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He finished lighting the candles and turned back. The children and Mrs. Halifax were still clustered by the door. A corner of his mouth kicked up. “Come in. I know it isn’t as beautifully clean as the dining room now is, but I don’t think you’ll come to actual harm.”

Mrs. Halifax muttered something under her breath and frowned at one of the chairs by the fireplace. The chair was lopsided; it had a broken leg and was propped up by two books. Abigail was running her finger along a bookshelf and inspecting the dust collected on her fingertip.

But Jamie ran to a globe of the world and peered at it. “I can’t see England.”

The globe was nearly obscured by dust.

“Ah.” Sir Alistair took out his handkerchief and wiped off the globe. “There. Now England’s revealed, and so is Scotland. Here we are.” He pointed to the area north of the Firth of Forth.

Jamie squinted at the globe and then looked up. “Where’s your book?”

Alistair glanced about the library, frowning. He hadn’t had occasion to look at his own writing in quite some time. “Over here, I think.”

He led the way to a corner in which several oversized volumes were piled on the floor.

“These ought to be put on a shelf,” Mrs. Halifax muttered. “I can’t believe you keep your own book on the floor.”

Alistair grunted before rummaging in the pile with Jamie. “Ah, here it is.”

He laid the book out on the floor and opened it. Jamie promptly threw himself down on his stomach to peer closely at the pages, and Abigail sat by his side to look.

“You must have spent many years in New England.” Mrs. Halifax was standing behind her children, looking at the book over their shoulders. “Mind the pages when you turn them, Jamie.”

Alistair strolled to her side. “Three years.”

She looked up at him, her blue eyes startlingly bright in the candlelit room. “What?”

“Three years.” He cleared his throat. “I spent three years in New England recording the information in that book.”

“That’s a very long time. Did not the war interfere with your work?”

“On the contrary. I was attached to regiments in His Majesty’s army the entire time.”

“But wasn’t that dangerous?” Her brows were drawn together in concern.

For him.

He looked away. Her eyes were too beautiful for this dingy room, and he regretted the impulse to bring her and the children in here. Why lay himself open like this, let them see into his life, his past? This was a mistake.

“Sir Alistair?”

He didn’t know what to say. Yes, it’d been dangerous—so dangerous that he’d left behind an eye, two fingers, and his pride in the woods of North America—but he couldn’t tell her that. She was merely making conversation.

He was saved from having to reply by Jamie looking up suddenly from the book. “Where’s Lady Grey?”

The deerhound hadn’t followed them into the library.

Alistair shrugged. “Probably fell asleep by the fire in the dining room.”

“But she’ll miss us,” Jamie said. “I’ll go get her.”

And he hopped up before anyone could say a word and scurried from the room.

“Jamie!” Abigail called. “Jamie, don’t run!” And she was off as well.

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Halifax said.

He frowned at her in surprise. “What for?”

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