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She leaned against the wall, letting the daydreams fill up her mind.

Until a man’s voice interrupted and demanded, ‘What the devil are you doing here, miss?’

Oh dear. She’d been caught.

‘Your Grace, I am sorry to disturb you.’

Alaric Wyndham, the fourth Duke of Severn, glanced up from his ledgers. He stared back at Braxton, his footman, and waited for the man to continue.

‘We’ve discovered…an intruder on the grounds. In the garden, to be precise.’

Alaric never broke his stare but set down his pen. ‘I presume you escorted him off the estate?’

Braxton appeared uncomfortable. ‘It was a young lady, Your Grace. She arrived in her own coach, so we…thought it best to consult you first.’

The duke stiffened in his chair. Only one woman would dare to seek him out—Lenora Monroe. His gut clenched with frustration before he expelled the useless feelings. Why was she here? She’d married another man only a few months ago—the Earl of Selwyn.

Don’t see her, his heart warned. He’d asked Lenora to marry him, never dreaming that she would refuse. But she had. And damned if he knew why she had come to him now. Uneasiness curled within him, even as he knew he couldn’t turn her away.

‘Bring her to me,’ he ordered.

His footman bowed and departed. Alaric walked towards the window of his study, staring outside while he considered what he would say to Lenora. His pride still burned because she had turned down his proposal. What did she want from him?

A quarter of an hour later, his footman returned. But instead of escorting Lenora, a different young lady stood before him. Her golden hair was tucked within her bonnet, and she wore a day dress the colour of spring grass that matched her eyes. In one hand, she carried a fiery-coloured leaf.

He’d never seen the woman before, but there was a flush of embarrassment in her cheeks that drew his attention to her face. She was quite pretty, even for a trespasser.

The young lady was staring at him with fascination, as if she couldn’t determine quite what to think of him.

‘And just who are you?’ Alaric demanded. The words blurted out with more severity than he’d intended.

She jolted at his tone and set the leaf down on his desk. ‘I am Lady Charlotte Foster.’ When he gave no reaction, and his footman took a step forward, she hastily added, ‘Daughter of the Earl of Valhurst. I apologise for my intrusion. I had hoped you were not at home.’

‘Well, clearly I am at home.’ He expected her to apologise again and offer to leave. But instead, she was turning to look at his study, her gaze observant as she turned to look at the books.

‘Why are you here, Lady Charlotte? Did your father send you?’ He recognised the Valhurst name—the earl was one of the wealthiest lords in London. This must be his youngest daughter, since the older one had married already. Had the lady travelled to his estate alone?

With a slight motion of Alaric’s hand, Braxton stepped back, standing just outside the door.

The young woman offered a hesitant smile that brightened her eyes. ‘Before I answer that, may I presume you are His Grace, the Duke of Severn?’

He narrowed his gaze and answered, ‘I am.’ His suspicions tightened, for he couldn’t imagine any good reason why a young woman of noble birth would travel to his estate without her father.

‘Then I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Your Grace.’ She gave a slight curtsy. ‘Though perhaps it would have been better under different circumstances.’ She paused and asked, ‘May I sit down?’

He stood and gestured for her to take a chair before he moved to sit across from her. She smoothed her green skirts and rested her hands in her lap. Upon her right hand she wore a gold ring with an emerald that matched the shade of her gown exactly.

At first glance, Lady Charlotte appeared like any other young heiress. Her day dress clung to her slender form perfectly, making it clear that it was expensive. Her features had a delicate quality, and those green eyes studied him back with interest. Her mouth, however, held a fullness that caught his attention.

‘Once again, I am sorry for trespassing. The truth is, I came to investigate your gardens,’ she confessed. ‘I never intended to bother you.’

Of all the things he’d expected her to say, that one sounded like an utter lie. ‘Why would you care about my gardens? Nothing is in bloom. It’s all dead.’

‘Dormant,’ she corrected. ‘And while I agree with you that nothing is in bloom, it does show promise, despite being overgrown. Some of your rose canes show signs of disease and need to be cut back. And your irises need to be divided.’ She continued on, saying something about weeds and pruning, but he paid it no attention. Instead, he studied the way she held herself.

Her hair held strands of honey blonde that caught the light, and he wondered what Lady Charlotte would look like with her hair down. This was not a woman who ought to be travelling alone—it was dangerous.

‘Wouldn’t you agree, Your Grace?’