“The kind we eat?”
“Yes. I’m trying to develop a strain that will grow fatter in the pod.”
She peered down at the pots. Nothing was sprouting yet; he’d only planted the seeds a week ago. “How curious,” she murmured. “I had no idea one could do that.”
“I have no idea if one can,” he admitted. “I’ve been trying for a year.”
“With no success? How very frustrating.”
“I’ve had some success,” he admitted, “just not as much as I’d like.”
“I tried to grow roses one year,” she told him. “They all died.”
“Roses are more difficult than most people think,” he said.
Her lips twisted slightly. “I noticed you have them in abundance.”
“I have a gardener.”
“A botanist with a gardener?”
He’d heard that question before, many times. “It’s no different than a dressmaker with a seamstress.”
She considered that for a moment, then moved farther into the greenhouse, stopping to peer at various plants and scold him for not keeping up with her with the lantern.
“You’re a bit bossy this evening,” he said.
She turned, caught that he was smiling—half-smiling, at least—and offered him a wicked grin. “I prefer to be called ‘managing.’ “
“A managing sort of female, eh?”
“I’m surprised you didn’t deduce as much from my letters.”
“Why do you think I invited you?” he countered.
“You want someone to manage your life?” she asked, tossing the words over her shoulder as she moved flirtatiously away from him.
He wanted someone to manage his children, but now didn’t seem like the best time to bring them up. Not when she was looking at him as if ...
As if she wanted to be kissed.
Phillip had taken two slow, predatory steps in her direction before he even realized what he was doing.
“What is this?” she asked, pointing to something.
“A plant.”
“I know it’s a plant,” she said with a laugh. “If I’d—” But then she looked up, caught the gleam in his eyes, and quieted.
“May I kiss you?” he asked. He would have stopped if she’d said no, he supposed, but he didn’t allow her much opportunity, closing the distance between them before she could reply.
“May I?” he repeated, so close that his words were whispered across her lips.
She nodded, the motion tiny but sure, and brushed his mouth against hers, gently, softly, as one was supposed to kiss a woman one thought one might marry.
But then her hands stole around and touched his neck, and God help him, but he wanted more.
Much more.
