A Belated Bride by Karen Hawkins

she spoke of her brother. “I found him to be remarkably intel- ligent.”
    Her gaze darkened. “Yes, but much too quiet.”
    “Not when he wins at chess. I’m sure you heard him crowing throughout the entire house last night.”
    She chuckled, the sound rising from her throat and spilling over her lips until he wished he could capture it with a kiss. He focused on her plump lower lip and the shorter one above it. Together, they formed the perfect mouth, one that would part sweetly beneath his.
    Lucien bent his leg slightly and rested his knee against the edge of the table to hide his too-obvious reaction to her presence. Bloody hell, all this from just looking at her . Heaven help him if she accidentally touched him.
    Damn Aunt Jane’s potions. How long did it take to recover from that vile mixture? He took his emotions firmly under control. “So many things have changed since I was here. How did Robert come to be confined to his chair? And your aunts, when did they arrive?”
    A speculative gleam lit her gaze, then she settled her shawl about her shoulders and reached for the teapot. “I shall tell you all about my family,” she replied coolly, “after you tell me what brings you to Yorkshire.”
    So that was the way of it? She still couldn’t resist a direct challenge. Lucien hid a grin. “I was on my way north to meet someone regarding a purchase.” Not for land, of course, but there was nothing wrong in letting her think otherwise.
    “It was very improvident that your horse bolted across the road just as our carriage rounded the bend. You could have been killed.”
    “But I wasn’t.” He watched her elegant, capable hands as she poured the tea and wondered what it would take to get her past her anger and back to the passion she’d once felt. The idea tantalized him.
    “Tell me something,” she said abruptly. “Why were
    you out riding the moors at that time of the night? Surely you were not meeting someone so late?”
    He met her gaze with a direct one of his own. “What were you doing out on the moors at that time of night?”
    “Visiting one of the tenants,” she said, her answer clearly practiced. “Mrs. March was ill and I took her some soup.” She lifted the cup and held it out to him. “You may ask Aunt Jane if you do not believe me.”
    He had little doubt that Aunt Jane would confirm every blasted word. Lucien took the cup, barely keeping himself from making a face. He hated tea. “Speaking of your lovely aunts, do they often conspire to keep wounded guests confined to their sitting room by dosing them with sheep tonic?”
    “Oh, no. You are the first.” She dropped not one, but three lumps of sugar into her cup. “You should be flattered that they believed you to be of such value. It isn’t often that they leap to such heights of impropriety.”
    He watched, fascinated, as four dollops of fresh cream followed the sugar. “How did they come to stay with you?” “They were widowed within a few months of each
    other. When Father got sick, I asked them to stay.” “And your brother?”
    She took a sip of her tea, grimaced, and then added another lump of sugar. “My brother has seen more sadness than any person should. He was in the light cavalry at Waterloo. His unit was decimated.”
    Lucien whistled silently. The fate of the cavalry at Waterloo was almost legend. They had led the charge with a rousing roar, fighting with a frightening fierceness and skill that had allowed them to bring down ten times their number of the enemy. But they had paid dearly for their bravery and only a handful had survived the final battle.
    Arabella set down her cup and placed a crème cake on
    a plate. “Two of his childhood friends were there, fighting alongside him. Neither survived.” Her eyes darkened and she placed the plate on his side of the table. “Robert will not speak of it, but I know it grieves him greatly.”
    Apparently Arabella wasn’t the only member of the Hadley household