"Watch out for my leg, Seymour." The earl of Downe rapped the viscount with his cane.

Seymour poked his head back inside and glanced at Downe's leg. "Oh, sorry 'bout that. Forgot all about your foot."

"Damned female," the earl muttered and adjusted his foot so it was well out of the way of his eager friend.

"What damned female?" Stephen asked in innocent curiosity. Alec turned and glared at Downe.

The earl stammered through some kind of explanation that Seymour said was a "lame excuse" and then explained his pun to Stephen, who laughed after a few minutes of thought. The regent had come across Alec and his brother in the park early one morning and had taken a particular liking to Stephen Castlemaine. The lad had shown such an extensive knowledge of plants and flowers-a subject dear to the regent's heart, since he was midway through the design of his personal gardens-that Prinny had requested another audience with the duke's brother.

When the Archbishop of Canterbury quietly commented that the younger Castlemaine was a bit slow, the prince had angrily replied, "So was Moses," which silenced the royal contingent. Within a day, Stephen Castlemaine had become a royal favorite. Alec still chose to protect his brother, preferring to keep him away from fickle society, but tonight he'd agreed to let Stephen accompany them.

"I say, there. It could take us another hour just to reach the line to the gates," Seymour said. He scowled when Downe removed a silver brandy flask from his coat.

"It's not for me," Downe said, handing it to Alec. "Here, Belmore."

Alec gazed out the window, his mind back on the roof of Belmore Park, his senses filled with the scent of roses.

"Belmore?"

Stephen leaned over and with one finger poked him in the arm. "Alec!"

He shook his head and looked up. "What?"

Stephen pointed at the earl, who held out the flask and said, "You look as if you could use this."

Alec shook his head, then turned back just in time to catch a glimpse of a faded red hat bobbing through the crowd. "Bloody hell!" He threw open the carriage door and stood, gripping the open window to keep his balance. "It's the flower seller! It's her!" He jumped onto the street and threaded his way through the crush of carriages, moving onto the walk and running as best he could through the crowd. He lost sight of the red hat and shoved his way through. Women screeched and men swore, but he didn't give a damn. He would not lose her. He leapt onto the top of Harbinger's gig and searched the crowd. A few hundred feet ahead he could see the old woman's hat.

"Stop her!" he shouted, pointing. "Stop that old woman!" But the hat bobbed onward, the crowd looking at him as if he was as insane as he felt.

"Belmore!"

Alec ignored the murmurs and turned. Seymour, Stephen, and Henson ran toward him, and Downe, with his cane, hobbled along behind swearing the air blue.

"Over here!" he shouted and waved them forward. Then he took off again, seeing an opening between the carriages. He ran, ran as fast as he could around mincing teams and rolling wheels. It was her. He knew it was her. She was his only hope, his last chance. His breath came in pants. He ran faster, weaving his way through the crowd and yelling at the woman to stop, not caring who or what was in his way.

A carriage shifted, blocking his way. The team started to balk and the carriage rocked. He couldn't get through. Like thunder, panic beat through him. And desperation. Overwhelming desperation. This was his only hope. His last chance.

"Damn!" He shifted left, then right, then dashed through a small opening between teams. He was in the crowd again, but he'd lost sight of her. He stretched upward to try to spot her. Then, frustrated as hell, he shoved his way to the iron fence that circled the royal residence. He grabbed it and pulled himself up, hanging on to the fence with one hand.

"The duke of Belmore has a thousand pounds for anyone who can hold that old flower woman in the red

straw hat!"A loud murmur traveled wavelike through the crowd. He yelled it again, and then, ignoring the stares,forged his way through. There was another shout.

"There she is!"

Alec ran in that direction, pushing and shoving his way past the gates. He spotted her. About thirty youngbloods, most of them known for their lack of funds, blocked his path in their rush to reach her.Like the waters of the Red Sea the men parted. He ran at her, just as she held up a posy, her back to him."A lovely posy fer yer lady!"He grasped her small shoulders and spun her around. "Where is she? Where is my wife?"A pair of sharp and familiar gray eyes stared up at him. "Who?"Panting, he rasped, "You know who! My wife!""Who be ye?""You damn well know who I am. I'm the duke of Belmore!"The old woman eyed him for a long time, silently, then dismissed him and said, "Don't know what yer talkin' 'bout." She turned around to the crowd and held up her flowers. "Lovely posy fer yer lady!"His breath still coming in staggered spurts, Alec stood there, frustrated and helpless. A hand touched his shoulder and he turned to face Downe, Seymour, and Stephen. "She won't tell me anything." He ran ahand through his hair, helpless.Downe reached into his pocket and took out a money pouch. He limped to the old woman and shoved the money in her basket. "Tell him where she is."

The old woman turned very slowly. She looked from the earl to Alec, then at the pouch. "Ye wish to buyme whole basket o' posies, yer lordship?""Tell Belmore where his wife is. You told his fortune. Said he would meet her. Months ago... On the steps of White's. Where is she now, old woman?""I just sell posies, yer lordship.""Those months ago you sold more than that."Seymour and the others stood beside him. The viscount dropped his purse into her basket, then took off every charm, fob, and amulet on his person and dropped them in her flower basket. "Bring her back."Stephen looked at the hag and stated simply, "Alec needs Joy. Look at him."She remained silent.

"Damnation, woman!" Alec shouted. "Tell me where she is. What do I have to do? I've torn London apart looking for an old flower woman in a red hat. I finally find you and you won't tell me anything. What do I have to do?"

She remained silent, but watched him closely.

"I've hugged every tree from Wiltshire to London." He turned around and spotted a maple a few feet away. He strode over and wrapped his arms around it. "Where's the magic, woman? Where?"

The crowd began to titter. He ignored them. "I eat gingerbread. Hell, I don't even like gingerbread! I look for fairies. I wish on stars. I sleep with roses. Pink roses. I wake up calling her name at night. What do I have to do? Tell me! Please..." His voice tapered off, and he was quiet for a moment before he said, "I love her."

There was absolute silence. Those wise gray eyes pinned him for the longest time, then she slowly turned and walked away. "A lovely posy fer yer lady! A lovely posy fer yer lady!"

He watched her walk away. His hope went with her. He sagged back against the tree and stared at the ground. The crowd stood frozen, thinking God only knew what. He could feel their stares. He didn't give a damn.

After a few minutes the crowd began to murmur, then move and Downe limped over to Alec. "Come on inside, Belmore."

Alec took a deep breath and pushed away from the tree. Wordlessly he followed them inside, purposely sidestepping the reception line. He didn't want to talk to anyone now. He made his way across the ballroom, but something touched his arm. He turned in hope.

Lady Agnes Voorhees, flanked by her gossips, stood there looking as if she could burp feathers.

He just looked at them, feeling nothing.

"Why, Your Grace! I've never seen anything like that! You poor man. Well, I said to my Henry, isn't that just like a Scot to run out. Can't face anything. Weak blood. Which reminds me... I just met Stephen. Over there with His Royal Highness? Why, your brother is as sweet as can be for someone who"-she leaned closer and whispered-"who isn't all there. But that's still no excuse for that girl to leave you."

He looked at London society's version of the witches from Macbeth and said, "I should have let her do it."

"Do what, Your Grace?"

His eyes narrowed. "Both warts and frogs." He spun around and walked away, not seeing the little bump that had just popped onto Lady Agnes's beak of a nose. Two days later, a nice black hair would grow from it, and from the other wart on her chin... forever.

Like a cipher, Alec moved toward the terrace doors. He needed air. He needed space. He needed isolation. A few seconds later he sat on a stone bench under a tree in a dark corner of the garden, his head leaning against the trunk as he stared upward. Through the dark crown of the tree, he looked up at the sky, at the stars Scottish saw such wonder in, wished upon and believed in.

Without her, he had nothing to believe in anymore. He had nothing.

The orchestra struck up a waltz. It was that same waltz. He smiled a bittersweet smile. He bowed his head and sat there, elbows on his knees, the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes and relived the memory.

What had she said that time? Something about having to make memories. Memories were all he had.

"I love her," he said to the ground, needing to hear himself say it again.

He thought he heard something and looked up. The garden was empty.

He exhaled. "My Scottish."

The trees rustled slightly, a breath of a breeze whispering, "Alec."

He looked upward at nothing. But he could have sworn 'twas her voice.

"Alec."

Frowning, he looked before him, some small amount of hope still flickering inside him. There was

nothing. An empty garden."Alec."God... He was insane. He'd go through life hearing her voice."My Alec."At that he straightened, and turned around.She stood there. Scottish stood there, a smile on her face, that wonderful face. Three mindless steps and she was in his arms. Real. Alive. He gripped her so tightly she gasped."I love you." He buried his face in her sweet neck and said, "God, Scottish.... How I love you."Her hands held his head. "My Alec," she whispered, then their mouths touched and he knew this was real, for he tasted all he loved, his world, his life, his wife. Eternity.

Long moments later, he pulled back, looking at her, touching her, holding her, afraid for an instant to letgo lest she disappear again. As if reading his mind, she smiled and whispered, " 'Tis forever this time."The notes of the waltz drifted on the air. He pushed back, looked at the golden light of the ballroom, then back at her face. That face.A second later he pulled her with him. "Alec! Where are we going?"He said nothing, just ripped open the terrace doors and stormed inside until they stood in the middle of the dance floor. The dancers slowed, then stopped.Surrounded by the ton, he gripped her head in his hands and finished kissing her.A gasp ran through the room, the ton suddenly witness to a new scandal. The music ceased. Voices twittered. Fans flew up to shield ladies' faces, yet their curious eyes peered over, watching. Some ladies

fainted. Some ladies smiled. Most ladies envied. He didn't notice. He didn't care.

There was the feeble sound of applause, and at that, Alec broke the kiss, looking a few feet away where three people stood-the only people in the room beside Scottish whose opinion mattered. Stephen hung his head and muttered "mush." Seymour grinned and held up his crossed fingers. Downe leaned on his cane, but it was he who was awkwardly clapping.

Alec felt Scottish shift, then turn slowly, following his gaze. He saw her look at the earl's cane, then she turned back to him. There was a pause, a flash of laughter in her eyes. They both spoke at the same instant: "Letitia Hornsby."

He caught her laughter with another kiss, held her close and ignored the mumble of outraged sensibilities. He swept her into his arms and she pulled back, smiling up at him as he carried her through the stunned crowd.

"Alec?" Sighing, she leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Hmm?"

She placed her hand on his heart. "You do that so very well."

And They Lived.

Happily Ever.

After....

Should all men pile their joys up on a single spot, mine would surpass them all.

Juventius.

Epilogue.

How happily? Well...All Hallows Eve was a very special holiday at Belmore Park. If one looked down from the fancifulroofline, through the leaded glass windows that sparkled like starlight, and into the great room-thebusiest and most lived-in room inside the ducal home-one would see that there was magic in the air. It floated through the room along with a table, a book or two, and a few chairs, including the one occupiedby His Grace, the duke of Belmore."Marianna.""Yes, Papa?""Put the chair down, please."A floating book sailed past his head. "Marianna.""Sorry, Papa," she said, then he heard her mutter, "I need to concentrate."Alec stifled a groan and leaned over the arm of the chair to look down at his eight-year-old daughter.

Standing about eight feet below him, she was dressed for the holiday celebration in green silk taffeta and lace, and her black hair was held back from her innocent face with bright green ribbons that matched her eyes, those gamine green eyes. She stared up at him as he hovered above her, bit her lip, then gave him a small wave. "Hallo, Papa."

He smiled down at her. "Having a problem?"She nodded."You can do it, sweet. I know you can." He gave her a nod of confidence he was far from feeling.She smiled up at him as if he had just given her all the stars in the sky. She raised her chin a notch, closed her eyes so tight that her small face twisted with her effort, raised her hands high, then slowly lowered

them.The chair slammed to the floor. He shook the ringing from his ears and loosened his tight grip on thechair arms. He'd had plenty of practice landing over the years.

His daughter opened her eyes, as if she expected to have failed again. But one tentative look and delight shone from her face. She ran into his arms. "Oh Papa! I did it! I did it!"

He held her tightly. "Yes, sweet, you did it." He raised his eyes to the doorway where his wife stood smiling, her love for him showing in her face. That face. She still looked as young and bright as she had that day in the forest, despite the fact she was the mother of six. She hardly changed, but she'd changed him, had shown him what it was to live, and over the past thirteen years they'd made plenty of memories.

She mouthed a thank-you, then cleared her throat. "Everyone's waiting."

Nodding, he stood and stooped down so his daughter could climb onto his shoulders. Her giggle bubbled through the room and she turned to her mother as he ducked under the doorway, her small hand patting his head. "Papa does this so well."

Hours later, after the songs, the bonfires, the dancing and games, the whole family returned to the great room where a tall clock chimed eleven, the ormulu clock on the mantel chimed four, and the walnut century clock chimed midnight. The duke of Belmore checked his pocket watch. It was nine o'clock.

Shaking his head, he leaned back in a chair, a grounded chair, and watched his children-a mixture of mortals and witches who were loved and cherished by their parents. They were his life, his blood, his pride, and he made sure they knew it. Jonathan, the eldest son and heir, now age ten, glanced up at the mantel and with a casual wave of his warlock's hand fixed every clock in the room. It was said his magic was even stronger and more flawless than that of his great aunt, the MacLean-Mary MacLean-whom all their daughters were named after and who sat across the room examining Gabriel's newest bald spot. Over the years Alec had come to know the woman who'd given him Scottish. He'd learned to ignore her and her familiar's penchant for taking other forms-haggard old flower women, inn-keeping giants and dwarfs, Caribbee servants, and deaf butlers.

His warm gaze drifted to a quiet corner. Marian's corner. She was the eldest child at twelve and the tradition breaker -the only female firstborn in the Castlemaine line in seven hundred years. One finger idly twisted her mink brown hair while she read about knights and ladies and dragons, occasionally glancing up with a dreamy look in her midnight blue eyes. Marianna was now playing draughts with her seven-year-old brother, James. He was the only mortal in the Castlemaine lot, but he was sharp and quick and could usually outmaneuver his siblings' magic-with the help of an ermine weasel named Beezle.

Six-year-old Marietta sat in her uncle Stephen's lap while he slowly read to her about meanings and symbols of all the flowers and plants in the gardens. Her eyes began to drift closed, and Alec smiled, watching his brother read on while she fell fast asleep. Just that afternoon she'd proudly announced that she'd zapped the warts off every toad in the lake.

Alec stood up, dusted the gingerbread crumbs off his coat, and walked across the room just as four-year-old Rosemary galloped in on a willow broom. She blew him a kiss as she trotted by. Shaking his head, he mounted the stairs and heard the MacLean clear her throat and chide, "Subtlety, Rosemary. A witch must learn subtlety."

He laughed to himself and greeted by name each of the servants he chanced to pass as he continued up the flights and down the hallways. He opened the roof door and stepped outside where his Scottish was waiting.

For it was there, among the fanciful beasts, under all the glimmering stars in the clear night sky, and amidst a sprinkling of pink rose petals that the duke and duchess of Belmore made magic.

Books by Jill Burnett.

Bewitching.

Dreaming.

The Heart's Haven.

Just a Kiss Away.

Surrender a Dream.

Imagine.