Must Be Magic Read Online Free Page B

it that no one would let him.
    You may name your terms. Had she really said that? Was it a trap?
    He glared up the road leading west, toward Bath and the Staines estate. He had no proof that Lady Leila was responsible for his current situation. After Celia and London, his reputation could be the reason that no man would hire him. But it had been the lady’s half brother who had sacked him, even though Dunstan had tripled the estate’s profits over the past year. It certainly looked like the lady’s doing to him.
    Of course, to be fair, Rolly was a prig of the worst sort, and Dunstan might have let the lordling know that a time or two. He didn’t tolerate fools gladly.
    Dunstan leaned against his horse’s neck and considered his alternatives. His saddlebag still contained the experimental turnip seeds. He could crawl back to his brother—and the few acres Drogo had promised him—and never earn enough to pay his recently hired investigator to seek the truth of Celia’s death, much less make a life for his son.
    Or he could turn toward Bath and accept the lady’s offer.
    His terms. The possibilities intrigued him.
    He had catered to Celia’s whims for years. Like a blithering fool, he’d showered her with fripperies and jewels he could ill afford, placating her with the dream of someday becoming a countess, since Drogo had no heir. He hoped she would be patient and learn to love him.
    The instant Drogo had married and had a son, Celia had danced off to London and a round of lovers, and never looked back.
    Dunstan would rather rot in the Tower than play carpet for a woman’s dainty feet again.
    He particularly wouldn’t play the part of carpet for a seductive Malcolm. Lady Leila was too attractive and determined. She could walk all over a man, if he let her. Then again, no one said he had to let her.
    She’d said he could name his own terms.
    Crawl or fight. Friggin’ hell of a choice.
    Reining his gelding to the right, he set his jaw and hunkered down for the battle ahead.
    ***
    Dunstan pounded on the door of Lady Leila’s rural mansion until a stiff-necked butler answered. Accepting Dunstan’s hat, the servant led him toward the back as if he’d been expected. The witch had probably read of his arrival in her tea leaves.
    Entering what was obviously her late husband’s masculine study, he watched as the woman he thought of as the Black Widow paced before a sunny window. Or at least, he assumed it was she, given her black skirts. The bright light threw her features into shadow, and he had deliberately avoided looking closely at her in London.
    At first, this female appeared every bit as tight-laced and haughty as the woman he remembered from the ball. But noticing the way she clasped and unclasped her hands, he sensed in her an uncertainty that he hadn’t discerned earlier.
    â€œI’ve come to inquire if the estate agent position is still available.” Clenching his jaw, Dunstan focused on the cap covering her tightly pinned and powdered hair, avoiding any contact with her provocative Malcolm eyes. He didn’t believe in fairy tales, but if even Drogo could be tempted by a Malcolm witch, he would take no chance that there was truth in the legendary attraction between Malcolm women and Ives men. He figured the legendary disasters between their families were to be expected of any Ives who was foolish enough to fall for a witch.
    He wished the devil she’d sit down.
    â€œAs I told you before, I need someone who is willing to help me develop new strains of flowers, ones grown for fragrance,” she announced, as if they were continuing the conversation begun in her home weeks ago.
    Her perfume, which he remembered from their earlier encounter, smelled sweeter than the jasmine in her conservatory. He concentrated all the more on the lady’s white curls.
    â€œI know nothing of flower breeding.” He tried not to bite off his