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Her smile widened. Hart felt his own mouth twitch up. He'd forgotten this, how much light his sister added to his life. "Well, you're here now. I suppose I must act pleased to see you."
He took her by the shoulders and backed up a step to sweep a careful glance down her body. "You look well. As always."
"Thank you."
His eyes lingered on her narrow waist. "You're not. . . You haven't. . .?"
Her smile faded a little. "No. Not yet. But in truth I think Collin is relieved. He's convinced I'm too small to carry the child of a big Scots brute like himself. Rubbish."
"Perhaps he's not doing it right. I hear those Scotsman can be—" He glanced up to find the big Scottish brute glowering from the doorway. "Hello, Blackburn."
"Somerhart," the man growled. "If you're through disparaging my manhood to my wife, I thought I would show you the mare we've brought."
Hart inclined his head and managed not to glance back toward the mocking blankness of the paper on his desk. "Of course. I'll have my stable master ready her stall."
"I've already spoken with him. But I believe your housekeeper desires a word."
Hart winced. Emma's lies had wreaked more havoc than even she could know. There was little worse than living with an angry household. Still, they'd all be so happy to have Alex back for a visit, surely their resentment would vanish before the hour was out.
And surely Hart's resentment would disappear just as quickly. He loved his sister much more than the ghost of Lady Denmore, and she'd be far better company. So why did he feel the loss of his solitude so sharply?
Alex looped her arm through his and interrupted his brooding. "Don't worry. We'll only be here a week." She looked him up and down. "You look terrible. Drawn and thin. Fallen in love, have you?"
Hart nearly groaned. He managed to hold it back, but apparently his little sister didn't need the sound to sense his dismay. She jerked to a stop, and Hart soon found himself staring down into a severe frown.
"You," she bit out, "had better tell me everything."
He was surprised by the urge to do just that. But of course he couldn't. He shook his head.
"Collin!" she shouted, her husband stopped near the front door. "The mare will have to wait an hour. My brother is sick with love."
Collin arched a look of disbelief over his shoulder.
Alexandra steered Hart back toward the library.
"I've nothing to tell," he growled. "You've gone mad. Again."
"Mm." She paused to stick her head back into the hallway. "Morton! Bring the whisky!" The sweet smile she turned on Hart had lulled many a man into tenderness, but it sent a shiver of apprehension up Hart's spine. "A toast to celebrate my arrival? How thoughtful! And lucky you, we've brought a whole crate of the Kirkland's best whisky."
Slumping into the nearest chair, Hart ignored Morton and the freshly opened bottle he delivered. He ignored the generous glass that Alex poured an
d shoved into his hand. He even ignored her expectant smile.
Finally, she gave an innocent little blink and raised her glass. "To notorious friends," she said.
Hart tensed.
"And to Aunt Augusta who sends the most entertaining letters."
He glared.
She sipped her whisky and made a little humming sound before turning those twinkling eyes back to him. A shiver of foreboding dripped down his spine. "But, Hart, perhaps you could clarify something for me. Who in the world is this young Dowager Lady Denmore I've heard so much about?"
Hart was refilling his glass before the last drop of whisky had burned from his throat. Alex waited patiently, innocent smile still in place. He'd never been able to resist her. Ever. In fact, he'd spoiled her rotten as a child. So it was no surprise when he broke like a cracked pitcher, and spilled his story to his baby sister in a great and glorious mess.
It's clear what you must do, Alex had said. And of course it was clear to her, who had such an inevitable sympathy for scandalous women. So he'd dashed off the letter to the solicitor and now here he was in Lancaster's morning room, hands clenched to fists as he waited for the viscount to meet him.
If anyone knew anything about her, he supposed it must be Lancaster. They'd been friends of some sort. Stimp had seen the viscount visit on more than one occasion.
