At Last Read Free

to reach out and touch
her. “Ye should never have to refrain from taking what your heart
desires.”
    “ You should if it belongs
to another.”
    “ Not if it is freely
given, and as I am the keeper of the roses, you are welcome to pick
as many as you like.”
    “ Thank you,
Mr...?”
    To prolong the inevitable, he offered his
middle name rather than his surname. “Broderick. But you may call
me Ian--all my friends do.”
    Amusement glinted in her eyes. “We’ve hardly
been acquainted long enough to be considered friends, Mr.
Broderick.”
    “ Perhaps, but the fact
that ye picked my roses makes us instant friends, ’Tis a law here
in Melrose.”
    She hoisted a brow. “Indeed?”
    “ Aye. In fact, there’s
another law that once you pick a man’s roses, you’re obliged to
stroll through the rest of the gardens with him.”
    She pinned him with a stern stare, one
rendered far less threatening by the twitching of her lips. “I know
a Banbury tale when I hear one, Mr. Broderick.”
    “ Ian. And I’m certain you
do, but ‘tis the truth I speak. Lord Marlington himself declared it
a law.”
    “ For what
reason?”
    “ Why, so the other flowers
wouldn’t be jealous of the roses, of course. Ye wouldn’t want the
other blooms to suffer from neglect, would you,
Miss...?”
    He swore something flickered in her eyes,
but it was gone before he could be certain. “Mallory. Sophia
Mallory.”
    Sophia Mallory. Her name echoed through his
mind like a siren’s call, and he suddenly knew precisely how
Ulysses had felt--inexorably drawn, unable to resist. “’Tis a great
pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Mallory.”
    “ Thank you, although it’s
Mrs. Mallory.”
    Disappointment crushed him. Of course she
would be married, would belong to someone else. While Ian had done
many things he wasn’t necessarily proud of, and he’d told her to
always take what your heart desired, he wasn’t a man to pursue
another man’s wife--no matter how much he might want her. Still, he
couldn’t rescind his invitation at this point. “Your husband is
welcome to join us--“
    “ I’m afraid that’s
impossible. He passed away several years ago.”
    Ian’s conscience kicked him at the wave of
relief washing through him. Damn it, he shouldn’t feel such joy
that any man was dead. Especially as his own loss had left him
gutted--until he’d seen her laughing and spinning in his meadow.
Before he could stop himself, he reached out and lightly grasped
her hand. Their palms met and warmth spread through him. “I’m
sorry. I suffered a similar such loss and wouldn’t wish it upon
anyone.”
    She stilled and for several seconds he
thought she meant to pull away, wouldn’t have blamed her for doing
so. But instead she gently squeezed his hand. “My sympathies for
your loss.”
    He would have thanked her, but bloody hell,
the sensation of her skin against his robbed him of his ability to
speak. Instead he brushed his thumb over the silky smooth back of
her hand and simply nodded.
    Her gaze locked on his and something that
looked like heat kindled in her eyes, giving him hope that she felt
this...whatever it was grabbing him by the throat. Had his very
life depended upon it, he couldn’t have looked away. And he sure as
hell hadn’t wanted to release her when she gently withdrew her
hand. Indeed it required a Herculean effort not to snatch her hand
back and press it against his chest, so she could feel his heart
pounding, could know how deeply she affected him.
    “ You’re certain the earl
wouldn’t object to you showing his private gardens to a
stranger?”
    He had to swallow twice to locate his voice.
“He’d insist upon it--unhappy flowers wilt and if there’s one thing
that makes the earl even more crabbit than usual, ‘tis wilted
posies. He’d issue you the invitation himself were he in residence.
Indeed, he’ll have my head if his blooms are withered when he
returns.” He heaved a dramatic sigh. “I can only