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During the long ride back, Alex made every effort to keep some distance between their horses, trying, simultaneously, not to make it obvious. But as they drew closer to the manor, Collin pulled his horse next to hers and said her name.
She sent him a vacuous smile. "Alexandra, I wanted to ask you. . ." "Yes?"
"Will you contact me if St. Claire writes again?"
She frowned, blinked. She had not expected to hear him speak of it again. "I. . . But what of the information I gave you?"
He shook his head. "Old."
"Oh." More humiliation to add to his account. "You didn't tell me."
He had the grace, at least, to shift in his saddle. "When I left Somerhart, I left with the intention of coming back in two weeks to see if you'd received additional letters. But I thought, now, considering the circumstances, perhaps it would be better if you simply sent me notice next time."
Her spine stiffened. What did he mean by "the circumstances?" And had he shown interest in her just to secure her cooperation?
She glared at him, and he looked back, mouth flat and miserable, but his eyes did not avoid hers. No. No, he hadn't used her. He seemed more noble than any nobleman she'd ever met. And anyway, he hadn't bothered to cement their relationship nearly as tightly as he could have. The very uncomfortable "circum-stance" he'd referred to, no doubt.
"I'll send the direction," she said simply.
When they reached the manor, she tossed her reins to a groom while Collin led his own horse to the stables. She hurried into the house and up the stairs and told herself she had no reason to be mad at him for rejecting her when she was the woman who'd betrayed his brother so vilely. She should be thankful he could be kind to her, be friendly. But as she closed her bedroom door with a firm thud, thankfulness was the least of her emotions.
Chapter 5
She'll be gone in the morning.
Collin told himself this every time his eye fell on Alexandra Huntington.
Don't worry. She'll be gone soon.
She looked beautiful, of course, in a fluff of red dress that accentuated her alabaster skin and the smallness of her waist. The dress also rather successfully drew the eye to the soft rise of her breasts. It was not daring by society standards, but the bodice curved more than low enough to offer a tantalizing glimpse of her firm breasts. Collin did what he could to stop himself staring. Not an easy task when he could picture perfectly the shape and shade of them beneath his hand.
Perhaps more maddening than his fascination with her bosom was the way her eyes slid away from his every time he looked at her. Even when he'd greeted her before dinner she'd stared at his collar. Now she stared at the wineglass that had not left her hand since the first course was served.
"How is your head?"
She blinked as if drawn from a deep thought. "Pardon me?"
"Your head. That is why you missed luncheon? A headache?"
"Oh. Yes. My head is better, thank you."
"I hope it was not the strenuous ride today that discomposed you." Oh, her eyes flew to meet his then.
Collin kept his face straight—very straight—and raised an innocent, inquiring brow. Her cheeks flamed.
"It was not the ride, Mr. Blackburn," she bit out. "I am an experienced rider, after all."
Ouch. Her behavior was so demure this evening that he'd forgotten that kittens' claws were not only tiny but also devastatingly sharp.
"Of course." This time, when she looked away, he slumped back into the chair to glare at his bowl of stewed fruit.
"My word," Lucy injected into the silence that followed. "Our guests are quiet this evening, George. I do believe we're boring them to death with our rusticating ways."
They both muttered something negative. Lucy's eyes narrowed.
"You two rode together this morning?"
"Yes," Alex squeaked and sat up straighten
