Angelika Frankenstein Makes Her Match(28)

Will rubbed a hand on the healed stitch line at his collarbone. “No one could speak to you for more than ten seconds and be convinced you fill your time with mindless needlepoint.”

“You forget, my love. I am a rich lady. That buys me access to most places. And I have an appointment with the new commander of this facility. And while I am here, I will find out all about the tragedy that befell his men.”

“You have an appointment. Meanwhile, what should I do? Maybe I could go to the kitchen and speak to some of the servants, to find out what they know.”

“No. Wait in the carriage.” Angelika pulled her gloves on.

Will protested, “Why even bring me?”

“Because I love looking at your face, and I was hoping for another kiss.” She leaned forward to quickly peck his cheek. “If you can bear the confinement, stay here, and do not show yourself. Someone might think they have seen a ghost.”

Angelika’s gray kid boots hit the ground and she walked off without a backward glance. DUNMORE MILITARY ACADEMY was written across the arch she was crossing beneath, along with a Latin motto she read as: Duty Before All Else.

Will would like that motto, she thought. And here I am, assisting him to find his way back to his familial responsibilities. I am a fool.

She did not have long to ponder that because she was being handed along by various assistants and underlings until she was left alone outside an enormous pair of walnut doors, at least twelve feet high.

“What a tree this must have been,” she said, at the exact moment they opened.

“I do often think that myself,” the man before her agreed. “Miss Frankenstein, I presume? I am Commander Keatings.”

He was much younger than she had anticipated, and much better-looking: tall, fair, with remarkable cornflower-blue eyes and winsome smiling brackets framing his mouth. He offered his hand and shook hers firmly. He wore no rings.

And goodness, how remarkably neat his appearance was. There was not a single hair lying loose on his brow, and not a crease on his clothing. Angelika found herself searching all over for one singular flaw: a loose stitch, a crack in his thumbnail, a budding yellow pimple. She found nothing.

The old Angelika would have been wondering whether he found her fair or plain. The creases of his smile deepened, revealing lovely white teeth, but her heart did not flutter.

For the first time in her life, it was not love at first sight.

She had to explain herself. “I’m sorry to stare, but you are the tidiest-looking man I have ever met. My goodness, I do believe I could eat my dinner off your white collar.”

He laughed in delight. “I do not know why I am this way; it is not through any particular effort. I do not so much as carry a comb.”

Angelika gestured in the direction of the central courtyard. “You must inspire your men to turn themselves out nicely for inspection.”

His grin widened. “In the limited days I have been here, I have caused them to despair. Please, come in.”

Angelika could not ignore this realization: Commander Keatings found her very fair. This she ascertained without doubt or conceit. He was as taken aback by her appearance as she was his, studying her with an equal fascination.

She moved an eyebrow. “Did you imagine an old crone, hoping to find the names of some ghosts to pester?”

He laughed again. “I confess I did. I have a page bringing up the relevant record book. Take a seat, please.”

He sat behind the desk, framed by the window and surrounded by militaria. Compared to him, the velvet drapes looked crumpled and sad. On the wall was the mounted head of a buck with impressive antlers.

“I hope you don’t consider this impertinent,” he began after she sat, “but you do not strike me as the type to sit indoors and write down the names of great-great-great-uncles and -aunts.”

It was more or less what Will had observed about mindless needlepoint.

“Oh, but I am,” Angelika countered. “I am trying to improve myself. According to my brother, Victor, I get into all sorts of mischief if I am not kept occupied at all times.”

“I am sure, madam, that you speak honestly,” Commander Keatings said with a look designed to make her blush. “Are your parents well?”

“I live alone with Victor, and we have no other family.”

This grave news pleased him immensely. The commander was husband material, and from Mary’s gossiping she knew he was unattached. He had a title, a history, a family name. They were getting along wonderfully, and eye contact produced a spark in her stomach. Even still, her heart pulled toward the man waiting outside for her, the one who’d leave one day without looking back.

Fate was a trickster.

“Are you quite all right, Miss Frankenstein?” Commander Keatings asked, leaning forward in concern. “You have gone quite pale. Here, take some brandy.” He went to a cabinet by the far wall and poured her an inch of liquor into a snifter. “Your journey has tired you.”

“How thoughtful.” She sipped the glass as he sat on the edge of his desk. “You’re right. I am a little tired. Please, tell me about your work, Commander Keatings.”

“Call me Christopher. What do you wish to know?” He seemed amused. “I say, it’s nice conversing with a woman. I spend all of my time with men.”

She swallowed the rest of her brandy in a gulp. “What is it like being the commander? Is it Duty Before All Else?”