Gray broke the gaze first, gesturing to Luke. “Let me help carry those things.” Luke passed the box to Gray, and he grunted at its weight. “What have you got in here? Boulders?” he asked as he hefted the ungainly box.

“Close,” she admitted. “It’s a microtome.”

The warmth vanished from his face, and he set the box on the ground with a thump. “And what do you intend to do with that?”

The misgiving in his voice was apparent, for there was only one use for a microtome. The heavy brass machine cut paper-thin samples from plant material for study under a microscope. It was an essential tool for any botanist hoping to understand the cellular structure of a plant.

“It’s a very useful tool for the study of plant biology,” she stated needlessly.

“I invited you here to look at my plants. Not dissect them.”

Before she could reply, Luke flashed a smile. “Brace yourself, Miss Larkin. Here comes the battering ram of my brother’s unstoppable charm. Can’t she at least have a few minutes before we break out the fire and brimstone?”

Gray ignored his brother and looked her directly in the eye. “I want it understood that I’m not giving anything to the Smithsonian. Not plants, not bulbs, not even cuttings. Are we clear?”

It was easy to take a cutting from a plant without hurting it, but he seemed unusually possessive of his plants. Nevertheless, it was his greenhouse and his rules.

“I shall take nothing unless you personally authorize it,” she said.

His face gentled. “Good. Luke can take your overnight bag inside while I show you the first of the greenhouses. Unless you would like a break first? I can arrange for lunch or something to drink if you’d like.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to waste a single minute.”

He gave her a gentlemanly nod and extended his arm to her. His old-fashioned formality was so much more potent than the charm poured on by his younger brother. It made her feel ladylike, and it was a nice sensation.

Their shoes crunched along a gravel pathway as they rounded the bend toward the greenhouses. Birds chattered in nearby trees, and a squirrel darted across the path. The green scent of wild grass was like a balm to her spirit. She’d missed the countryside.

A huge flat slab of foundation stones looked starkly out of place in the rural splendor. When Gray noticed where she was looking, the corners of his mouth turned down.

“That’s the remnants of the house where I was born,” he said. “It was burned by the Yankees in 1864. I keep the foundation as a reminder.”

The house must have been a mansion, for its foundation was enormous. It surely had excellent access to the river and was probably one of those grand plantation estates she’d seen pictures of in magazines.