Henry turned to Amala and offered one of those broad smiles that consumed his face. “I feared it was too much to hope for,” he said, “that I might actually have some time alone with you.” Amala looked down, feeling unusually shy, and he added, “I’m glad your parents aren’t the sort who think we would need a chaperone to walk through the gardens in broad daylight.”

“No, they aren’t that sort,” Amala said, looking at him again. “They know I am capable of causing you great bodily harm should you attempt anything untoward.”

He looked momentarily astonished, then laughed when he realized she was joking. She didn’t bother telling him that she was capable; there was no need, given the fact that she already knew him well enough to know he was a true gentleman and that she felt completely safe with him.

“Shall we?” he asked and offered his arm.

Amala put her hand over his arm and guided him out of the drawing room and down a long hall to a door that exited onto the garden terrace. They walked across the terrace and onto the lawn toward a cluster of artistically arranged rose bushes in a variety of colors, all pruned to perfection and covered with blooms that filled the air with their fragrance. Amala stopped and closed her eyes while she inhaled the sweet aroma that to her was like the smell of summer. She opened her eyes and looked around, trying not to feel distracted by how much she enjoyed the opportunity to hold Henry’s arm.

“It’s very beautiful,” she commented, focusing her gaze on a flourishing bush of yellow roses that was one of her favorites.

“It is very beautiful,” he said.

Amala stole a glance at his face, surprised to find him staring at her. “You’re not even looking at the roses,” she said in a scolding tone.

“Oh, I looked at them,” he said, completely unabashed over his attention to her. “They are very beautiful too.”

Amala’s heart quickened and she turned her back to him, letting go of his arm. “Henry, you mustn’t,” she insisted, feeling like a hypocrite.

“I mustn’t what?” he asked. “Look at you? Tell you that you’re beautiful?”

“No,” she said without conviction, “you mustn’t.”

“How can I not when I have thought of nothing but you since you ran away from me last night?”

Amala resisted the urge to turn and face him, knowing it would be easier to say what needed to be said if she weren’t looking at him. “You’re very kind, sir, but you also have a very short memory.”

Henry chuckled and moved around her so that she had no choice but to face him. “I think you just insulted me,” he said.

“That was not my intention,” she insisted. “Forgive me.”