The English Witch by Loretta Chase Page B

joke. Basil's plots had succeeded only in getting him packed off to India.
    "As to you, Miss Ashmore," Lady Jessica went on with studied innocence, "whatever possessed you to take on this monumental task?"
    Alexandra very nearly choked on the fragment of toast she'd put in her mouth, but she managed to swallow it and answer calmly enough. "I daresay it must seem odd. But then, Albania has few amusements for an Englishwoman, and there's little enough to do on a long sea voyage. Papa and Mr. Burnham had their theories and writing to occupy them. I, on the other hand, had nothing. I suppose," she added, with a little shrug, "since Mr. Trevelyan is the very soul of honesty and he says I took on the job, then I must have—no doubt because I was so unspeakably bored."
    Most of the company smiled appreciatively at this. At the other end of the table, Lady Deverell chuckled softly.
    "Poor Basil," said Lord Hartleigh pityingly. "Only a diversion."
    Lord Arden found the exchange a deal less amusing than the others and endeavoured to return Miss Ashmore's attention to himself. "Yet who would not delight to be Miss Ashmore's diversion?" he asked, sweetly.
    "My lord," she chided, "you play into Mr. Trevelyan's hands."
    "I?"
    "Yes. You help him draw the fire to me and away from himself."
    His disloyal sister joined in. "She's right, Will. We were all scolding him. Then you must say pretty things to Miss Ashmore and make everyone stare at her."
    "When of course, dear sister, you'd rather they looked at you."
    "Naturally—in good time. Now, however, it's Basil who must bear our stern scrutiny. He's been most unkind to his family." The look she directed at Basil would have been severe indeed, except that her eyes—amazingly like her brother's— twinkled with mischief. "Let's hear his excuse."
    "Yes, you young jackanapes," Lady Bertram growled. "What can you have to say for yourself? Nearly a fortnight in London and not once do you call on your aunt."
    "Dearest Aunt, if I called on you I might have stumbled upon Miss Ashmore as well, and she told me to keep away."
    "Abominable creature!" Lady Hartleigh cried. "You blame Miss Ashmore for everything."
    "But isn't that so, Miss Ashmore? Didn't you tell me to keep away until further notice? For my own good?"
    Alexandra's green eyes flashed dangerously. He wanted to embarrass her, the beast. Spreading a dab of butter on her toast, she answered coolly, "How, I wonder, could I make it my business to look out for you on the one hand while I drove you off on the other? How could I look out for you when you were not about?"
    "Why, I don't know. I really can't understand it. Usually, you're so logical. I'm sure I've mentioned that before—how logical you are."
    Alexandra was seriously considering throwing the coffee urn, an ornate, silver monstrosity, at him— how dare he remind her of that conversation in Prevesa? —when Lady Deverell's bored voice was heard. "I cannot make it out at all, and it makes my head ache, Harry. After all, if—as he says—Miss Ashmore told him to keep away, then why is the tiresome boy here?"
    Lord Deverell only shrugged and smiled while Lord Hartleigh turned to his cousin and gravely asked what answer he had for that?
    "Why, cousin, it must be obvious." Basil stared at him in mock astonishment that he couldn't answer this simple riddle.
    Alexandra's mind raced as she imagined a hundred different answers he might make—all of them disconcerting—and her own hundred possible setdowns.
    "None of you can guess?" He turned that wondering, childlike look on all of them in turn. "But it's so simple." His gaze rested then on Alexandra, and something in his eyes made her heart skid to a stop. "Amnesia," he said softly.
    In the din that greeted this she breathed a small sigh of relief. Though Lord Arden was looking at her tamer strangely, he held his tongue, and she was able to finish her breakfast in relative peace.
    There was peace after