"That must have been a sight for a new bridegroom."
"Oh, it was. I was so enthused that she accused me of planting the rodent myself. I will say I wasn't quite as upset with Alex as I should have been."
"We didn't know who'd done it, of course, or even if it'd been happenstance . . . until our farewell breakfast the next morning. In walks little Alex, looking quite pleased with herself, until she spots me and howls, 'Why are you still here?'"
"Oh, I'd convinced myself she'd hie back to wherever she'd come from, and I'd have George all to my own again."
"Well, I knew immediately it was her, and I dragged her by her ear out to the garden to give her a stern talking to. The girl never even blinked. She had no fear."
Collin wasn't surprised. She'd likely never been denied a thing in her life. "So you told her you were a witch?"
"I did." Lucy still looked smug, ten years later. "I was only seventeen, you know. But you'll remember my family, Collin. Children crawling from every nook and cranny. I knew I had to put a fear in her. So I told her I'd already roasted the mouse and cut off its tail and ears. Told her all I had to do was mash them up with a little blood of a bat and slip that into her porridge . . . She'd turn into a mouse before the next full moon."
"And what did you say, Lady Alexandra?"
She turned pink when his eyes locked with hers. "I told Lucy to eat horse dung and ran to find my nurse." Her smile went naughty again, tightening the muscles of his stomach. "Then I decided that George was not my true love after all."
"I made an impression on her. She didn't come near me for two years."
George reached out to pat Alexandra's hand with a proud smile. "Not the most trouble you've ever caused, but—" As soon as the words left his mouth, his face paled. "I meant. . ."
"Come now, George," Alex murmured. "None of that. Not among friends." She raised her glass of wine. "A toast. To memories of old times!"
Lucy laughed and drank with her. "She says that so convincingly for a girl no more than nineteen."
"To memories," George added, slanting a sly grin at his wife.
Collin raised his glass and smiled at Alexandra's hearty, "Here, here!" Her eyes sparkled with laughter and her cheeks were flushed from the wine. She glowed.
She glanced his way and he watched her eyes dart away from his stare. But only a heartbeat passed before they slid back to him. Her mouth smiled a softer smile. He drank in the sight of her pink cheeks and pinker lips. He watched her gaze fall to his mouth and felt his blood rush low in response. Not good. Not good at all.
George cleared his throat, jerking Collin's eyes away from her lovely face to meet the speculative look. Collin shifted, coughed, tried not to feel guilty.
"When are you returning home, Collin?" Lucy asked with a lightness he didn't trust.
Unsure of the answer, he shrugged. "Within a few weeks. I still have some business here in England."
A movement drew his eye back to Alexandra, and he found her stiff now, the smile fading from her face. "What kind of business?"
"Oh, various things. As manager of Somerhart, you must understand how tedious these matters can be."
She watched him carefully for a moment, then seemed to blink away her suspicions. "Yes, but I don't find the work tedious at all. I find it invigorating."
He couldn't help a disgusted grunt. "I would rather work the horses."
"Well, we all have our passions, I suppose."
His eyes locked with hers, seemed to draw the color back to her cheeks. "Aye," he agreed finally, and wondered why she was becoming one of his.
Alex stepped into the dim morning light of the courtyard, announcing her arrival with a wistful sigh. She'd hung about in the breakfast room for almost an hour, straightening at every sound that filtered in from the hall. She'd even trailed about the library for a while, hoping to run into Collin Blackburn.
The man had disappeared early last night, staying no more than half an hour in the drawing room before murmuring his goodnights. He hadn't appeared since.
Lucy claimed not to know where he'd hidden himself and had found her own words oddly amusing. Alexandra decided on a tour of the horse yard. At worst she'd walk off some tension. At best, she'd run into him.
Hurrying toward the stables, she chastised herself for this sudden tendre she'd developed. She hardly knew the man. And what he knew of her, he didn't like.
The hazy light of the stable enfolded her as she stepped through the door, an apple held idly against her skirt. The golden dance of dust motes caught her eye first, then a slow movement in the closest stall. . .