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His friend sighed, his thin chest seeming to collapse. "I'm glad to hear that. I know she must seem mannish and bold to you."
"Mannish," Collin croaked, thinking of her delicate beauty, but George nodded solemnly.
"She grew up nearly without a mother, eventually without a father too. And Somerhart was left to raise her alone, though he didn't have to. He could have sent her off to an aunt or some such but preferred to keep her close."
"An ideal brother."
"Perhaps, but not an ideal parent, you understand. And after this happened . . ." He waved a circle to encompass the tragedy. "He was concerned for her. She was not really herself, and even a duke could not make it right."
"No, I suppose not." Collin thought of the stiffness in her face when he'd wounded her.
"So you may look at her and see a hoyden, an unnatural girl who works her brother's estate and attracts scandal like a magnet, but she is more than that. She is . . ." He waved again, frowning as he searched for words.
"George. You don't have to defend her. I won't deny that I thought little enough of her when I arrived here, but you're right. She's young. She did not mean to injure John."
"No. No, I can assure you of that. She's a kind girl and always has been. A bit spoiled, mind you, but we're all to blame. Motherless child and all that."
He smiled at the gruff love in George's voice. "I should like to see a portrait of her as a child."
"By God, I'm sure I have one around here some-where." George turned to scan the dozens of bookcases lining the long wall, relief sinking his shoulders. "Somerhart must have sent us a new miniature every half-year."
Collin smiled as he recalled the great Duke of Somerhart—an icy, intelligent man with a razor-sharp wit. Who would have thought the duke such a soft touch for an orphaned child?
The real Alexandra Huntington made her debut in the formal dining room. Here was the confident woman who'd enchanted the ton; the sparkling, dark beauty the men spoke of, some with wistful looks, some with lust. Collin had not fully understood their admiration, not until this night.
She flushed a little as they greeted each other, but with each course that passed over their plates, Alexandra relaxed a fraction more. She did not seem selfish or thoughtless. She did not even seem particularly spoiled. And she had freckles on her nose.
Ridiculous, of course, but as Collin sat there in the yellow-walled dining room, eating goose and salmon and Yorkshire pudding, he stared at her—at her wild, dark curls and big eyes and those nearly invisible freckles sprinkled across her nose—and he realized: This woman is no whore.
And more surprising than that? He wanted her.
Impossible. She was only nineteen. She was English. And the sister of a duke. Practically a damned English princess, for God's sake. Regardless of her past, she was not a woman to have a tryst with. She was royalty.
His torturous thoughts were interrupted by George's sigh. "Women and their money talk. It quite makes my head spin."
Alexandra stopped her chatter about expenses and grinned at them, wrinkling her nose at her cousin before she turned back to Lucy. "And Hart has given permission to expand his stables, so I'll no doubt spend some time at the horse fairs this summer."
"Perhaps Collin can assist you."
Collin caught the confused glance she threw in his direction.
"He breeds horses," Lucy added helpfully.
"Oh, I didn't realize. Blackburn?" Brow furrowed in thought, she looked again to Collin. "I don't think I've heard of you."
George chuckled, obviously enjoying Collin's anonymity. "Collin does not use his title. He is Baron Westmore."
"Oh? Oh, of course!" Her face brightened. "The West-more stables. Your horses are coveted."
He smiled at the sheer regard in her voice. "They are fine animals."
She nodded at that, but her grin faded, the frown returned. Collin could almost hear the click of her mind turning over some troubling detail. "Your surname is different than John's . . . I'd assumed you had a different father, but you
said something—"
"I'm a bastard."
Her eyes widened at the blunt words, and Collin caught George's cringe at the edge of his vision. He waited to see what the duke's daughter would think of dining with a bastard. Blue eyes narrowed and Collin felt his eyes narrow in turn, but then she smiled—a smile that widened as the seconds ticked past.
