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chandelier?” he asked shrewdly, turning in her direction.
    â€œThat caused me no concern whatsoever.”
    It did now. She had wanted to use this man’s knowledge, but his isolation reverberated upon the untried chords of her own heart. Leila grappled with the odd inclination to comfort his wounded soul—then decided Dunstan Ives had no soul and was quite capable of handling anything that came his way.
    He shrugged and ground his cigar against the dirt in a pot. “Where’s your bevy of cicisbeos? Aren’t they afraid I’ll snap your neck?”
    Amazingly perceptive of him, but she would not admit it. “I threatened them with hysterics if they did not leave me alone. Most gentlemen are instantly cowed by females who disturb their equanimity.”
    â€œNot cowed. Impatient. Blathering and dramatics are irrational and ineffective. If you will give my regards to my brother and his wife, I believe I shall depart for the country, where I belong.” He pushed away from the table and loomed over her, waiting for her to step aside.
    â€œNot yet,” she commanded.
    Leila shivered at the masculine aromas flooding her senses as he crossed his arms over his massive chest and glared at her. Someone—most likely Ninian—had tucked a carnation into his lapel. The combination of his male musk and the sweet perfume unleashed an unexpected hunger in her. In imitation of him, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts and shut out the sensation.
    â€œI want you to work for me,” she said, going straight to the point.
    He remained impassive.
    For the first time in memory, anxiety enveloped her. Wearing the guise of society coquette, she had persuaded dukes and princes to do as she wished—or rather, to do as her husband wished. She had never attempted to act on something she alone wanted, because she’d never thought that what she wanted was attainable.
    Now, with the opportunity of a lifetime at her fingertips, she was terrified of losing her one and only chance.
    â€œI need a garden.” How could she explain that she didn’t want just any garden? And that she didn’t want it for the usual reasons? “I need flowers that no one else possesses. I want to propagate varieties that exist only in my head.”
    He snorted. “Female heads might be fertile ground for cotton, but flowers do better in soil.”
    She tightened her lips against a spurt of anger at his insult. She might have laughed at his riposte had he been another man or had this been another occasion, but it was her future he scorned. “You will discover my head contains far more than cotton. I wish to grow flowers that produce special scents. I will start with varieties I’ve already located, but I need someone who knows how to propagate them. My father says you are an expert.”
    â€œWith vegetables. Flowers have no purpose.”
    Mule-headed wretched stone wall of a… wall. For whatever reason, Dunstan Ives had erected a barrier between himself and the world. She hadn’t attained her position as society’s leading matron by ignoring the nuances of male behavior. A man who resisted had something to hide. In Dunstan’s case, she would prefer not to know what, but she needed the blasted man too much to allow his boneheaded stubbornness to stand in her way.
    â€œYou may grow all the vegetables you desire,” she offered generously.
    Had he just drawn in his breath, as if she had touched a raw nerve? She would have explored the possibility, but he stepped back, his emotions impenetrable once again. She flirted with danger by stepping closer, running her fingers up and down his chest. “Or are you holding out for a more… personal offer?”
    She had no idea what possessed her to say such a thing, but his heat nearly set her gloves on fire.
    Though she could barely see his face in the darkness, Leila felt him stiffen, and seeking the crack in his armor, she