arrival was timely.”
“Yes…” He stood with his feet braced apart, looking like the captain of a ship poised at the prow. “Might I have a word with you?” he asked.
“We are having words now,” I replied, trying to be tart and then, hearing how I had just misspoken, blushing.
He smiled slightly and his eyes, too, eased somewhat in their intensity. “Surely our conversation was not that extreme. I meant, might we speak a bit more…plainly, you and I?” Moving toward me, he gestured to one of four wing chairs by the unlit hearth, inviting me to sit. I complied. He took the chair closest to me, his long legs stretched out so that his shoe nearly touched the hem of my gown.
Resting his elbows on the armrests, he laced his fingers just at his chin and leveled his black stare at me. I folded my own hands on my lap and returned his gaze evenly.
After an interval, the smile came again, this time a tad deeper. “It seemed from my vantage point that something disturbed you today on the Overton Hill.”
“How long were you watching me, Mr. Fox?”
“A while,” he admitted without embarrassment. “I noticed the child by the tree. What was she doing?”
“Nothing.” My reply was quick and obviously defensive. “Merely taking a rest.”
He disengaged a long finger, using it to stroke his lip. He said, “I had just come over the crest of the hill when I spotted you wading through the grass to her, but the child…The child was, if my eyes did not mistake me, talking to the tree.”
I swallowed first, then made my voice light. “I wonder you cannot find something more interesting to occupy an afternoon.”
That elegant finger leveled at me. “And I noticed you had a fright.”
My mouth worked a half-second before my voice came through. “I had lost sight of her. I was naturally overset. Let me ask you something, Mr. Fox. How was it you saw so much? You were very far away, and I could barely see from where I stood the outline of a figure of a horse and rider, let alone all this nuance of expression you claim to have noticed.”
“I have excellent eyesight,” he said.
“It must approach the vision of an eagle, I daresay.” I attempted a show of arrogance to indicate my disbelief, but succeeded only in feeling childish. “And you happened to be riding in the area of The Sanctuary this morning? Why?”
A ghost of some emotion passed over his face. “I am most interested in that tree.”
“Do you have an affinity for botany, Mr. Fox?”
His laughter came suddenly, an abrupt bark that punched sound into the quiet room. His smile lingered, showing teeth this time. They were very white and even. The fully blossomed smile was devastating on his somber face, and I saw he could very well have been very attractive indeed had he had better manners.
His eyes on me were keen. “I have many interests.”
“Including spying on us.”
He froze me with that icy calculation of his. “I wonder, was your mission on the hill so clandestine that my observing you creates discomfort?”
“I find it odd that you are so curious about an outing of a widow and a child,” I said pertly. I might as well have said: I find you odd, Mr. Fox.
Nevertheless, he took no offense. He merely shrugged. “Inarguably.”
He would give nothing. Well, neither would I. I had the very strong, very definite sense that he knew something, and he was attempting, in a sly, disarming manner, to pry some sort of admission from me.
And yet I am embarrassed to admit that a small part of me—a part I most emphatically repressed—wanted very much to tell all to him, lay it at his feet and share the dark burden that was gathering across my shoulders.
I rose abruptly. “Well, I need to see to changing for dinner. Good afternoon, Mr. Fox. Thank you again for the generous use of your horse.”
He waited until I was at the door. “Mrs. Andrews.”
I paused, turning my head enough to see him approach with a feline grace. He drew
“Yes…” He stood with his feet braced apart, looking like the captain of a ship poised at the prow. “Might I have a word with you?” he asked.
“We are having words now,” I replied, trying to be tart and then, hearing how I had just misspoken, blushing.
He smiled slightly and his eyes, too, eased somewhat in their intensity. “Surely our conversation was not that extreme. I meant, might we speak a bit more…plainly, you and I?” Moving toward me, he gestured to one of four wing chairs by the unlit hearth, inviting me to sit. I complied. He took the chair closest to me, his long legs stretched out so that his shoe nearly touched the hem of my gown.
Resting his elbows on the armrests, he laced his fingers just at his chin and leveled his black stare at me. I folded my own hands on my lap and returned his gaze evenly.
After an interval, the smile came again, this time a tad deeper. “It seemed from my vantage point that something disturbed you today on the Overton Hill.”
“How long were you watching me, Mr. Fox?”
“A while,” he admitted without embarrassment. “I noticed the child by the tree. What was she doing?”
“Nothing.” My reply was quick and obviously defensive. “Merely taking a rest.”
He disengaged a long finger, using it to stroke his lip. He said, “I had just come over the crest of the hill when I spotted you wading through the grass to her, but the child…The child was, if my eyes did not mistake me, talking to the tree.”
I swallowed first, then made my voice light. “I wonder you cannot find something more interesting to occupy an afternoon.”
That elegant finger leveled at me. “And I noticed you had a fright.”
My mouth worked a half-second before my voice came through. “I had lost sight of her. I was naturally overset. Let me ask you something, Mr. Fox. How was it you saw so much? You were very far away, and I could barely see from where I stood the outline of a figure of a horse and rider, let alone all this nuance of expression you claim to have noticed.”
“I have excellent eyesight,” he said.
“It must approach the vision of an eagle, I daresay.” I attempted a show of arrogance to indicate my disbelief, but succeeded only in feeling childish. “And you happened to be riding in the area of The Sanctuary this morning? Why?”
A ghost of some emotion passed over his face. “I am most interested in that tree.”
“Do you have an affinity for botany, Mr. Fox?”
His laughter came suddenly, an abrupt bark that punched sound into the quiet room. His smile lingered, showing teeth this time. They were very white and even. The fully blossomed smile was devastating on his somber face, and I saw he could very well have been very attractive indeed had he had better manners.
His eyes on me were keen. “I have many interests.”
“Including spying on us.”
He froze me with that icy calculation of his. “I wonder, was your mission on the hill so clandestine that my observing you creates discomfort?”
“I find it odd that you are so curious about an outing of a widow and a child,” I said pertly. I might as well have said: I find you odd, Mr. Fox.
Nevertheless, he took no offense. He merely shrugged. “Inarguably.”
He would give nothing. Well, neither would I. I had the very strong, very definite sense that he knew something, and he was attempting, in a sly, disarming manner, to pry some sort of admission from me.
And yet I am embarrassed to admit that a small part of me—a part I most emphatically repressed—wanted very much to tell all to him, lay it at his feet and share the dark burden that was gathering across my shoulders.
I rose abruptly. “Well, I need to see to changing for dinner. Good afternoon, Mr. Fox. Thank you again for the generous use of your horse.”
He waited until I was at the door. “Mrs. Andrews.”
I paused, turning my head enough to see him approach with a feline grace. He drew
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