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As he faced the woman who'd broken his heart when it was still fragile enough to break, Merritt Temple strove to address Rosemary Greenwood and her sister with casual courtesy. Even as his pulse thundered in his ears like a volley of artillery.

"I was at school with your brother, Thorn. He kindly invited me to holiday at Barnhill on several occasions. I have many pleasant memories of those visits."

Merritt failed to mention they were among the few pleasant memories in his life. Three brief summers with the Greenwoods had been his only experience of belonging to a family. Perhaps that was what had drawn him back to Lathbury to raise his son.

As he stared at Rosemary Greenwood, whose girlish charm had ripened into willowy golden beauty, Merritt knew it was the vain hope of seeing her again that had lured him.

"Mr. Temple!" Ivy Greenwood cried. "Thorn will be delighted to hear you're the new master of Heartsease. Isn't this a marvelous surprise, Rosemary?"

"I'm quite overcome."

Not with pleasure, apparently. If she'd been happy to see him, her delicate features might have pinkened, as they used to when he pretended to steal a kiss. Instead they paled and her luminous blue-green eyes clouded with dismay.

"Wh-what brings you to back Lathbury after all these years, Mr. Temple?"

He resisted a mad urge to blurt out the truth. "I have an infant son whose mother died shortly after he was born. His health has been a concern to me. The doctors advised wholesome country air."

"A baby!" exclaimed Ivy. "I have no patience with infants but my sister dotes on them. Don't you, Rose?"

Rosemary's graceful tawny eyebrows drew together in a look of distress that Merritt ached to comfort. "Dear Mr. Temple, we are heartily sorry for your loss. Now to be anxious over your son's health, too. You have my deepest sympathy on both accounts."

As he accepted her words of consolation, Merritt berated himself for the vilest cad. How dare he impose on Rosemary's tender sympathy when his heart held more guilt than grief?

Behind them, the musicians struck up a lively tune — one to which they'd danced on a distant summer evening. He longed to ask if she might again, for the sake of an old friendship.

But did he dare risk the blissful hazard of her touch?

* * *

Rosemary recognized the lilting melody. As if it had been yesterday, she recalled the sweet felicity of dancing with Merritt Temple. Did he remember, too? Or did she only imagine the far-off look in his eyes?

If he asked her to dance again for old times' sake, how would she answer?

She must refuse, of course, politely but firmly. Even if Mr. Temple didn't hate her, which he must, there could be nothing between them, now. For the opposite reason such a connection had been impossible seven years ago.

As Merritt started to speak, she opened her lips to decline his invitation.

"Will you do me the honor of this dance…Miss Ivy?"

Ivy?

To be continued...



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