But then, almost as if she’d known he was standing there thinking how perfect she was, and she wanted to prove it one more time, she opened the door to the greenhouse and poked her head in.

Phillip looked around and wondered why he’d built the structure entirely of glass. He might need to install some sort of privacy screen if she was going to come visiting on a regular basis.

“Am I intruding?”

He thought about that. She was, actually; he was quite in the middle of something, but he realized he didn’t mind. Which was odd and rather pleasing at the same time. He’d always been irritated by interruptions before. Even when it was someone whose company he enjoyed, after a few minutes he found himself wishing they would just leave so that he could get back to whatever project he’d had to put aside for their benefit. “Not at all,” he said, “if you are not offended by my appearance.”

She looked at him, taking in the dirt and mud, including the smudge he was rather certain he sported on his left cheek, and she shook her head. “It’s no problem at all.”

“What is troubling you?”

“It’s the children’s nurse,” she said without preamble. “I don’t like her.”

That was not what he expected. He set down his spade. “You don’t? What’s wrong with her?”

“I don’t know exactly. I just don’t like her.”

“Well, that’s hardly a reason to terminate her employment.”

Eloise’s lips thinned slightly, a sure sign, he was coming to realize, that she was irritated. She said, “She rapped the children across the knuckles.”

He sighed. He didn’t like the thought of someone striking his children, but then again, it was just a knuckle rap. Nothing that didn’t occur in every schoolroom across the country. And, he thought resignedly, his children were not exactly models of good behavior. And so, wanting to groan, he asked, “Did they deserve it?”

“I don’t know,” Eloise admitted. “I wasn’t there. She said they spoke to her disrespectfully.”

Phillip felt his shoulders sag a bit. “Unfortunately,” he said, “I do not find that difficult to believe.”

“No, of course not,” Eloise said. “I’m sure they were little beasts. But still, something didn’t seem right.”

He leaned back against his workbench, tugging her hand until she tumbled against him. “Then look into it.”

Her lips parted with surprise. “Don’t you want to look into it?”

He shrugged. “I’m not the one with concerns. I’ve never had cause to doubt Nurse Edwards before, but if you feel uncomfortable, by all means, you should investigate. Besides, you’re better at this sort of thing than I am.”

“But”—she squirmed slightly as he pulled her against him and nuzzled her neck—“you’re their father.”

“And you’re their mother,” he said, his words coming out thick and hot against her skin. She was intoxicating, and he was aching with desire, and if he could only get her to stop talking, he could probably maneuver her to the bedroom, where they could have considerably more fun. “I trust your judgment,” he said, thinking that would placate her—and besides, it was the truth. “It’s why I married you.”

Clearly, his answer surprised her. “It’s why you . . . what?”

“Well, this, too,” he murmured, trying to figure out just how much he could fondle her with so many clothes between them.

“Phillip, stop!” she cried out, wrenching herself away.

What the devil? “Eloise,” he asked—cautiously, since it was his experience, limited though it was, that one should always tread carefully with a woman in a temper—“what is wrong?”

“What is wrong?” she demanded, her eyes flashing dangerously. “How can you even ask that?”

“Well,” he said slowly, and with just a touch of sarcasm, “it might be because I don’t know what is wrong.”

“Phillip, this is not the time.”

“To ask you what is wrong?”

“No!” she nearly shrieked.

Phillip took a step back. Self-preservation, he thought wryly. Surely that had to be what the male side of marital spats was all about. Self-preservation and nothing else.

She began waving her arms in a bizarre fashion. “To do this.”

He looked around. She was waving at the workbench, at the pea plants, at the sky above, winking in through the panes of glass. “Eloise,” he said, his voice deliberately even, “I am not an unintelligent man, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Her mouth fell open, and he knew he was in trouble. “You don’t know?” she asked.

He probably should have heeded his own warnings about self-preservation, but some little devil—some annoyed male devil, he was sure—forced him to say, “I don’t read minds, Eloise.”

“It is not the time,” she finally ground out, “to be intimate.”

“Well, of course not,” he agreed. “We haven’t a bit of privacy. But”—he smiled just thinking about it—“we could always go back to the house. I know it’s the middle of the day, but—”

“That is not what I meant at all!”

“Very well,” he said, crossing his arms. “I give up. What do you mean, Eloise? Because I assure you, I haven’t a clue.”

“Men,” she muttered.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”