The man was a stranger. It did not matter what he thought of her. He was not the first person to look at her as if she were a pile of rubbish, and he would not be the last.
It was all so ridiculous. Her brother ran around as if he were Bacchus incarnate and all anyone could think was what a fine, strong, eligible man he was. But she gets caught in one tiny indiscretion and what results? Death, destruction, mayhem.
The heels of her hands caught her tears. She could live with it. She would. A man had died, and she would have that sorrow on her heart for the rest of her life, but she was only nineteen and it could not be the end of her. She'd done nothing more than men did every hour of every day.
Fingers trembling, Alexandra jerked the bellpull, then tugged at her jacket, wincing when a button broke loose under her clumsy fingers and bounced across the floor.
A bath was in order. A hot bath and a glass of wine before dinner. Her brother was in London and she would dine alone, but she would take pleasure in dressing. She might be a fallen woman, a harlot who lured men to their deaths, but she was alive and able and that was something.
And tomorrow she would work until she was too sore to think, and, please God, too tired to feel.
Collin Blackburn decided to leave the woman be for a fortnight. His men in France had flushed St. Claire out of his hole three weeks ago, and the man had left all his pos
sessions behind, including the letters from one Lady Alexandra.
St. Claire had nothing now. He would write soon, begging for money. Collin could simply swoop in to retrieve the whereabouts of that bastard and he'd never have to see the girl again.
His head still spun from their meeting the night before. From glancing up to find her standing there, pale and lovely and somehow younger in her respectable gray. No breeches to distract him from her smallness, no bright red coat to add color to her cheeks. She'd looked vulnerable, and that vulnerability had angered him.
The note had been a surprise, or the honesty of it at least. St. Claire had used all three French locations, including the one he'd fled most recently.
Why such forthrightness? Guilt. It dulled her eyes, those damned eyes that pricked his conscience with their glimpses of hurt and defiance. Well, this mess wasn't his fault. She'd made her own bed.
Collin packed his bag and stowed his breakfast of bread and cheese for the journey. He could make it to his cousin's home before dark if he didn't tarry. Lucy would be happy to have him for a week or two, had, in fact, threatened to box his ears if he ever ventured near her home and didn't visit.
So he rode out at dawn, chewing his breakfast, making a very good effort not to think of the young Alexandra Huntington. He could measure his trip now in days-till-home. As long as he made it back to Scotland within the month, he'd get to the first horse fair. Past time to choose which of his stock would go up for sale, but things were running smoothly in his absence—no mares sick, no foals lost. Of course, if the girl did provide new information on St. Claire, Collin would be away longer. A detour to France would take weeks.
Coming around a slow bend in the road, Collin glanced up to a rise in the west. Workmen labored next to a low wall, large stories strewn at their feet. There in their midst stood a slender figure, red coat ablaze in the rising sun. Alexandra Huntington. It had to be her. She gestured widely with the spade she held, appearing to shout, though the distance stole the words. Collin stopped his horse to watch.
He'd known she acted as her brother's manager, a rare position for a nobleman much less a gently bred woman, but he'd assumed it was merely an amusement for her. A novelty, an excuse to be scandalous and wear men's clothes. He should have known better after glimpsing that simmering will in her eyes. She looked to be more involved than most managers would be.
How vulnerable she appeared, standing among the hulking laborers, weighing half of even the smallest of them. But, to a man, they stood still as she spoke, some of them nodding at her words.
One of the group inclined his head and she turned to stare down the hill. She went still, probably shocked at finding herself watched, then took a step in his direction. Just one. Collin wondered at her expression as he raised a hand in farewell, and felt a moment's regret that she didn't return the gesture. She stood like a statue, stiff and proud in the pink light, her face unreadable. Then she turned back to the men with a sharp word that set them all in motion.
She'd dismissed him. Just as well. She'd be unhappy with him regardless when he returned to demand further information. No point calling a truce now.
As he urged Thor to a brisk pace, Collin felt a small curl of anticipation in his stomach at the thought of another visit, but he tamped the feeling down with cool efficiency. The woman was intriguing, dangerously so, and definitely not someone he should get to know better. Someone he should avoid at all costs, even. But she was also very likely his only chance at fulfilling this damned promise to his father.
Chapter 2
"Collin, are you coming down?"
A smile stole over Collin's face at the sound of his cousin's shout echoing up the stairway and through the open library door.
"Collin?"
"Be right there."
Tossing the book back onto the chair where he'd found it, Collin stepped out of the library and made a careful survey of the angled hall before choosing the stone archway to his left. Lucy's home was massive and rambling, having been added onto at least a dozen times, and visitors often found themselves lost. Collin had been here for three days and he had yet to get his bearings.
"Oh, my word! Oh, I can't believe it!"
He rolled his eyes at Lucy's echo. She had never been the perfect example of a gentlewoman, perhaps because she was not very gently bred. No telling what had excited her into shouting this time, there were so many possibilities. A new kitten, a letter from a friend . . . perhaps even a tempting biscuit. Still chuckling when he found the stairs, Collin descended to the landing, looked down, and felt his tongue freeze to the roof of his mouth at the sight of Lucy's latest thrill.
"Oh, you naughty thing!" Lucy sang, her red curls bouncing. "What are you doing here?"
Naughty thing indeed. Below him, radiant in a rumpled gown of aquamarine silk, stood the naughty Lady Alexandra herself.