“Another poacher trespassing in my garden?”

Rose turned, ready to apologize. She guessed the newcomer was Sir Griffin. How many others with the body of a man and the head of a beast roamed Thorn Hall? His animal muzzle had a snarling lip, showing tusks and pointed teeth.

However, Rose didn’t blink or cower. She was too fascinated to feel fear or want to run away. Instead, she found herself blurting, “You have the most magnificently ugly face I’ve ever seen.”

“Am I to take that as a compliment?” he roared.

“You should. I mean it sincerely,” replied Rose contritely. “Why did you care that my father wanted a rose bush? It does not look like you value them much.”

The lip quivered. “You must be one of the Parker girls. I see the arrogance of your family at least breeds true.”

“Rose Parker, Sir Griffin,” she introduced herself, but Sir Griffin did not take her outstretched hand. After a moment, she dropped it. “I am the middle of three. You have perhaps met my older sister?”

“I have not.”

“Oh. Well.” Rose paused, wondering how to proceed. What was Lily doing? She’d been gone long enough. “I understand from my father there is a sort of debt existing between us?”

“Yes.” Sir Griffin did not add anything more.

My, he was awfully big, thought Rose as she valiantly pressed onward. “Perhaps we can come to an agreement? Something that won’t alarm the sensibilities of our village society?”

Sir Griffin raised eyebrows the size of summer caterpillars. They revealed mossy-green eyes. Rose forgot what she was about to say.

“Woodross? I don’t concern myself with what village harpies cackle.”

“You have the luxury of ignoring them,” said Rose. “But you do not have Mrs. Winston coming next Tuesday, exactly at 11 o’clock, to spend her allotted thirty minutes in your parlor.”

“I do not know Mrs. Winston, so why should I care if she inconveniences you?”

“Be thankful you don’t know her! But it will not be long before she has learned of what passed between Father and yourself. The woman sniffs out secrets like a hound does a fox.”

“I do not see—”

“Servants, Sir Griffin. Servants! When the milk or the meat gets delivered, they gather the news like a squirrel hoards nuts. Instead of burying them, though, people share their discoveries. Gossip spreads.”

During their discussion, the two had come closer. Whether it was Rose or Sir Griffin who had closed the difference, she couldn’t remember.

“What do you propose?” inquired the beast of Thorn Hall. His deep-set eyes were hidden again by the ridge of his brow.

“Why, that I come to help you with this mess of a garden! Everyone in Woodross knows my abilities. No one would doubt you sought my advice.”

Sir Griffin commanded that she show him her hands. Rose held them out, and he turned them with palms facing upward. His claws traced lines upon her skin, the tips tapping her callouses. In his grip, Rose trembled despite herself.

“These are not the hands of a lady who does nothing but sit in her drawing room. Fine. I accept your pledge. See what you can do. But I warn you, the ground is hard and winter does not easily relinquish its grip at Thorn Hall.”

He dropped her hands, removing the intensity of the connection. Released, Rose swayed for a moment.

“Do not remove anything from the grounds of Thorn Hall. I shall know if you do.”

Before Rose could speak, he stalked away.