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She looked blindly at her feet. “He cried himself to sleep.”
“Ah.”
Helen stared out at the moonlit landscape. “What a wilderness this is.”
“It wasn’t always.” His voice was low, the gravel making it rumble in a sort of comforting way. “There used to be gardens that led to the stream.”
“What happened to them?”
“The gardener died and another was never hired.”
She frowned. The ruined terrace gardens were silvered in the moonlight, but she could see that it was terribly overgrown. “When did the gardener die?”
He tilted his head back, gazing at the stars. “Seventeen… no, eighteen years ago?”
She stared. “And you’ve never hired a gardener since then?”
“There seemed no need.”
They stood in silence then. A cloud drifted across the moon. She wondered suddenly how many nights he had stood thus, alone and lonely, looking out over the ruin of his garden.
“Do you…”
He tilted his head. “Yes?”
“Forgive me.” She was glad the darkness masked her expression. “You’ve never married?”
“No.” He hesitated, and then said gruffly, “I was engaged, but she died.”
“I’m sorry.”
He made a movement, perhaps a halfhearted shrug. He hardly needed her sympathy.
But she couldn’t leave it alone. “No family, either?”
“I have an older sister who lives in Edinburgh.”
“But that’s not too far away. You must see her often.”
She thought wistfully of her own family. She hadn’t seen any of them—her sisters, brother, mother, or Papa—since she’d gone to Lister. What a price she’d paid for her romantic dreams.
“I haven’t seen Sophia in years,” he replied, interrupting her thoughts.
She looked at his dark profile, trying to make out his expression. “You’re estranged?”
“Nothing so formal.” His voice had grown cold. “I simply don’t choose to travel much, Mrs. Halifax, and my sister sees no reason to visit me.”
“Oh.”
He pivoted slowly, facing her. His back was to the moon, and she couldn’t see his expression at all. He seemed suddenly bigger, looming over her more closely—and more ominously—than she’d realized.
“You’re very curious about me tonight, Mrs. Halifax,” he growled. “But I think I’d rather discuss you.”
THE MOONLIGHT CARESSED her face, highlighting a beauty that needed no additional ornamentation. But her loveliness didn’t distract him anymore. He saw it, admired it, but he could also see past the surface camouflage to the woman beneath. A vivacious woman who, he suspected, was not used to labor yet had spent the day cleaning his filthy dining room. A woman not used to fending for herself but who had still managed to push her way into his home and his life. Interesting. What motivated her? What life had she left behind? Who was the man she was hiding from? Alistair watched Mrs. Halifax, trying to see the expression in her harebell-blue eyes, but the night shielded them from him.
“What do you want to know about me?” she asked.
Her voice was even, almost masculine in its directness, and the contrast to her extremely feminine form was surprising. Fascinating, actually.
