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She could forget, for a moment, that she traveled to meet a man whose eyes flashed with honesty and scorn. Life was just the horse beneath her and the ground ahead. A quarter hour flew by in seconds, and the yard of the inn loomed suddenly, too soon.
Alexandra dismounted, throwing the reins to the stable boy before she could change her mind. Her footsteps faltered at the sight of the red door.
"Please walk the horse," she murmured. "This will only take a moment."
With one last deep breath, she stepped up onto the threshold and through the doorway. The great room seemed dim after the sun, but even in shadow it was hard to miss Collin Blackburn. He sat relaxed, perusing a stack of papers, pint of ale in hand. He was very still, she realized. He did not bounce his knee or tap the table as he read. No, he held his long body quiet, as if his movements were valuable to him, a resource not to be wasted. She could not keep still for a moment when she worked the ledgers. A meaningful difference between them, perhaps.
A curl of hair escaped over the edge of his collar, the softness such a contrast to his hard face. There was something about him, something in his eyes that spoke of nobility and honor. Something unyielding.
"Lady Alexandra!" the proprietor's voice boomed across the room. "Welcome, welcome. Will you have dinner this evening?"
Blackburn's eyes jerked from his papers to lock with hers. "No, Mr. Sims," she answered without looking away from the man she'd come to see. "I have business to attend."
Blackburn stood to pull back a chair when she walked toward him. "Lady Alexandra."
Ignoring the proffered seat, she handed him the note. He opened it, looked back to her, his expression unreadable.
"The last direction is from two months ago," she explained past stiff lips.
"Thank you."
"I'm sorry about everything." She started to turn, but he placed his hand on her arm—not a grip . . . a touch. "This was a shock to you. I'm sorry I lost my temper."
"You have every right to be angry."
"Still. I was harsh."
"I understand what you must think of me. How could you not?" She gave him what she hoped was a light smile. "I appreciate that you did not involve me until you had to. I wish you luck." She turned again, needing to leave, to flee the sharpness of his eyes but, again, she was stopped by his voice.
His words were low, soft, and not the least bit kind. "What am I supposed to think of you?"
Jaw set, Alexandra pivoted, anger giving her the will to meet his gaze. It hurt to be around people who knew nothing of her but the lowest moment of her life. Hurt even more to be near a man who seemed so solid and unpretentious and who must hold her in such contempt. What did he want her to say? What did anyone want her to say?
"I did not come here to explain myself to you. You asked for something and I've given it to you. That's the end of it."
"Will you contact me if he writes you again?"
"Why would he write again?"
"You sent him money."
Blood rose to her face, giving her away. "Should I tell you I did, so you can truly hate me?"
His eyes flashed something hot, then traveled about the room, measuring each face before he took her arm and guided her toward the door. "People are watching."
She let him lead her only because it meant she'd be that much closer to leaving. As soon as they stepped out the door, as soon as her foot touched the dirt yard, she edged away, putting distance between them. "Thank you for escorting me out. Have a good journey." The stable boy nodded at her gesture and led Brinn toward the mounting steps, but before Alexandra could follow him, Blackburn's soft words touched her ear.
"You are not what I thought you would be, Lady Alexandra."
She glanced back at him, taking in the angled planes of his face and the flint of his gray eyes. He was a hard man, she thought, but fair. He'd apologized. Still, he did not like her or, at the very least, did not want to. He was just like the rest of them in that way.
She gave him her back and spoke into the soft breeze. "You do not know the first thing about me, Mr. Blackburn."
She ignored the painful pounding of her heart and stepped to her horse. The mare's ears pricked for a bare moment as Alexandra mounted, whispering of speed before she'd even secured her seat. Brinn wheeled about, forcing the boy back a step, snorting wildly over the sound of Blackburn's curse.
Alexandra did not look back; she simply rode, flying toward home. The journey seemed to take an hour this time, the ride no longer a haven from thought. The moment Brinn's hooves clattered against the stone drive of Somerhart, Alexandra tossed the reins to a groom and slid from the saddle, then ran inside and up the stairs to the sanctuary of her bedchamber.
"Bastard," she huffed and threw her riding crop across the room in a high arc. She would not cry, she told herself again, sniffing against tears and dragging a sleeve across her eyes.
