Yes. That would work, as long as she seemed nonchalant about the whole matter.

Except that it was difficult to appear nonchalant when one was filled with panic.

Mercifully, Christopher had seemed to lose interest in the subject. In fact, he didn’t so much as glance at her, but instead launched into a conversation with Leo and Cam about mutual acquaintances in London. He was relaxed and smiling, even laughing outright at some quip of Leo’s.

Beatrix’s anxiety faded as it became apparent that the subject of Hector was all but forgotten.

She stole surreptitious glances at Christopher, as she had been doing all evening, mesmerized by the sight of him. He was tawny and sun glazed, the candlelight finding threads of gold in his hair. The yellow glow struck sparkling glints in the new growth of bristle on his face. She was fascinated by the raw, restless masculinity beneath his quietness. She wanted to revel in him as one might dash out-of-doors in a storm, letting the elements have their way. Most of all she longed to talk with him . . . to pry each other open with words, share every thought and secret.

“My sincere thanks for your hospitality,” Christopher finally said at the conclusion of the meal. “It was much needed.”

“You must return soon,” Cam said, “especially to view the timber yard in operation. We have installed some innovations that you may want to use at Riverton someday.”

“Thank you. I would like to see them.” Christopher looked directly at Beatrix. “Before I depart, Miss Hathaway, I wonder if you would introduce me to this notorious mule of yours?” His manner was relaxed . . . but his eyes were those of a predator.

Beatrix’s mouth went dry. There would be no escaping him. That much was clear. He wanted answers. He would have them either now or later.

“Now?” she asked wanly. “Tonight?”

“If you don’t mind,” he said in a far too pleasant tone. “The barn is but a short walk from the house, is it not?”

“Yes,” Beatrix said, rising from her chair. The men at the table stood obligingly. “Excuse us, please. I won’t be long.”

“May I go with you?” Rye asked eagerly.

“No, darling,” Amelia said, “it’s time for your bath.”

“But why must I wash if I can’t see any dirt?”

“Those of us who have a difficult time with godliness,” Amelia replied with a grin, “must settle for cleanliness.”

The family maintained a light conversation until Rye had gone upstairs, and Beatrix and Captain Phelan had left the house with Albert following them.

After a universal silence, Leo was the first to speak. “Did anyone else notice—”

“Yes,” Catherine said. “What do you make of it?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” Leo frowned and took a sip of port. “He’s not someone I would pair Bea with.”

“Whom would you pair her with?”

“Hanged if I know,” Leo said. “Someone with similar interests. The local veterinarian, perhaps?”

“He’s eighty-three years old and deaf,” Catherine said.

“They would never argue,” Leo pointed out.

Amelia smiled and stirred her tea slowly. “Much as I hate to admit it, I agree with Leo. Not about the veterinarian, but . . . Beatrix with a soldier? That doesn’t seem a likely match.”

“Phelan did resign his commission,” Cam said. “He’s no longer a soldier.”

“And if he inherits Riverton,” Amelia mused, “Beatrix would have all that forest to roam . . .”

“I see a likeness between them,” Catherine said reflectively.

Leo arched a brow. “How are they alike, pray tell? She likes animals, and he likes to shoot things.”

“Beatrix puts a distance between herself and the rest of the world. She’s very engaging, but also quite private in nature. I see the same qualities in Captain Phelan.”

“Yes,” Amelia said. “You’re absolutely right, Catherine. Put that way, the match does seem more appropriate.”

“I still have reservations,” Leo said.

“You always do,” Amelia replied. “If you’ll recall, you objected to Cam in the beginning, but now you’ve accepted him.”

“That’s because the more brothers-in-law I acquire,” Leo said, “the better Cam looks by comparison.”

Chapter Fifteen

No words were exchanged as Beatrix and Christopher proceeded to the stable. The cloud-hazed moon was low in the sky, insubstantial as a smoke ring in the blackness.

Beatrix was absurdly aware of the sound of her breathing, of her shoes biting into the graveled ground, of the vital male presence beside her.

A stable boy nodded a greeting as they went into the warm, shadowy interior of the stables. Having become accustomed to Beatrix’s frequent comings and goings, the stablehands had learned to let her do as she pleased.

The pungent smell of the stables—hay, horses, feed, manure—combined in a familiar and reassuring fragrance. Silently she led Christopher farther into the building, past Thoroughbreds, a cart horse, a matched carriage pair. The animals whickered and turned their heads as they passed.

Beatrix stopped at the mule’s stall. “This is Hector,” she said.

The small mule came forward to greet them. Despite his flaws, or perhaps because of them, he was an endearing creature. His conformation was terrible, one ear was crooked, and he wore a jaunty and perpetually cheerful expression.