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hadn’t heard that story.
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œHenderson was all set to take her to America, but Virginia escaped.”
    â€œAnd so did Paul,” she said, guessing. “Which is why you’re here.”
    He nodded. “Macrath hired me a decade ago to find Henderson.”
    â€œAnd you did,” she guessed. “Have you been watching him all this time?”
    â€œWhen I realized he was on his way back to Britain, I informed Macrath.”
    She remained quiet, hoping he would tell her the rest of the story. To her relief, he continued.
    â€œI followed him to Scotland, but lost him outside of Inverness. I don’t doubt, however, he’s on his way here.”
    â€œSurely he doesn’t have a fixation on Virginia after all these years?”
    â€œOne man’s obsession might be considered another man’s love.”
    â€œBut surely he understands how much she loves Macrath?” A thought occurred to her. “You don’t think Virginia’s in danger. You think Macrath’s the one he’s after.”
    He shrugged. “At this point it doesn’t matter which one. I’d just as soon rid the world of Paul Henderson.” At her look, he smiled. “No, I don’t mean killing the man. But in America we couldn’t prosecute him for a kidnapping taking place on Scottish soil.”
    â€œBut once he came back to Scotland he could be arrested,” she finished.
    He nodded again.
    â€œNow you have to find him before he hurts Macrath or Virginia.”
    â€œI do.”
    â€œI agree with Macrath,” she said. “It wouldn’t do to tell Virginia.”
    He studied her. “Why?”
    â€œVirginia worries, and I don’t mean about her safety, but about Macrath. My brother can sometimes be rash and imprudent.”
    â€œI find him to be measured and deliberate.”
    â€œThen you don’t know Macrath as well as you think. He loves Virginia. When you love someone, you aren’t always measured and deliberate.”
    â€œIs that how it was with you?”
    The gazebo was suddenly too warm and he too close, even though he was on the other side of the structure.
    â€œThere are many types of love, Mr. Preston.”
    â€œSo it wasn’t.”
    â€œI adored my husband.”
    She sat there regarding him, trying to rein in her temper. He was everything she didn’t like in a man: arrogant, condescending, self-­righ­teous, too confident. Plus, there was a look in his eyes that made a flush travel from her heels all the way up to linger on her cheeks.
    Someone should tell him it wasn’t proper to look at a widow the way he was looking at her. Someone should tell him he should keep a proper expression on his face, not allow his lips to turn up on one corner as if he found the situation amusing.
    Someone should also tell him she was not the kind of woman who flirted with a man she barely knew, even if the man had appeared stark naked in front of her.
    He had quite a nice backside, and why on earth was she remembering that now?
    Â­â€œPeople tell you you’re right most of the time, don’t they? I’m surprised they don’t bow in front of you. Do the women all giggle and scamper about?”
    He only continued to smile at her, as if her words didn’t discomfit him one bit. Or as if he knew how agitated she was, although she was certain she didn’t reveal it in any way.
    â€œGo away, Mr. Preston. Bruce. Whichever name you prefer. Go away, leaving me to my contemplation of nature.”
    â€œYou want to be alone?” he asked.
    â€œYes, I most fervently do,” she said, turning and focusing her attention on a venerable oak.
    One moment he was sitting across the way and the next standing in front of her, hauling her up into his arms and placing his mouth on hers.
    Her lips fell open in surprise as he laid claim to her mouth. She told her arms to remain at her side. Ordered