To Beguile a Beast (Legend of the Four Soldiers #3)(25)

He nodded. She was very good, but she was lying. Did the husband still live? Or did she run from another man? “And what did Mr. Halifax do?”

“He was a doctor.”

“But not a successful one, I take it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“If he’d been successful,” he pointed out, “you wouldn’t have to work now.”

She lifted a hand to her forehead. “Forgive me, but the topic distresses me.”

No doubt he was supposed to feel pity for her at this point and give up the chase, but he had her cornered, and his curiosity urged him on. Her distress only made him more eager. He stepped closer, so close that his chest nearly touched her shoulder. His nose caught the scent of lemons from her hair. “You were fond of your husband?”

Her hand fell and she glared up at him, her tone tart. “I loved him desperately.”

His mouth curved in a smile that wasn’t very nice. “A tragedy, then, his death.”

“Yes, it was.”

“You were married young?”

“Only eighteen.” Her eyes dropped.

“And the marriage was happy.”

“Extremely happy.” Her voice was defiant, the lie transparent.

“What did he look like?”

“I…” She wrapped her arms about herself. “Please, might we change the subject?”

“Certainly,” he drawled. “Where did you live in London?”

“I’ve told you.” Her voice was steadier now. “I was in Lady Vale’s household.”

“Of course,” he murmured. “My mistake. I keep forgetting your vast experience in running a household.”

“It’s not vast,” she whispered. “You know that.”

For a moment, they were silent and only the wind whistling around the corner of the castle gave voice.

Then she said very quietly, with her face still turned away, “It’s just that I… I need a place to stay right now.”

And something inside him surged in triumph. He had her. She couldn’t leave. It made no sense, this feeling of triumph. He’d been urging her to go ever since she’d arrived, but somehow the knowledge that she had to stay, and that as an honorable gentleman he had to let her stay, filled him with contentment.

Not that he let it show. “I confess, Mrs. Halifax, that I am surprised by one thing.”

“What is that?”

He bent closer, his mouth nearly brushing her lemon-scented hair. “I would’ve thought a lady of your beauty would be besieged by suitors.”

She turned her head, and their faces were suddenly only inches apart. He felt her breath brush across his lips as she spoke. “You find me beautiful.”

Her voice was curiously flat.

He cocked his head, eyeing the smooth brow, the lush mouth, and the fine wide eyes. “Devastatingly so.”

“And you probably think beauty sufficient reason to marry a woman.” Her tone was bitter now.

What had the mysterious Mr. Halifax done to his wife? “No doubt most men do.”

“They never think of a woman’s disposition,” she muttered. “Her likes and dislikes, her fears and hopes, her very soul.”

“Don’t they?”

“No.” Her beautiful eyes had grown dark and tragic. The wind blew a curling lock of hair across her face.

“Poor Mrs. Halifax,” he mocked softly. He gave in to impulse and raised his left hand—his unmaimed hand—and stroked the lock of hair back away from her face. Her skin was as fine as silk. “How terrible to be so lovely.”

A frown creased her unblemished brow. “You said most men.”

“Did I?” He let his hand drop.

She looked up at him, her eyes were quite perceptive now. “Don’t you consider beauty to be the most important criteria in a wife?”

“Ah, but you’ve forgotten my aspect, I’m afraid. It’s in the natural order of things that a lovely wife will either stray or come to hate an ugly husband. A man as revolting as I would be an idiot to attach himself to a beautiful woman.” He smiled into her mesmerizingly lovely eyes. “And I am many things, Mrs. Halifax, but an idiot is not one of them.”

He bowed and turned to stride back into the castle, leaving Mrs. Halifax, a lonely, desperately tempting siren, behind him.

“WHEN WILL WE go home?” Jamie asked the next afternoon. He picked up a rock and threw it.

The rock didn’t go very far, but Abigail frowned, anyway. “Don’t do that.”

“Why not?” Jamie whined.

“Because you might hit someone. Or something.”

Jamie looked about the old stable yard, empty except for themselves and a few sparrows. “Who?”

“I don’t know!”

Abigail wanted to throw a rock herself, but ladies didn’t do such things. And besides, they were supposed to be beating an old rug. Mama’d made one of the footmen put up a line across a corner of the yard, and a row of rugs now hung from it, all waiting to be beaten. Abigail’s arms were sore, but she took a swing at the rug anyway with the broom she held. It felt almost good to hit the rug. A great cloud of dust flew out.

Jamie squatted to pick up another rock. “I want to go home.”