When Jo received Dr. McKendry’s invitation to travel to the Highlands, she never imagined her sojourn to the Abbey would result in friendship with the doctor. They conversed easily, sharing opinions and ideas, but their relationship ended there. Although he pretended to pursue her when they were in the presence of others, no spark of attraction existed. They were friends and only friends. But she was beginning to feel that others were not seeing their rapport in the same light.

Sitting at dinner on Tuesday night, Jo squirmed at the discussion between the Squire and Mrs. McKendry regarding the virtues of matrimony. Their opinions were seconded by the vicar, who went on to extol the doctor’s fine qualities. As they talked, the three of them continually sent Jo knowing and meaning-laden glances. Clearly, the only matter left to be concluded was the decision on a date and the reading of the banns.

She would have tossed the topic off as being in keeping with the jocular nature of the family, but Wynne’s fierce demeanor across the table told her that he too had bought into the misconception.

It shouldn’t have mattered. She could have ignored it and allowed the conversation to follow its delusional path until it ran its course and dissipated into nothingness. However, having her name ensnared or even bandied about in rumor never sat well with her. Jo held the doctor in high esteem, but she wanted it known to those around the table that no understanding existed between the two of them.

“Doctor,” she said during a momentary lull, “I hope I’m here long enough to meet this exceptional young woman your family is so exceedingly enthused about.”

McKendry was about to speak, but she cut him off.

“I can just imagine her virtues.” She paused for only a moment, feeling the company’s eyes upon her. “Aside from her beauty, I envision her as a young lady in the spring bloom of life. A man of your age and position would certainly want a partner who shares his desire for a houseful of children.” As opposed to a spinster getting to an age beyond childbearing years, she thought. This was a fact of life she’d accepted. “I’m also thinking she must be a local lass from a good family, for I’m certain the isolation of the Highland winters could prove wearing on one not as hearty as the McKendrys.”

Jo raised her glass of wine. “If I may be so bold . . . To the McKendrys. Slàinte mhath . . . Slàinte mhòr.”

Surprised laughter and comments immediately followed her tribute to the family and to their Jacobite ties. She’d hoped her words would lay the subject of matrimony to rest and redirect the conversation, but the doctor raised his glass in her direction.

“The lady I have my eye on is beautiful indeed. Regarding age, whether she be in the spring or autumn of life or anywhere between, it makes no difference to me. I seek no heirs, Lady Josephine. I’m committed to this hospital. My time is consumed by patients who need my care and attention.”

“Hear, hear,” the vicar began. “A man’s work is—”

Dermot interrupted his uncle and continued. “My future wife’s qualities of intelligence and empathy for others are unparalleled. In all my travels, I’ve never met another lady quite like her.”

Rather than feeling flattered by the compliments directed at her, Jo was embarrassed and disconcerted. Dermot’s family, however, having received all the encouragement they needed, only ramped up their matchmaking efforts.

Dinner’s conclusion could not have come soon enough.

Later, while the women waited for the men to join them in the drawing room, Jo stood by the windows staring out at the gardens. She couldn’t bear to join Mrs. McKendry and her guests for fear of becoming the victim of foolish questions regarding her phantom engagement.

Ridiculous, she thought, gazing at the shrubs and hedges in the dying light. But there was no point in scolding Dr. McKendry about any of it. Everything he said was innocuous; it was only in the perceptions of the listeners that his words gained specific meaning. Besides, she’d be gone by the end of the week.

Jo had already been here six days. Sending another letter south to Baronsford and one north to Torrishbrae, she’d promised her family that she’d continue on her journey in a few days. It pained her that there’d been no improvement in Mr. Barton since the first day. He stared at her. He drew. He held her hand. Still, deep in her heart, she felt a connection between them. Or she imagined it.

Jo’s trip to the village and her talk with the vicar had produced no information. No record of the Barton family history existed at the kirk in Rayneford. Tilmory Castle was four miles away, but the estate had a small village and a church of its own where births and deaths and marriages were registered. As much as she wanted to, though, she had no right to go there and inquire into the family’s private affairs.

The men entered the drawing room just as Jo espied the distinctive figure of Captain Melfort outside in the gardens.

Her desire to speak with him edged out any concern about courtesy toward the others. Not wanting to make a grand exit, she whispered a hastily made-up excuse to Mrs. McKendry and escaped.

Hurrying out to the gardens, Jo saw him down a long alley of tall privet. She half ran, half walked to catch up to him.

He must have heard her, for as she turned a corner, she ran straight into his broad chest. His hands caught her, steadying her.

“What are you doing out here?”

“I needed to speak with you.”

His face was concerned but calm, and she was struck by the similarity of this situation to another long ago. Jo suddenly became aware of his touch on her arms. In spite of the long sleeves of her dress, she tingled where he held her. Heat from his hands traveled through the velvet as if it were gauze, caressing the skin beneath.

They were too close. With little effort, he could draw her to him in the fading light, press her against his chest.

Suddenly, she wanted it to happen. She wanted to raise her lips to his and discover if the taste and texture of his mouth was as she remembered. She wanted to feel his body move against hers. She wanted to hear the rumble of desire in his throat.

Her face grew hot and flushed as she realized, regardless of what she said or how she acted, she was still under this man’s spell. And she wanted him.

“What do you need to speak to me about?”

Perhaps it was her imagination, but his fingers traced a slow intimate path down the length of her arms before his hands dropped to his side.

She moved back a step and was relieved to find a stone bench near them. She sat down, distrustful of her knees. She held her palms to her cheek to cool the burning.

“Are you unwell?” he asked moving closer. “Should I call for help? Should I get Dermot?”

“For heaven’s sake! Not you too?” she scolded. “I don’t need to see Dr. McKendry. I am perfectly well. I’m only trying to catch my breath from running after you.”

“You don’t need to run after me,” he replied gently. “I’m here.”

Jo gazed up at him. A sly smile tugged at his lips, conveying deeper meaning behind his words.

“But what do you need to say that requires private conversation?”

“I wanted to tell you about what happened with Cuffe this afternoon.”

His demeanor hardened. “Was there a problem? Did he leave early? I received a communication about a potential client that I needed to answer immediately. Otherwise I would have been there for his reading.”

“Nothing unpleasant occurred,” she said quickly. “I was about to sing his praises.”

He let out a relieved breath and sat beside her. Although he was a respectable distance away, he was still too close for comfort. She could feel the warmth of his body radiating through the night air.

“Then tell me,” he said softly, as his eyes trapped hers in their spell again. “I like hearing good things; I’m just not accustomed to hearing them of late.”

Memories flickered again and she recalled a bench in a garden, his arm around her waist. In the sweet darkness of that summer night, Wynne drew her onto his lap and kissed her as time ceased to exist.

A glint of amusement flashed in his eyes, and Jo feared he might be thinking of that moment too.

She tore her gaze from his face and forced cool air into her lungs. “Let me see. Cuffe arrived at his appointed time and, as before, stood by the table. Today four patients were waiting.”

“Four?” Wynne asked, obviously delighted.

Jo named them and continued. “He read three stories with the same dramatic flair. At one point he had the entire room silent and waiting to hear the end of the tale.”

“I’m so pleased,” he responded. “I don’t know if Cuffe mentioned it to you, but since you gave your permission, he’s been spending some of his time with Cameron transcribing the tales for himself into a copybook. And he’s making great progress.”

“He told me.” She smiled. “But I have more to tell.”

“More?”

As Jo collected her thoughts before telling Wynne what followed, she recalled the warm flush of happiness that flowed through her that afternoon as she’d imagined herself a part of Cuffe’s future. But it was a foolish thought.

“When he finished reading, Mr. McDonnell approached with a stack of letters in his hand.”

“McDonnell, the blacksmith? He can barely speak.”

“I wasn’t near enough to hear what was said or how the man communicated with him, but the two went over to a table. For quite some time, they sat beside each other as Cuffe quietly read each letter.”

“McDonnell has a mother who is too old to travel to the Abbey,” Wynne said. “I knew he receives letters, but I never thought he might not be reading them.”

This morning, as she sat with Charles Barton, Jo kept an eye on the two at the table. She was impressed with how patient Cuffe was with Mr. McDonnell.

“Your son was there far longer than you required him to stay,” she said, pleased to be able to put Wynne’s mind at ease.

He waited for her to say more but she’d reached the end of her story.

“Thank you for coming out here.”

A window opened in the drawing room and the melodies of a pianoforte drifted through the night air. It was time to go, but she stayed.

“Why did you need to tell me all of this tonight?”

If she were only strong enough to voice the truth of what was in her heart. The denial in the dining room wasn’t for the sake of the McKendrys but for Wynne. Staying out here, she was adding fuel to an inferno that was building between them.

“I thought you’d want to know.”

He leaned forward on his knees. His face moved closer. His intense blue gaze caught and held hers. “You could have mentioned it when we were all going in to dinner.”

“It would hardly be my place to share something publicly about your son,” she reminded him. “I didn’t know the McKendrys’ guests. And besides, the story should be yours to share.”

A lie, in part.

“I saw you defend him and his mother quite publicly when you thought the Squire and his wife were being unfair. You didn’t know them either.”

“Now that was not exactly the same thing.” She glared at him. “What are you trying to say, Captain Melfort?”

He entangled his fingers in hers. She watched the dance, forgetting to breathe until he withdrew his hand.

“I’m saying you had an ulterior motive for coming after me tonight.”

He was daring her to speak the truth, but she was a coward. Jo wanted him, and yet she was too afraid to act, even hidden with him here in a maze of privet. She’d started a dangerous game, but she was an amateur. She didn’t know how to finish it.

Jo resigned her wildly impulsive, half-formed plan, and turned toward the candlelit windows of the drawing room. It was time to go and she came to her feet. He immediately followed her lead.

“Mrs. McKendry will be wondering what’s happened to me,” she lied. “I should say good night, Captain.”

“Not yet.”

Her heart fluttered with alarm when he took a step toward her. He knew the truth. He saw through her. She could have shared the story about Cuffe tomorrow or the next time she’d seen him.

His height and strength gave him an overpowering advantage, but it wasn’t Wynne that Jo feared. It was herself. She did have an ulterior motive.

“Cuffe has been here for over two months now,” he said. “And despite me asking him on numerous occasions, not once has he come with me to see what I’m planning for Knockburn Hall. He’s agreed to go tomorrow.”

“I’m so glad to hear it,” she responded brightly, all the while chiding herself for imagining a romantic liaison in the garden while he just wanted to tell her about an outing with his son.

“But he has one condition.”

“A condition?” she asked, daring herself to look up into his eyes.

“You.”

“Me?”

“Actually, we both want you to come,” he said, lifting her chin when she tried to look away. She could not seem to find her balance in this conversation. All she knew was that her heart was about to hammer through the wall of her chest.

“Don’t you think this might be the perfect chance for a father and son to share a walk together? You really shouldn’t ruin it by bringing a stranger—”

“I want you there,” he said, stopping her.

Jo knew this was her last chance to retreat to a safe haven of respectability. She couldn’t do it. Her heart wouldn’t allow any more denials. Not now. Waiting and wanting, her gaze fell on his lips.

He slowly lowered his head until his lips brushed hers, and the floodgate of memories opened. His kiss was warm and subtle, as gentle as their first time, yet it moved her in wholly unexpected ways.

The touch of their mouths reawakened feelings Jo had thought she’d never experience again. The pounding beat of her heart, the pooling warmth in her belly, the scorching fever of her skin.

And she welcomed them. She wanted more.

As if reading her mind, Wynne bent forward again and brushed his lips over the sensitive skin of her brow, her cheek, her chin. He was teasing her, pushing her to smash the constraints that bound her, to give in to the impulses that seemed so natural at this moment, to kiss him back.

Jo’s undoing came when the tip of his finger caressed the edge of her ear and moved slowly down her throat to the neckline of her dress.

She kissed him.

Even as her lips pressed against his, she tried to fool herself with the thought that one kiss would be enough. It was rash, indulgent, an attempt to slake a thirst that she knew deep down would never be satisfied. But before she could withdraw from him, she felt his hand cradling the back of her head. And then he was kissing her with such passion that Jo felt overcome with a melting desire.

Whatever shred of control she’d been clinging to crumbled. She wrapped her hands around his neck, her fingers threaded into his hair. She nipped at his lower lip, challenging his control, wanting him to show her more.

He groaned as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing the corners of her mouth. Her lips opened to his advance, and she became aware of a pulsing heat emanating from her belly. She heard a satisfied sound in the back of his throat as his mouth became more demanding.

Jo couldn’t get close enough to him. Her arms moved higher around his neck, her body pressing against his until no breath of air existed between them. She was running a race and stopping was not an option.

Wynne’s hands slid down her back and over the curve of her bottom, pressing her against his arousal. She should have been frightened. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a muffled alarm was sounding. But she wasn’t afraid. The mating of their mouths thrilled her. The touch of his capable hands as they caressed the sides of her breasts made Jo wonder if he might just take her here in the darkness of this garden.

And then it occurred to her that wondering had somehow become hoping.

A door opened and closed somewhere in the distance, and she gasped. Pressing a hand against his chest, she drew back, horrified by her actions, shaken by what she was about to do, and breathing hard.

The passage of years meant nothing. Their passion still burned, hot enough to consume them. The innocence of youth was gone, replaced by a firestorm of need.

“Wynne, I can’t do this.” Her voice shook. “We shouldn’t.”

“I’m sorry.” His ragged breathing matched hers. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and looked in the direction of the sound.

“I . . . I have to go.” She tried to back away, but he caught her hand.

Jo was starving and he was her sustenance. She was dying of thirst and Wynne was the only one who could quench it.

“Come with us tomorrow.”

Her treacherous heart had already decided.

“I will,” she whispered. “Until tomorrow.”