Surprised and diverted, Christopher wondered how an unworldly young woman in her early twenties had the gall to give him orders.

However, it was turning out to be a strangely entertaining afternoon. Why not stay? He wasn’t expected anywhere. And no matter how it turned out, it would be preferable to going back to those somber dark rooms at home. “In that case—” He broke off, startled, as Beatrix leaned toward him.

“Oh, bother.” She was looking closely at the lapels of his tweed sack coat. “You’re covered with goat hair.” She began to brush at his lapels vigorously.

It took Christopher a full five seconds to remember how to breathe. “Miss Hathaway—” In her efforts to whisk away the scattering of stray goat hairs, she was standing much too close. He wanted her even closer. What would it feel like to wrap his arms around her, and press his cheek into that mass of shiny dark hair?

“Don’t move,” Beatrix said, continuing to bat at the front of his coat. “I’ve almost brushed it off.”

“No, I don’t . . . that’s not . . .” Christopher’s control broke. He snatched her slender wrists with his hands, holding them suspended. God, the feel of her . . . the smooth skin . . . the exquisite throb of her veins against his fingertips. A subtle tremor ran through her. He wanted to follow it with his hands, smooth his palms over the supple curves of her. He wanted to wrap her around him, her legs, her arms, her hair.

But despite her undeniable attractions, he would never pursue a woman like Beatrix Hathaway, even if he weren’t already in love with Prudence. What he truly wanted, needed, was a return to normalcy. To the kind of life that would restore him to peace.

Slowly Beatrix pulled her arms free of his manacling fingers. She stared at him, her gaze wary and intent.

They both started at the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Good afternoon,” came a pleasant feminine voice.

It was the oldest Hathaway sister, Amelia. She was shorter and more voluptuous than her younger sister. There was a warm maternal air about her, as if she were prepared to ladle out sympathy and comfort at a moment’s notice.

“Mrs. Rohan,” Christopher murmured, and bowed.

“Sir,” she replied with a questioning lilt. Although they had met before, she clearly didn’t recognize him.

“This is Captain Phelan, Amelia,” Beatrix said.

The blue eyes widened. “What a lovely surprise,” she exclaimed, giving Christopher her hand.

“Captain Phelan and I dislike each other,” Beatrix told her. “In fact, we’re sworn enemies.”

Christopher glanced at her quickly. “When did we become sworn enemies?”

Ignoring him, Beatrix said to her sister, “Regardless, he’s staying for tea.”

“Wonderful,” Amelia said equably. “Why are you enemies, dear?”

“I met him yesterday while I was out walking,” Beatrix explained. “And he called Medusa a ‘garden pest,’ and faulted me for bringing her to a picnic.”

Amelia smiled at Christopher. “Medusa has been called many worse things around here, including ‘diseased pincushion,’ and ‘perambulating cactus.’ ”

“I’ve never understood,” Beatrix said, “why people have such unreasonable dislike of hedgehogs.”

“They dig up the garden,” Amelia said, “and they’re not what one would call cuddlesome. Captain Phelan has a point, dear—you might have brought your cat to the picnic instead.”

“Don’t be silly. Cats don’t like picnics nearly as much as hedgehogs.”

The conversation proceeded at such quicksilver speed that there was little opportunity for Christopher to break in. Somehow he managed to find an opening. “I apologized to Miss Hathaway for my remarks,” he told Amelia uncomfortably.

This earned an approving glance. “Delightful. A man who’s not afraid to apologize. But really, apologies are wasted on our family—we’re usually pleased by the things we should be offended by, and vice versa. Come in, Captain, you’re among friends.”

Christopher found himself being ushered into a bright, cheery house, with abundant windows and piles of books everywhere.

“Beatrix,” Amelia said over her shoulder as they proceeded through the hallway. “Perhaps you should reconsider your attire. Poor Captain Phelan may find it somewhat shocking.”

“But he’s already seen me like this,” came Beatrix’s voice from behind Christopher, “and I’ve already shocked him. What is the point in changing clothes? Captain, would you feel more comfortable if I took my breeches off?”

“No,” he said hastily.

“Good, I’ll keep them on. Really, I don’t see why women shouldn’t dress like this all the time. One can walk freely and even leap. How is one to chase after a goat in skirts?”

“It’s something the dressmakers should consider,” Amelia said. “Although my concern is more in the direction of chasing after children, not goats.”

They entered a room lined with a semicircular row of tall windows overlooking a spring garden. It was a comfortable room, with overstuffed furniture and embroidered pillows. A housemaid was busy setting out china plates on a tea table. Christopher couldn’t help contrasting this cozy scene with yesterday’s stilted teatime in the Phelans’ immaculate formal parlor.

“Please set another place, Tillie,” Amelia said. “We have a guest.”