"Do not tell me that you are a secret gardener?"

Emma briefly thought of the numerous plants and flowers she had effectively murdered over the years.

"No, I shall leave such talent to you."

The golden gaze swept over her upturned countenance with a near tangible force.

"How are you this morning?"

Feeling oddly vulnerable, Emma lowered her head.

"I am sorry that I disturbed you last night."

Although Emma did not glance up, she would have sworn he stroked a hand over her curls.

"I was not disturbed. You must know I delight in any excuse to be near you."

She shivered, the potent image of lying in his arms difficult to dismiss.

"I am not usually so silly as to be disturbed by a mere dream."

"No, you do not ever allow yourself to be silly," he said in dry tones. "It might be better if you did."

A small, uncomfortable silence fell, and with a determined effort Emma lifted her head to meet his searching gaze.

"Have you seen Lady Hartshore this morning?"

"No, not yet." He considered a moment before giving a shrug. "Actually, I just finished a rather interesting interview with Mr. Winchell."

Emma stiffened. Blast her father. Had she not made it clear she wanted him to stay far away from her?

"He is at Mayford?"

"He just took his leave."

She heaved a small sigh of relief. At least she would not have to face him so early in the day.

"Oh."

The golden gaze briefly flicked down to her clenched hands before returning to her wary expression.

"He came because he was quite concerned for you, my dear. He had heard rumors you were injured."

The mere notion of the Devilish Dandy being concerned for anyone made her lips thin.

"I hope you managed to reassure him that I am well?"

"After considerable effort. He was clearly shaken by the thought you had been injured."

"I find that difficult to believe," she muttered.

"He also issued what I can only presume to be a warning," he smoothly continued.

Emma frowned in bewilderment. "What?"

"He expressly informed me that you were an innocent and that I was not to trifle with your affections."

Emma felt a wave of embarrassment rush through her. What was Solomon thinking? He had never so much as noted her existence before, and now he was gadding about, playing the role of the domineering father as if he were determined to make up for twenty-three years of neglect in a few short weeks.

To even think he would warn away Lord Hartshore as if he were some common lecher . . . it did not even bear considering.

"I am sorry. I cannot imagine why he would do such a thing."

"Because he obviously realizes that you could easily have your heart broken," he said gently. "I assured him that was certainly not my intention."

"Of course not." With a jerky motion she rose to her feet and turned away. She supposed it was too much to hope the ground would open up and swallow her whole. "The mere notion is absurd."

"Yes, it is. I would never do anything to harm you." She heard him move to stand directly behind her, then without warning he grasped her shoulders to firmly turn her to face him. "Do you believe me, Emma?"

"Yes."

"Look at me."

She wanted to ignore his soft command. The sudden tension that throbbed in the air warned her that the familiar awareness that always smoldered between them was threatening to blaze to life.

But a force beyond her control was suddenly in command of her body, and her head abruptly rose to reveal the excitement darkening her eyes.

"Emma," he breathed, his hands tightening on her shoulders as he tugged her against his hard body and claimed her mouth in a hungry kiss.

Emma felt a shock of pleasure run through her. Before, Cedric had always taken great care to keep his passions in check. His kisses had been a gentle exploration, coaxing her innocent desire with a slow insistence.

She felt as if she had been plunged into a raging ocean without warning. The lips that had coaxed now demanded, parting her own, and Cedric searched the sensitive skin of her inner mouth with his tongue.

A near unbearable heat pulsed through her blood as she clutched at his coat. She had not been prepared for the stark, aching need that was opening in the pit of her stomach.

She wanted him to drag her even closer.

To push her down among the flowers and ...

Horrified by the vivid image of being laid down and covered by the large body, she abruptly pulled out of his grasp.

She was shameless.

Utterly, utterly shameless.

"Emma, forgive me," Cedric rasped, clearly misinterpreting her sudden rejection. "I did not mean to frighten you."

"You did not frighten me."

He reached out to grasp her chin, forcing her to meet his darkened gaze.

"Then, what is it?"

She could hardly confess that she had been overcome by the desire to lie among the flowers and allow him to have his delicious way with her. Instead, she unconsciously pressed her tongue to her faintly swollen lips.

"I leave at the end of the week."

She was unprepared for the sudden anger that snapped his brows together.

"You still intend to leave Kent?"

"I ... yes."

"May I ask why?"

She shifted uneasily, unaccustomed to this stern, demanding side of Cedric.

"I think it is for the best."

Her words only hardened his masculine features. "You cannot convince me that you are leaving because of Aunt Cassie. Even a fool could see that you are very much attached to her."

She pressed a hand to her stomach. "Please, I would rather not discuss this."

"No, you never wish to discuss anything, do you, Emma?" he charged. "It is so much easier to walk away than confront such untidy things as commitment and emotions."

She gasped at his attack. "That isn't fair."

"Does it not trouble you at all that my aunt will be devastated when you leave?"

The fact that it bothered her more than she wanted to admit made her meet his glittering gaze squarely.

"You are the one who insisted that I remain a month. I wanted to leave the day I arrived."

He flinched at her impetuous words, but before she could call them back, he was offering her a humorless smile.

"You are right. I have no one to blame but myself."

With a stiff bow he turned around to stride from the room.

Emma watched the uncompromising line of his body as he walked away, her heart clenching with an unbearable regret.

If only ...

Thirteen.

The Valentine ball was a stunning success.

Amid the lavish decorations that had transformed the ballroom into a mystical garden, the costumed guests mingled and flirted with an abandon that could be attributed either to the fanciful masks that hid their identities or the copious amount of champagne being distributed by the fairy-clad servants.

Stepping into the glittering scene, Cedric easily spotted his aunt attired in a frilly white gown with a crown upon her head that he supposed was meant to represent her role as queen of the fairies.

He allowed a small smile to touch his mouth. The first smile in nearly five long days.

Although his anger when he had stormed from Mayford had calmed over the past few days, he had remained restless and frustrated. Why was the contrary minx determined to abandon them? Why would she not confess what she was running from? Why would she kiss him with trembling passion and yet refuse to admit that there was something magical between them?

Why? Why? Why?

The questions had plagued him until he had at last determined that he could not allow her to walk away without one last attempt to prove she was making a terrible mistake.

And so he had sent a note to his aunt and attired himself in a ridiculous toga with laurel leaves in his dark hair before heading to Mayford.

Now he was eager to discover Emma so that he could speak with her alone.

Using his considerable height to scan the vast crowd, his search was abruptly interrupted as his aunt gave a cry of delight and hurried forward.

"Cedric, at last. How dashing you look."

Cedric widened his smile as he glanced down at the silk toga. "Yes, I thought it rather dashing myself."

Cassie leveled him a shrewd gaze. "Apollo, are you not?"

"How did you guess?" he demanded.

"I suspected your choice of costume when you sent me the note requesting that Emma come as Daphne. It was Apollo, was it not, who was struck by Eros' bow and fell hopelessly in love with the wood nymph?"

Cedric was uncertain what had prompted his impulsive desire to see Emma dressed as Daphne. Perhaps simply because the tragic tale so accurately reflected his own futile emotions.

"Yes."

Cassie's brow furrowed as she struggled to recall the sad tale.

"But did not Daphne repulse his advances and flee into the forest?"

His mouth twisted with wry humor. "Not only that, but she cried out to her father, the river god, to save her from Apollo's determined pursuit, and he promptly turned her into a laurel tree."

"Goodness, that is not very romantic," Cassie protested.

"But unfortunately quite appropriate."

She searched his dark features a moment before a sly smile curved her mouth.

"Do you seek to pursue Emma?"