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nervous Allie.
    When Arnold served roasted game hens stuffed with wild rice, she smiled sweetly and
     thanked him. She’d never smiled at Trevor like that. Not once. He raised a brow at
     Arnold as the older man left the room.
    “So, what’s with all the antiques and knickknacks?” She forked a piece of hen into
     her mouth.
    “Knickknacks?”
    “The tchotchkes. The miniature vases, the lockets, all the stuff in glass cases.”
    He blinked. “Tchotchkes? They’re called objets d’art , Miss Campbell. There are books in the library about the various collections if you
     care to educate yourself.”
    “How very grand,” she said in a fake British accent, her nose lifted in the air.
    “That accent’s dreadful. And yes, it is terribly grand, but then so am I.”
    “You really are an arrogant ass.”
    “But a charming one.”
    She rolled her eyes and finished her meal.
    Once custard was served, Trevor turned to Arnold. “Thank you. We’ll call you when
     we’re done.”
    “Very good, sir.”
    Trevor refilled his wine glass. “Did you enjoy dinner, Miss Campbell? I thought for
     a moment you might lick the plate clean.”
    Little lines near her eyes betrayed her stress, but she hid it well behind a smile
     that seemed almost genuine. “The food was delicious.”
    “I’m so gratified.” He leaned back in his chair and studied her.
    Her body stiffened under his scrutiny, and she cast her gaze on the flickering candle.
     He didn’t like it when she wasn’t relaxed with him. Even an angry response was much
     better than this tense nervousness.
    He rose from his seat and held out his hand. “Come, Miss Campbell.”
    A look of panic raced across her features, but she quickly mastered it. Taking his
     hand, she didn’t speak.
    Instead of leading her out of the dining room, he walked to the terrace doors. When
     she realized he wasn’t taking her upstairs, the tightness around her eyes lessened—somewhat.
    As they stepped outside, Trevor turned to her. “What do you think?”
    In silence, she gaped at the lighted garden before her. A traditional English garden
     really, with stone paths and herbaceous borders and a profusion of flowers.
    “This must cost a fortune to water,” she whispered.
    Keeping hold of her hand, he led her down the steps and onto the garden path. “Yes,
     I believe it does.”
    The comforting smell of blooming flowers enveloped him as they strolled beneath a
     dark sky, the half-moon partially visible through the clouds. “Do you like it?”
    Her lips parted and she swiveled her head, taking in the trees, the roses, the purple
     and pink delphiniums. “Of course, it’s beautiful. How in the world do you grow all
     this here?”
    “Most of the area was dug up and fresh soil brought in. You’re absolutely right though,
     it’s a frivolous expense. I’ve been thinking about tearing it out and putting a tennis
     court here instead.” They walked further toward the grotto swimming pool. “Do you
     play, Miss Campbell?”
    “Not as well as you. You’re just trying to get a rise out of me. You’re not going
     to get rid of this garden. You wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble if it wasn’t
     important to you.”
    With a sudden movement, he stopped and faced her. He wrapped an arm around her waist,
     pulling her into him. Her eyes widened and she drew in a surprised breath.
    “Never presume to know me, Miss Campbell.” He reached out with his other hand and
     caught a lock of her hair, rubbing it between his finger and thumb. It was just as
     soft as it looked.
    She stared at him warily, her hands flat on the lapels of his jacket.
    He pulled her closer, his palm hot against her cool, bare back, felt her breasts press
     against his chest. He wondered what her nipples looked like—pink and dusky or just
     a shade darker than her pale skin? He let go of her hair and moved his thumb slowly
     across one of her golden eyebrows.
    Her breath quickened. Those blue eyes darkened a