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His mouth curved in a smile that wasn’t very nice. “A tragedy, then, his death.”
“Yes, it was.”
“You were married young?”
“Only eighteen.” Her eyes dropped.
“And the marriage was happy.”
“Extremely happy.” Her voice was defiant, the lie transparent.
“What did he look like?”
“I…” She wrapped her arms about herself. “Please, might we change the subject?”
“Certainly,” he drawled. “Where did you live in London?”
“I’ve told you.” Her voice was steadier now. “I was in Lady Vale’s household.”
“Of course,” he murmured. “My mistake. I keep forgetting your vast experience in running a household.”
“It’s not vast,” she whispered. “You know that.”
For a moment, they were silent and only the wind whistling around the corner of the castle gave voice.
Then she said very quietly, with her face still turned away, “It’s just that I… I need a place to stay right now.”
And something inside him surged in triumph. He had her. She couldn’t leave. It made no sense, this feeling of triumph. He’d been urging her to go ever since she’d arrived, but somehow the knowledge that she had to stay, and that as an honorable gentleman he had to let her stay, filled him with contentment.
Not that he let it show. “I confess, Mrs. Halifax, that I am surprised by one thing.”
“What is that?”
He bent closer, his mouth nearly brushing her lemon-scented hair. “I would’ve thought a lady of your beauty would be besieged by suitors.”
She turned her head, and their faces were suddenly only inches apart. He felt her breath brush across his lips as she spoke. “You find me beautiful.”
Her voice was curiously flat.
He cocked his head, eyeing the smooth brow, the lush mouth, and the fine wide eyes. “Devastatingly so.”
“And you probably think beauty sufficient reason to marry a woman.” Her tone was bitter now.
What had the mysterious Mr. Halifax done to his wife? “No doubt most men do.”
“They never think of a woman’s disposition,” she muttered. “Her likes and dislikes, her fears and hopes, her very soul.”
“Don’t they?”
“No.” Her beautiful eyes had grown dark and tragic. The wind blew a curling lock of hair across her face.
“Poor Mrs. Halifax,” he mocked softly. He gave in to impulse and raised his left hand—his unmaimed hand—and stroked the lock of hair back away from her face. Her skin was as fine as silk. “How terrible to be so lovely.”
A frown creased her unblemished brow. “You said most men.”
“Did I?” He let his hand drop.
She looked up at him, her eyes were quite perceptive now. “Don’t you consider beauty to be the most important criteria in a wife?”
