To Beguile a Beast (Legend of the Four Soldiers #3)(31)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

That lady beamed. “Yes, indeed. Sophie and I have a lovely Whitestone house with a view of the city. Sophie belongs to quite a few scientific and philosophical societies, and we can attend a lecture, a demonstration, or a salon nearly every day of the week.”

“How lovely,” Helen said. “And you must be interested in science and philosophy, too, Miss McDonald?”

“Oh, I have an interest,” she replied, smiling, “but not the avocation that Sophie has.”

“Nonsense,” Miss Munroe barked. “You do quite well for an untrained mind, Phoebe.”

“Why, thank you, Sophie,” Miss McDonald murmured, and twinkled conspiratorially at Helen.

Helen hid a smile. Miss McDonald seemed to know exactly how to handle her formidable friend.

“Did you know that Sir Alistair is working on another wonderful book?” she asked.

“Really?” Miss McDonald clapped her hands. “Can we see it?”

Miss Munroe arched an eyebrow at her brother. “Glad to hear you’re working again.”

“It’s still in the early stages yet,” he muttered.

The maids returned with the tea things at that point, and for a moment all was chaos as they set up.

Sir Alistair took advantage of the bustle to lean toward Helen and murmur, “Wonderful?”

She felt her cheeks heat. “Your book is wonderful.”

His brown eye searched her face. “You’ve read it, then?”

“I haven’t—not all of it—but I looked through part of it last night.” She felt her breath catch at the intensity of his gaze. “It was fascinating.”

“Was it?”

He was watching her mouth now, his eye narrowed and intent, and she wondered if he was remembering their kiss. She’d vowed not to repeat it. Involving herself with this man would be yet another example of rushing into folly without a thought for the danger. But as he raised his gaze and met her eyes, she knew.

Dangerous as it was, this folly was beginning to look very tempting, indeed.

* * *

AFTER TEA, ALISTAIR spent the remainder of the afternoon in his tower, not only because he wanted to finish the section on badgers, but also because he feared that if he lingered much longer near his seductive housekeeper, he might do something truly foolish. And besides, he was certain Sophia was harrying the help to clean the castle. He would be smart to stay well away from that.

So it was evening before he saw Mrs. Halifax again. He’d just come from his rooms, having remembered to clean up before dinner and even pull out a decent coat and breeches so his sister wouldn’t scold too badly. Mrs. Halifax had also decided to wear her best, it seemed. He paused at the bottom of the stairs, watching her before she saw him. She’d worn the same blue frock every day since she’d come to the castle, but tonight she had on a green and gold gown, much too rich for a housekeeper, and what was worse, it revealed even more of her creamy bosom. Suddenly Alistair was glad that he’d taken the time to club his hair back and shave.

She turned and saw him at that moment, and for a second she paused, her blue eyes wide and vulnerable, her lovely cheeks pink and innocent. He should simply turn and remount the stairs. Lock himself in his tower and order her from his castle and his life. She hoped for some starry future, and he knew he had none.

Instead he strolled toward her. “You seem to have everything well in hand for dinner, Mrs. Halifax.”

She looked distractedly into the dining room. “I think it’ll do. Let me know if the service isn’t properly done. Tom’s still learning about serving soup.”

“Oh, but you’ll be there to observe,” he said, taking her arm. “Have you forgotten our bargain to dine together? You were quite adamant about my part last night.”

“But your sister!” Her cheeks flamed. “She’ll think that… that… you know.”

“What she’ll think is that I’m eccentric, and that she already knows.” He watched her sardonically. “Come, Mrs. Halifax, this is no time for missish nerves. Where are your children?”

She looked, if possible, even more scandalized. “In the kitchen, but you can’t—”

He beckoned to one of the maids. “Fetch Mrs. Halifax’s children, please.”

The maid hurried off. He arched an eyebrow down at his housekeeper. “There. You see. Quite simple.”

“Only if one disregards all propriety,” she muttered darkly.

“There you are, brother,” Sophia’s brisk voice came from behind them.

Alistair turned and bowed to his sister. “As you see.”

She finished descending the stairs. “Wasn’t sure you’d come down for dinner. And quite neat, too. I suppose I should be honored. But then”—she eyed Mrs. Halifax’s hand on his arm—“perhaps your pretty toilet wasn’t for me.”

Mrs. Halifax tried to withdraw her hand, but Alistair placed his firmly over hers, preventing her. “Your favor is always uppermost in my mind, Sophia.”

She snorted at that.

“Sophie,” Phoebe chided from behind her. She shot an apologetic look at him. Poor Phoebe McDonald was always smoothing things over in his sister’s wake.

Alistair was just opening his mouth to point out just that—perhaps unwisely—when Jamie came rushing around the corner, nearly cannoning into Sophia.

“Jamie!” Mrs. Halifax cried.

The boy skidded to a stop and stared at Sophia.

Behind him came his sister, more sedate as always. “Meg said we were to come to dinner.”

Sophia looked down her long nose at the girl. “Who are you?”

“I’m Abigail, ma’am,” she said, curtsying. “This is my brother, Jamie. I apologize for him.”

Sophia arched an eyebrow. “I’ll wager you do that quite a lot.”

Abigail sighed, sounding world-weary. “Yes, I do.”

“Good girl.” Sophia almost smiled. “Younger brothers can be a chore sometimes, but one must persevere.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Abigail said solemnly.

“Come on, Jamie,” Alistair said. “Let’s go into dinner before they form a Society for Bossy Older Sisters.”

Jamie headed into the dining room with alacrity. Alistair took his habitual seat at the head of the table, seating Sophia to his right as was proper, but ensuring that Mrs. Halifax was to his left. He pulled out her chair for her pointedly when she tried to make a break for it and hide at the other end of the table.