Angelika Frankenstein Makes Her Match(29)

He enjoyed her clever use of the Latin motto. “Lately, yes. It’s a lot of office work, writing letters, approving requests, and releasing funds. Very much like managing a large country estate, but instead of cattle, I have one hundred men to feed and water.” He added, like he was unable to resist: “I am also fortunate enough to have my own country estate, where I like to spend some time out in the fresh air.” He looked up at the glassy-eyed buck on his wall.

Angelika attempted to transition the conversation. “What sort of men train here? Are they all officers, like you?”

“It is a mix, like all militia,” he explained, taking her empty glass. “A touch more, I think,” he decided, going to refill it. “You are getting your coloring back. There are lower-ranking men reporting to officers. We train them here so they may be available for times of war. They live in the barracks.”

“That must be difficult for those who are married,” she prompted. “Having to live apart from their wives.”

Christopher took this as a flirtation. “Many of us are married to this way of life,” he said slowly, his eyes on her mouth as he sat back on the desk. “But I’ve been thinking lately that there is more to life than just work, and training, and maintaining an immaculate wardrobe.”

“Well, don’t tell them that.” She nodded toward the grounds and he laughed again. Stop being funny and lively, she scolded herself, and then was astonished at the thought. I am charming this man. How is this happening?

“We have a row of cottages in Highgrove Street where the married officers live with their families. I live here, and I must tell you, Miss Frankenstein, this place is cold at night. And sometimes I hear howls, but I do not know what animal it could be.”

“Sandstone produces the most frightful kind of cold.” She attempted another subject change, but she was too abrupt. “Now, tell me of this accident they are speaking of in the village.”

His expression lost all amusement. “What accident?” He stood from his perch on the desk and went back to his imposing chair. “Whatever do you mean? Ah, thank you, put it here,” he said to his page, who approached at that moment holding a huge leather-bound book.

Christopher took the opportunity to gather his wits as he fussed with turning the page to the correct record. “Frankenstein,” he read out, his tone significantly cooled. “You will find your ancestor’s information here. I will step out to allow you privacy.”

Angelika regretted her tendency to speak without thought and leaned forward to put her hand on his. “I’m sorry. I spend a lot of time alone. I speak my mind without thinking. I had heard someone mention something terrible happening here, and I wondered if you were all right.”

It was essentially the abbreviated truth. He heard her honesty and relaxed. “I was concerned there had been gossip.”

“Not as such. Just a passing comment that I decoded. I am too clever for my own good, and my mouth is smarter yet. I apologize for being so direct about such a traumatic subject.”

“No harm done. Yes, there was a training accident that went badly. I’d barely been here two weeks.” It was a terrible thing to witness the sadness in his once-sparkling eyes. “I understand we lost some very fine men.”

Angelika imagined that in her ear, Will’s voice encouraged: Look around yourself. See how you might offer to help another who needs it.

Inspiration struck.

“That is why I was asking of their wives. I thought I might make up a condolences basket of fruit and pantry goods, if there was anyone recently bereaved. I must step up my charitable efforts in the village.” Producing a notebook and a pencil from her pocket, she began copying down information on her ancestor to maintain her cover. She felt his eyes on her face but did not look up.

Christopher said softly, “How remarkably kind women can be.”

She answered defensively. “Nonsense. Anyone would do the same. Should I prepare a basket?”

“Just one married officer was killed.” He searched through his own notebook, filled with perfect handwriting. “Clara Hoggett. Yes, a basket is just the thing to do. I could assist you with the contents. My predecessor left some good Scotch here.”

Off he went for a third time to the liquor cupboard. Angelika finished her refill. She took the unopened bottle that he presented to her.

“I should like to accompany you to present this to Clara.” Christopher was sitting on the edge of the desk again. She wouldn’t have left those thighs at the morgue. The obscene thought poured heat through her, like a teapot.

“You’re a busy man.” Angelika got to her feet. “’Tis simple women’s work, like my genealogy project. You needn’t bother yourself.”

“I have neglected my duty in checking on her. As the new commander, I must go. As my new friend, you can ensure I don’t get lost. Have you taken down the details you need?” When she nodded, he offered her his arm. “I shall walk you to your carriage.”

Her traitorous hand grasped his firm biceps. Good gosh. “That’s quite all right. You’re busy.”

“I’m really not,” Christopher said, and he smiled broadly for the entire walk downstairs and across the grounds, making perfectly agreeable conversation and pointing out aspects of the architecture. Angelika ached to touch his porcelain-perfect shirt cuffs.