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“Delivery!” A masculine voice called out. “Delivery!”

Whoever it was did not sound familiar, so she hurried to the entrance. Perhaps her aunt expected something to be delivered. By the time she opened the door, the horse pulled wagon was already gone. A package wrapped in thick parchment had been left leaning on the wall next to the entryway.

Interesting that her aunt would purchase something that would be delivered and not only that, that it would be so elegantly wrapped with ribbons and a twig of rosemary. She picked up the box and carried it to the table. A note fluttered to the floor, landing next to her heel.

Her name was clearly written on it, and Wren immediately knew who’d sent whatever it was. The note was short:

Dearest Wren,

For Sunday afternoon.

Thinking of you,

Grant

Although she was fully aware that whatever Grant had sent her was going to be returned, Wren couldn’t help but untie the ribbons and open the box. Inside, delicate tissue paper had been wrapped around several items. A pair of buttery pale blue slippers, silky stockings, and a chemise so delicate, it slid through her fingers. There was also a pair of lacey gloves that had been embroidered with tiny yellow rosettes. Under it all was the most exquisite creation she’d ever seen, a creamy, yellow-colored gown of silk with a modest square neckline. The folds of the skirt cascaded to the floor soundlessly. Without frills or ruffles, it was made to show off the wearer’s attributes.

Wren slid her hand down the front of the gown and pictured what she would look like dressed in the clothes Grant had sent. No one would question them being together if she wore this, albeit it would be noticeable if she didn’t have a chaperone. But it didn’t matter; it wasn’t to be, with or without a chaperone. With jerky movements she folded the gown and carefully replaced it, along with everything else, in the box. After one final look, she covered it all in the tissue, and rewrapped the box.

Another knock to the door made her jump.

“Delivery!”

“What now?” Wren moved to open the door where she found that the delivery man had returned. He held up a second, much smaller parcel. “I forgot to bring this, Miss.”

“Wait,” Wren exclaimed before he could turn away. “Please, take everything back. The person who sent these is mistaken.”

“Are the items not for you?” The man looked confused. “I went to the Murrays’ residence, and from there I was told to bring them here. Are you Wren?” He shifted nervously. “I am to report back to him. The gentleman was adamant that I deliver these, Miss.”

It was a moment before she could reply because her anger had begun to rise at Grant’s true intentions. “I will go with you to return them.”

*

The ride toGrant’s home seemed to take forever. With each passing moment, Wren became angrier. How dare he assume that he could buy her with gifts! After causing her to lose her employment—twice!—did he think she would be receptive to getting elaborate items she could never wear?

To top it off, he was Lady Robert’s lover. He had no true feelings for her.

His house came into view, the sprawling estate surrounded by a perfectly tended drive lined with trees that would soon bloom. As intimidating as it was to approach such a place, Wren was too furious to feel more than a seething heat in her stomach. With the packages clutched to her chest, it was a bit tricky to climb down from the carriage, but she managed it. “Come on,” she told the driver then she marched up to the door and knocked.

Clearing his throat, the driver hovered over her shoulder. “Miss, are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Be quiet,” Wren snapped as the door opened. The butler she recognized from when she’d come before motioned for her to enter, again without questioning her reason for being there. It was odd, as it was obvious she was not the kind of person who visited such a place. At least, she thought, she didn’t think she was, though it occurred to her that Grant might have any manner—and age!—of women visiting him.

The thought made her even angrier.

“I assume you are here to see Mr. Murray,” the butler said, motioning to the sitting room.

“I am.” Wren didn’t move from the doorway. She was certainly not going to sit on the fancy furniture.

Just then a woman appeared at the top of the stairs with a babe on her hip. Dressed in a lovely, pale tan gown, she lifted her skirts with one hand and expertly descended the stairs. Her lips curved into a smile as she neared.

“Is there something amiss?” She looked at Wren and then the packages she held.

Her expression must have been such that the woman assumed she was upset. Wren let out a breath. “I came to return some things to Mr. Murray. I will not be long.”

“I see.” The woman’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “I assume you are Wren.”

That the woman knew her name made Wren’s stomach pitch. What had Grant said about her?