Thank you so much, Mr. Miles.

You have no idea what a relief it is to know that they are to be cared for.

Yours sincerely,

Frances Melania

I look up at Elliot in surprise.

“Can you believe that shit?” he asks.

My eyes skim the letter again. “So . . . you’re a fully fledged farmer now?”

“No.” He takes the container of pellets to the back door and peers around the side of the curtain. “It’s just temporary until I get something sorted.”

“No, Elliot. You gave her your word, or at least your solicitor did. They have to stay.”

He gives a disgusted shake of his head and opens the door in a rush. The ducks catch sight of him and begin to run toward him with their wings in the air, squawking loudly.

He runs down the lawn and throws the pellets in the air in their direction, and then he bolts back to the house. He rushes in and slams the door behind him as if a wild animal has just chased him. “There,” he announces proudly. “See . . . I know what I’m doing.” He dusts his hands together as if he’s just fought a dragon and won.

I smile broadly; the poor bastard is scared for his life. “I’m very impressed, Mr. Miles.”

Elliot takes my hand in his. “Come on, we have to get back. It’s going to be dark soon.”

Hand in hand we begin to walk up the hill toward the house. It’s been the best day. We’ve spent it walking around the property and checking things out. It really is beautiful and there is so much to see.

“When did you buy this place?”

“Last year, in June.”

“Over six months ago?” I ask in surprise.

“Yes. She wanted to stay as long as she could after I completed on the property. So, I waited.”

I smile as we make our way back up the hill. “It was worth every second, it’s breathtaking.”

Elliot’s eyes roam over the rolling hills before us. “From the moment I saw it, I knew that it would be mine.”

I smile at his dreamy stance. “Have you always wanted to live out here?”

“No. For a long time I resented having to live in the UK. I just wanted to go back to New York.”

I frown as I listen. “You couldn’t go back?”

“I could, but not if I wanted the job that I have now. It could only be here. Jameson is the CEO in the States.”

I nod as a clearer picture comes through. “What changed?” I ask. “To make you want to . . .”

“I don’t know,” he says as he walks. “A few years ago, I went home to New York and I was sitting in a bar with a big group of friends that in the past I had always missed.”

I listen intently.

“And not one of them had one thing to say that interested me.”

I frown.

“It was like a lightbulb went off, and I had an epiphany, one that for some reason had previously eluded me. I realized that my only connection with America and New York was my family, and I see them all the time wherever I am. I decided that day, then and there, that I would make my life here.”

I smile.

“And besides”—he picks up my hand and kisses the back of it—“I have a thing for English girls.”

I smirk. “Plural, Elliot,” I remind him.

“Girl,” he mouths.

We walk for a while. “And the art thing?” I ask.

“Ah.” He smiles, as if he’s been waiting for me to ask. “I’ve collected art since I was old enough for pocket money.”

“Why?”

He raises his eyebrows as if searching for an answer. “It calls to me.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.” His gaze goes over to the paddocks as he contemplates his answer. “It’s like I feel the artists’ emotions as they painted.” He bends down and picks a flower and passes it to me.

I feel my heart constrict.

“There’s this one artist, for instance. Harriet Boucher. I am totally and utterly besotted with her.”

I giggle. “Should I be worried?”

He picks up my hand and kisses my fingertips. “She’s old.”

“How old?”

“I don’t know, I think in her nineties. I’ve been searching for her because I know my time to find her is running out.”

“What do you mean?”

“I own all but three of her paintings that are out in public. But there are more that I don’t own, and they’re probably all in storage somewhere. I want to find her before she passes so that I can make her an offer and ensure that they aren’t lost.”

I frown. “What’s so good about these paintings?”

“Everything.” He smiles. “I know it sounds ridiculous but I have an affection for them that I can’t explain. I stare at them for hours and still I need more. It’s like they speak to me in an otherworldly way.”

I smile as I listen.

“I have a connection to the artist.” He shrugs as if embarrassed, bends and picks another little pink field flower and passes it to me.

“Thanks.” I take it from him.

“I don’t know what it is. Perhaps we knew each other in another life.”

Goosebumps scatter up my arms as I stare at him and, unexpectedly, I well up, and blink to try and hide my tears.

“What’s wrong?” He frowns.

I shrug, embarrassed. “Nothing.” I give a subtle shake of my head. “That’s just . . . probably, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard anyone say. You need to find this old woman so you can tell her in person.” I smile dreamily. “I can’t imagine how happy you will make her heart.”

“Most people think I’m crazy.”

“I think it’s . . .” I pause as I search for the right word. “Magical.”

He smiles shyly. “I don’t know about that, it could be one big wild goose chase.”

“Well, you were chased by ducks.” I widen my eyes to accentuate my point. “Kind of the same thing . . .”

He goes to grab me and I pull out of his grip and take off up the hill. He lets out a roar and chases me and I laugh out loud.

It’s been a great day, the best.

Whoever named this estate was right on the money. I am totally enchanted.

Monday morning, 11 a.m.

I sit in the boardroom along with my colleagues, waiting for Elliot for our monthly meeting. After the most incredible weekend in history, I’m floating on cloud nine.

Elliot walks in, back ramrod-straight and in a perfectly fitted blue suit. His dark hair is messed up to a perfect just-fucked look and his eyes find mine across the room. “Morning,” he says as he closes the door behind him.

His presence instantly takes over the room, power personified.

My stomach flutters. Good grief, I’m totally fan-girling over this man.

In my defense though, there’s a damn lot to fan over. I’ve never met anyone quite like him.

“Good morning.” I concentrate on keeping a straight face and acting normal.

He puts his computer down on the large boardroom table. “How was everyone’s weekend?” he asks as he looks around.

“Good thanks.” They all start to answer and chat.

“How was yours?” I ask.

His eyes find mine and he gives me the best come-fuck-me look I have ever seen. “Exceptional.”

My heart skips a beat.

I bite the inside of my lip to stop myself from openly swooning at his feet.

Get a hold of yourself Kate, slow it down.

He begins to read through the meeting notes from last month and my stomach contracts with a sharp pain.

Oh no.

My period.

I close my eyes. Damn it. Not now.

The meeting continues as pain throbs through me, and perspiration wets my skin.