Free Must Be Magic by Patricia Rice

suitors her nephew encouraged, she supposed. Drat the brat, she had wanted to plant her new roses today, not entertain unwanted suitors.
    And she wanted to see Dunstan in his shirtsleeves again. The man’s immense knowledge captured her imagination, but there was something about a man in dishabille…
    Foolish thought. She’d best concentrate on her guests. For the sake of her sisters and their introduction to society, she must don her smiling mask and welcome her nephew’s guests.
    ***
    The lady had demanded his presence—again.
    Dunstan tugged down his overly tight vest—his good one now lined a rabbit hole, thanks to a foolish woman, or his foolish lust—and prodded his gelding toward the rose garden rising out of a rock field.
    He couldn’t believe he’d rescued a damned rabbit because of a woman, but it certainly served as a reminder of her different manner of thinking—and of his inability to resist her wiles.
    Tying his horse to a branch, he cut across the lawn to the field where he’d found the girl in red last night. He stopped short at the sight he encountered past the hill.
    Lady Leila, wearing a black gown accented with a lacy white neckerchief and a swooping black hat that concealed her face from the sun, stood watching over gardeners digging at the skeletal remains of her blighted roses.
    The laborers Dunstan had ordered to clear the field worked around her, carrying rocks to a wall meant to prevent the flock of gamboling ewes and lambs from grazing the flower beds.
    Dunstan glared in annoyance at the stack of brown rose canes piling up beside the workmen. He hadn’t ordered anyone to touch the roses. He’d been waiting to see if any of them were still alive. Lady Leila was a damned incompetent gardener, but a determined one. Even as he watched, she shooed away a curious lamb while pointing out another blackened bush to her crew.
    Fool woman was bent on building this garden, with or without him. He’d best teach her how to do it properly. Stripping off his coat and flinging it over the wall, he lifted the lamb out of the rows, gently carried it to the other side of the wall, then stalked across the remains of the rose garden.
    Aware of her stare, Dunstan recognized the impropriety of appearing before a lady in his loose shirt. She’d have to get used to it if she insisted on visiting the fields. “What the deuce do you think you’re doing?” he demanded as he approached.
    â€œWhat do you care?” she replied, scrubbing at her cheek with the back of her gloved hand. “You have not bothered to tend them.”
    â€œI’ve had men out here every day—” Coming close enough to see the tear tracks staining her fair skin, he stumbled over his tongue. “What the devil are you crying over?” he inquired, realizing even as he said it that he only made matters worse.
    The lady jerked down her veil to hide her wet cheeks. “They’re dead! All those magnificent flowers and magical scents— lost. Don’t you feel anything !”
    â€œThey’re certainly dead once you rip them out of the ground.” Not wanting to care about damned useless roses, Dunstan glared at the workmen, who were watching him warily. “Leave the bushes alone,” he snapped. “Harness the oxen to the plow. Once this field is turned, use the wagon to carry the stones over to the boundary wall.”
    He didn’t bother checking to see if they obeyed. From an early age, he had taken it for granted that men would follow his orders. Men followed orders. Women, on the other hand…
    Dunstan wrapped his fingers around the lady’s elbow, steering her away from the stack of uprooted bushes. “I’ll dig out the dead ones. They were planted too early, and the change in weather damaged them. Some might still live if they’re treated properly.”
    â€œReally? You can save them?”
    Her sob of relief