Love in the Afternoon (The Hathaways #5)(18)

“Oh, yes there is. Rounded at the top. Narrow-brimmed. Sold in shades of gray or black. They have one featured at the milliner’s in Stony Cross.”

Scowling, Christopher muttered something beneath his breath.

Beatrix played gently with Albert’s ears. “I . . . heard about Albert, from Prudence. How lovely that you brought him back with you.”

“It was a mistake,” he said flatly. “He’s behaved like a mad creature ever since we landed at Dover. So far he’s tried to bite two people, including one of my servants. He won’t stop barking. I had to shut him in a garden shed last night, and he escaped.”

“He’s fearful,” Beatrix said. “He thinks if he acts that way, no one will harm him.” Eagerly the dog stood on his hind legs and set his front paws on her. Beatrix bumped a knee gently against his chest.

“Here,” Christopher said, in a tone of such quiet menace that it sent a chill down Beatrix’s spine. The dog slunk to him, tail between his legs. Christopher took a coiled leather leash from his coat pocket and looped it around the dog’s neck. He glanced at Beatrix, his gaze traveling from the two smears of mud on her skirts to the gentle curves of her br**sts. “My apologies,” he said brusquely.

“No harm done. I don’t mind. But he should be taught not to jump on people.”

“He’s only been with soldiers. He knows nothing of polite company.”

“He can learn. I’m sure he’ll be a fine dog once he becomes used to his new surroundings.” Beatrix paused before offering, “I could work with him the next time I visit Audrey. I’m very good with dogs.”

Christopher gave her a brooding glance. “I’d forgotten you were friends with my sister-in-law.”

“Yes.” Beatrix hesitated. “I should have said earlier that I’m very sorry for the loss of your—”

His hand lifted in a staying gesture. As he brought it to his side, his fingers curled into a tight fist.

Beatrix understood. The pain of his brother’s death was still too acute. It was territory he couldn’t yet traverse. “You haven’t been able to grieve yet, have you?” she asked gently. “I suppose his death wasn’t entirely real to you, until you came back to Stony Cross.”

Christopher gave her a warning glance.

Beatrix had seen that look from captured animals, the helpless animosity toward anyone who approached. She had learned to respect such a glance, understanding that wild creatures were at their most dangerous when they had the fewest defenses. She returned her attention to the dog, smoothing his fur repeatedly.

“How is Prudence?” she heard him ask. It hurt to hear the note of wary longing in his voice.

“Quite well, I believe. She’s in London for the season.” Beatrix hesitated before adding carefully, “We are still friends, but perhaps not as fond of each other as we once were.”

“Why?”

His gaze was alert now. Clearly any mention of Prudence earned his close attention.

Because of you, Beatrix thought, and managed a faint, wry smile. “It seems we have different interests.” I’m interested in you, and she’s interested in your inheritance.

“You’re hardly cut from the same cloth.”

Hearing the sardonic note in his voice, Beatrix tilted her head and regarded him curiously. “I don’t take your meaning.”

He hesitated. “I only meant that Miss Mercer is conventional. And you’re . . . not.” His tone was seasoned with the merest hint of condescension . . . but there was no mistaking it.

Abruptly all the feelings of compassion and tenderness disappeared as Beatrix realized that Christopher Phelan had not changed in one regard: he still didn’t like her.

“I would never want to be a conventional person,” she said. “They’re usually dull and superficial.”

It seemed he took that as a slight against Prudence.

“As compared to people who bring garden pests to picnics? No one could accuse you of being dull, Miss Hathaway.”

Beatrix felt the blood drain from her face. He had insulted her. The realization made her numb.

“You may insult me,” she said, half amazed that she could still speak. “But leave my hedgehog alone.”

Whirling around, she walked away from him in long, digging strides. Albert whimpered and began to follow, which forced Christopher to call him back.

Beatrix didn’t glance over her shoulder, only plowed forward. Bad enough to love a man who didn’t love her. But it was exponentially worse to love a man who actively disliked her.

Ridiculously, she wished she could write to her Christopher about the stranger she had just met.

He was so contemptuous, she would write. He dismissed me as someone who didn’t deserve a modicum of respect. Clearly he thinks I’m wild and more than a little mad. And the worst part is that he’s probably right.

It crossed her mind that this was why she preferred the company of animals to people. Animals weren’t deceitful. They didn’t give one conflicting impressions of who they were. And one was never tempted to hope that an animal might change its nature.

Christopher walked back home with Albert padding calmly beside him. For some reason the dog seemed improved after meeting Beatrix Hathaway. As Christopher gave him a damning glance, Albert looked up at him with a toothy grin, his tongue lolling.