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I’ve ordered more roses and will need to begin planning their location soon. I’ll expect you to return this evening so we may discuss the best approach.”
    Dunstan rested an insolent shoulder against the bookshelves and crossed his arms over his chest. Thin lines creased either side of his set mouth, and she could read refusal in his dark eyes as if it were printed there. Therein lay the problem of hiring an aristocrat to do a servant’s job. They simply didn’t know their place.
    In the sunlight, she thought him wickedly fine. His well-endowed nose suited his rugged features. Blue-black highlights gleamed in his raven hair, and a frown added to his dangerous appeal. He might not be handsome in the conventional sense, but he possessed the Ives maleness that spun a woman’s senses.
    She shuddered and turned away. She dared not place herself in the power of a man again, and definitely not one as commanding as this one.
    â€œAs you suggested,” he answered her calmly, “I’ll ask a higher percentage to compensate for non-income-producing fields. That could be costly, so your paying crops should be planted first. The roses must wait.”
    She could get angry and crisp him to ashes. Instead, she donned the deliberate smile with which she’d conquered society. Granting him a smoldering look from beneath lowered lashes, an expression that always conned men to do her bidding, Leila glided closer, until she could tell he was holding his breath. She could smell the sensual awareness on him. Seductively scratching a manicured fingernail over his jabot, she detected the rapid beat of his heart.
    â€œThe rose garden,” she insisted, “comes first. If your income does not equal what my father and Rolly paid you by year’s end, I will provide the difference as a salary.”
    â€œI’ll study roses,” he agreed, not really agreeing. He abruptly turned his back on her and scanned her bookshelves. “I’ll take a few of these books with me,” he added, “and go back to the inn to fetch my things.”
    He selected a few sturdy volumes and walked off.
    May the goddesses rain toads upon his head!
    Leila wasn’t certain if she should laugh with relief or fling books at his stiff spine as he departed.
    She wanted to hate the man for being so obdurate. Instead, she longed to be just like him. She wanted to know her abilities and where they could take her with full confidence, as he did.
    Releasing her disappointment and puzzlement, Leila let an almost giddy excitement renew her resolve. Dunstan Ives, the best agronomist in all England, had come to work for her.
    Finally she had what she needed to explore her interest in scents. She could only pray that her explorations would lead to the discovery of her Malcolm gift.
    The extraordinary gifts her sisters and cousins possessed all related to their more common talents. Lucinda had the gift of revealing character through portrait painting. Felicity, the bookworm, picked up images of the past from old maps and letters.
    Surely, surely , her own gift must be related to her talent for scents. Perhaps someday she might discover in herself a gift capable of saving a life, as Ninian’s had saved her husband.
    Ripping off her cap and shaking a cloud of powder from her tightly pinned curls, Leila massaged her scalp and sighed in relief. Now, if she could take off this damned corset and gown and slip into the fields to see how her newly planted roses had fared through the night…
    Glancing out the window, she watched Dunstan ride away, and an odd excitement possessed her. Could it be possible to work side by side with a man who might respect her for her talents rather than for her position in society?
    Then again, how could she possibly work with an Ives? Whom was she fooling?
    A carriage rolled up the drive. Running a hand through her hair to loosen it, she wrinkled her nose in distaste. She didn’t want to