the shock of finding her key to the apartment on his kitchen countertop. And a note in her bold handwriting. He picked it up, dreading what it might contain.
Don’t try to find me, Declan, because I don’t want to be found. There are a few boxes of my possessions in the shed that I couldn’t fit into the 4x4. Could you please give access to Lynne when she comes around to collect them for me?
I’ve arranged for Mark Brown to finish the last work on the garden—it’s nearly done. I suggest you hire him for ongoing maintenance. It would be a tragedy to let the garden go again.
I could have loved you, Declan. I hope your heart can heal enough for you to find love again one day.
Shelley
He stared at the words in utter disbelief, then crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it on the floor with a massive roar of pain that echoed through his empty, lonely house. For a long time he stood, focusing on the forlorn piece of paper, white against the dark-stained wood of his floor, that had destroyed his hope of making amends to Shelley.
Finally with a great shudder of agony and grief he picked it up and smoothed it out again. There were echoes of her sweet scent on the paper—he shut his eyes and breathed it in. Then he folded her note and put it into his pocket, next to his heart.
His mother’s words came back to him. Don’t let her go. Trust me, it will be like another little death for you if you do.
Why did his mother have to be so damn right?
But Shelley hadn’t died. This didn’t have to be final. The grief he felt at her loss wasn’t the hopeless kind of grief he had endured before. He had it within his power to find his beautiful warrior and win her back.
No matter what it took.
Two months later
SHELLEY KNELT AT the edge of the perfectly maintained lawn of one of the most famous gardens in England as she precisely planted bulbs that would flower next spring—paperwhite jonquils and blue hyacinths. She couldn’t help but wonder where she would be when they bloomed.
She was glad she’d packed her knee pads with her when she’d left Australia. Autumn was well and truly under way in Kent and, although there had been crisp, sunny days, today the ground was wet and cold. The head gardener was exacting and she was determined to do the best job she could. She considered it a privilege to work in a garden planted by Vita Sackville-West, one of the most famous garden designers of her time and a contemporary—and idol—of Enid Wilson.
At first, it had felt disconcerting to leave Declan’s spring garden and arrive in autumn for her tour of the European gardens she had longed to see but she had loved every second of it. No books or videos could give the experience of actually being in a garden like this one.
This was what she wanted—to see gardens that had influenced designs all over the world, even in climates as inhospitable to an English-style garden as Australia could be. To actually work as a horticulturalist in one was the icing on the cake.
But she was lonely and there wasn’t a day that went by she didn’t think about Declan. In protecting her heart she feared she’d doomed herself to a lifetime of her heart crying out for him.
She’d met a nice guy in the village where she was living—a farmer who had invited her out to ride horses on his property. Now he was pressing for a proper date. But she still longed for Declan like a physical ache. He was an impossible act for any everyday kind of man to follow.
She paused, trowel in her hand. Thinking about Declan was making her imagine things because suddenly she had that preternatural feeling she used to get in Sydney when he was nearby.
Slowly she turned around to face the lawn. A tall, broad-shouldered man with black hair and wearing an immaculately cut black coat was walking towards her. Was she hallucinating? Had she wanted him so badly she’d somehow conjured him up out of nowhere? Or was it like the other times during the previous months in England, France, and Spain when her heart would skip a beat at the glimpse of a man she thought was him only for it to be a stranger?
She blinked. Took off her glove to scrub at her eyes. But when she looked up again he was there, looming over her, a quizzical expression in his deep blue eyes. Declan.
She stumbled to her feet and he caught her elbow to steady her. Of all the words of greeting she could have chosen, words to let him know of her longing and regret, all she could blurt out was: ‘How did you find me?’
‘Mark Brown. He took some convincing to give me your contact details. But he eventually caved.’
Shelley took off her other glove to give herself time to think. ‘So why are you in Kent? In town for a gaming convention? Or a gathering of billionaires doing billionaire things? There’s certainly enough wealthy people living around here for you to be in fine company.’
He smiled that familiar, indulgent smile he gave her when she was talking nonsense. ‘None of those.’
‘Actually, how are you here when I thought you could never leave that house?’ she asked.
He stood very close. ‘I’m here to tell you I love you, Shelley.’
She nearly fell over backwards on the slippery ground. ‘Wh... What?’ She managed to right herself—but her thoughts remained topsy-turvy.
Her first impulse was to blurt out I love you too but she suppressed it. In the two months since she’d last seen him she’d gone through too much heartache and pain to dive back in so easily.
‘I love you,’ he said again, slowly. ‘I don’t know how you feel about me, but I hope you might feel in some measure the same.’ His eyes searched her face, seeking her answer.
‘I might do...’ she said slowly. ‘Well, I did back then, now I’m not so sure. It...it’s been so long.’ She had told him not to seek her out, but somewhere deep inside her she had hoped he would—and been disappointed when he hadn’t.
Now he was here.
‘Two months I needed to sort myself out, to...to heal. You were right. I wasn’t ready for you. I needed help and I went out and found it.’
‘What kind of help?’ she asked, amazed that he would unbend enough to admit it.
He shifted from foot to foot. ‘It’s difficult for a guy like me to say I saw a counsellor but that’s exactly what I did.’
She frowned. ‘You mean you didn’t see a professional after Lisa and the baby died?’
‘I did not.’
She shook her head. ‘You should have. No wonder you were such a mess back then.’ She slammed her hand to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘There I go again.’
He smiled. ‘I’ve missed that.’
‘You mean my foot-in-mouth blunders?’
‘Your
