Must Be Magic by Patricia Rice

turned back to the garden. Work on the stone wall was proceeding nicely. It would fit in well with the stone terraces he would construct up the hill—if the lady didn’t marry and lose the land.
    â€œThis conflict is not about turnips or roses,” she finally answered. “It’s about power and control. Those who have them always want more. People like the earl will never be satisfied until they have it all, because they think they’re the only ones who are right.”
    She was a revolutionary, Dunstan realized. He lusted after a witch and a revolutionary. He cast his gaze skyward and wondered why the devil was tormenting him.
    â€œYou have more power and control than you need,” he said, impatient with the dilemma. “If you move the gardens, the viscount might be persuaded to leave you alone. Why should I sacrifice my turnips for a passing fancy?”
    â€œIt is not a fancy. I’m very good at creating perfumes, and I wish to create bases of my own design. I need all these acres planted.” She gestured toward the grassy lawn. “More bushes arrived today. Aside from the earl, I am the only family my nephew has. I would like to see him learn the proper care of his estate, but he cannot override my wishes so long as this land is mine.”
    Dunstan bit back the reminder that all she had to do was marry and the land would no longer be hers. She’d hired him to do a job, and he would do it. The temptation of finding a man to marry her so he could gain possession of the tenant farm nagged at the back of his mind, but he disliked the idea of being the one to end her dream, if that’s what the garden represented. “I’ll bring in more men to wall off the lower garden,” he finally agreed. “Keep the bushes in water until we can plant them.”
    He started to turn away, but Leila placed a hand on his coat sleeve. He stiffened, fighting another wave of desire. She had a body to try a man’s soul. He hungered to haul her by her slender waist into his arms and feel her against him as if she were Lily. How would her lips taste if he covered them with his? Would she yield readily to his tongue?
    He simply had to remember that she was a lady and keep his hands to himself.
    â€œThank you for telling me,” she murmured, interrupting his lustful ruminations. “Most men think women no better than beasts in the field, good only for rutting and fair game for a man’s plots.”
    Disgruntled by her blunt honesty, Dunstan threw up his best defense. “On the whole, men have but the one thing on their minds and believe women think the same,” he said harshly. “Women do not always discourage us in those beliefs.”
    â€œWell, in that case perhaps women are beasts,” she said with amusement, smoothing his coat sleeve. “But even hens have the right to choose the best rooster. Give some of us a little credit for good taste.”
    â€œAnd credit some of you with fowl taste?”
    She chuckled at his pun. “Some men are strutting cocks,” she agreed. “I just don’t think most women enjoy being held down by talons on their necks.”
    She sounded like Lily when she talked like that. Without thinking, Dunstan reached out and rubbed his thumb down the delicate line of her face. She didn’t pull away. He couldn’t believe he was doing it. He watched his hand as if it belonged to a stranger.
    â€œBefore the topic strays into breeding practices, I’d best bid you good night.” He tried not to strangle on the words as her rigid posture softened under his caress. “This cock knows better than to dally with hens who expect him to pay the price of his sport.”
    She instantly shoved him away and almost spat her reply. “You have the brain of a peacock if you think I want payment for your sport .”
    That hadn’t been what he’d meant, but if it got him out of there faster, he would