fact that it would prove nearly impossible for you to secure a copy of the Guide here, I think we need to discuss terms.”