“Sandstone produces the most frightful kind of cold.” She attempted another subject change, but she was too abrupt. “Now, tell me of this accident they are speaking of in the village.”
His expression lost all amusement. “What accident?” He stood from his perch on the desk and went back to his imposing chair. “Whatever do you mean? Ah, thank you, put it here,” he said to his page, who approached at that moment holding a huge leather-bound book.
Christopher took the opportunity to gather his wits as he fussed with turning the page to the correct record. “Frankenstein,” he read out, his tone significantly cooled. “You will find your ancestor’s information here. I will step out to allow you privacy.”
Angelika regretted her tendency to speak without thought and leaned forward to put her hand on his. “I’m sorry. I spend a lot of time alone. I speak my mind without thinking. I had heard someone mention something terrible happening here, and I wondered if you were all right.”
It was essentially the abbreviated truth. He heard her honesty and relaxed. “I was concerned there had been gossip.”
“Not as such. Just a passing comment that I decoded. I am too clever for my own good, and my mouth is smarter yet. I apologize for being so direct about such a traumatic subject.”
“No harm done. Yes, there was a training accident that went badly. I’d barely been here two weeks.” It was a terrible thing to witness the sadness in his once-sparkling eyes. “I understand we lost some very fine men.”
Angelika imagined that in her ear, Will’s voice encouraged: Look around yourself. See how you might offer to help another who needs it.
Inspiration struck.
“That is why I was asking of their wives. I thought I might make up a condolences basket of fruit and pantry goods, if there was anyone recently bereaved. I must step up my charitable efforts in the village.” Producing a notebook and a pencil from her pocket, she began copying down information on her ancestor to maintain her cover. She felt his eyes on her face but did not look up.
Christopher said softly, “How remarkably kind women can be.”
She answered defensively. “Nonsense. Anyone would do the same. Should I prepare a basket?”
“Just one married officer was killed.” He searched through his own notebook, filled with perfect handwriting. “Clara Hoggett. Yes, a basket is just the thing to do. I could assist you with the contents. My predecessor left some good Scotch here.”
Off he went for a third time to the liquor cupboard. Angelika finished her refill. She took the unopened bottle that he presented to her.
“I should like to accompany you to present this to Clara.” Christopher was sitting on the edge of the desk again. She wouldn’t have left those thighs at the morgue. The obscene thought poured heat through her, like a teapot.
“You’re a busy man.” Angelika got to her feet. “’Tis simple women’s work, like my genealogy project. You needn’t bother yourself.”
“I have neglected my duty in checking on her. As the new commander, I must go. As my new friend, you can ensure I don’t get lost. Have you taken down the details you need?” When she nodded, he offered her his arm. “I shall walk you to your carriage.”
Her traitorous hand grasped his firm biceps. Good gosh. “That’s quite all right. You’re busy.”
“I’m really not,” Christopher said, and he smiled broadly for the entire walk downstairs and across the grounds, making perfectly agreeable conversation and pointing out aspects of the architecture. Angelika ached to touch his porcelain-perfect shirt cuffs.
They halted at the carriage.
“Miss Frankenstein, may I call you Angelika?”
“Certainly, Christopher—as you said, we are friends now.” The carriage stairs were against the backs of her calves. She prayed Will had followed her orders; he must be holding his breath inside. “I must thank you for all your help. And I will ensure the poor lady receives this bottle.”
“I insist on visiting her home with you.” Christopher took her hand in his, smoothing across the knuckles of her glove. “Pray, allow me a moment to be quite impertinent. I would be grateful to call upon you. I wish to introduce myself to your brother, given you were both unable to attend the ball.”
“He is out of town at present, for another day or so.” Giving in to the urge, Angelika laid her hand on his cuff. No magic, no witchcraft: it was regular fabric.
“I trust you have plenty of servants to keep you safe. There are many thieves and rogues in the village. And there are tales of something more unexplained. You haven’t seen any monsters, have you?” He was clearly amused. “Something huge and barely human?”
“I haven’t, but I wish I would.” It sounded like Victor’s travel was wasted.
“Please, do not ever go out after dark. We are commencing night patrols. I shall send a card to your brother, and I hope to see you again soon. Do you ride?”
She couldn’t help herself. “Frightfully well.”
“I’d like to know all the things you are frightfully good at.” He wanted to hand her up into her carriage, but she couldn’t risk his seeing Will. She backed up the tiny stairs, attempting to squeeze through a four-inch gap. “Allow me, please,” he said, reaching past her waist and opening the door wide.
The carriage was empty.
“Thank you. Goodbye.” Angelika settled herself into her seat and blew out a breath. She heard Christopher exhale in a similar way, long and slow. He’d held his breath? He needed air? Oh, but wasn’t this a dark delight, knowing she would be in his thoughts as he lay alone tonight in his sandstone fortress—
A whip crack jolted her out of this forbidden thought. Flattery was a worse intoxicant than brandy. Where in the blue blazes was Will?
She drew the curtain on the opposite window and clutched her heart in fright. Will was hanging on the outside of the carriage, posing as a footman—a very irritated one. Quick thinking, but she still felt embarrassed that he had eavesdropped on that excruciating scene.
In contrast to Christopher, Will was thoroughly ruffled. He had hair falling on his brow, a clothing crease at every joint, and a sparkle of sweat on his brow. He was reassuringly alive.
Out the window, she hissed, “Get down from there.”
“Not until we are past the gates. No one can see me on this side. What is that for? A parting gift?” Will looked at the bottle of liquor on the seat beside her. He scowled through the carriage windows back at the building. “He’s standing there, watching your carriage depart like a lovesick youth.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. This is a contribution to the hamper I am making for the bereaved wife of an officer who was killed here ten days ago.” She hated how Will’s attention sparked up. “And before you ask, no, I didn’t ask for his name or any further particulars. It would have been suspicious.”
She pretended not to hear his questions until they were stopped safely down the road and he could climb back in.
“You didn’t ask anything that could help further?” Will said with a bit of accusation. He sat opposite her, his knees caging her legs in. “You’ve been drinking liquor in his office, in the middle of the day. Probably being lively and charming.”
Angelika put her palm in front of her mouth, exhaled, and sniffed. “Just a couple of brandies, and only moderately charming. I’m glad you did as you were told and stayed here.”
“I didn’t. I saw some gravestones down the side of the eastern wing.”
He explained how he had run across and examined all of the graves that looked fresh, before evading an approaching groundskeeper and hiding in the small chapel until the footsteps faded. “They were all privates, low-level soldiers. None of their names made me feel anything. But being on those grounds gave me a strong echo of memory. It washed over me until I was dizzy.”
Clara Hoggett’s husband must be buried in the village, or indeed there may be an empty casket under his gravestone. “You are an officer, my love, I am sure.”
She nearly said: And I think I know your wife’s name. She’d opened her mouth to say it. But the fear that he would jolt back into himself, regain his memory, and ask for a lift to town was too much. She decided to keep him to herself a few minutes longer. By the end of this carriage ride, she would release him. In a voice designed to intoxicate, she cooed, “You’re too refined and elegant to be a lowly private.”
This did not flatter him. “Not as refined as your perfect Commander Keatings. He is planning to call on you.”
Angelika’s insides thrilled at the flat jealousy in his eyes. “You heard that, then.”
“I heard it all. I heard how enchanted he was.” He reached out and drew the curtains on one window, then the other. It gave Angelika a dip in her stomach, like the carriage was gliding downhill. “He thinks you are very beautiful.”
“We can’t know that.”
“Anyone could see that you are.”
“I’m not sure about that—”
“Your smart green eyes are always watching, calculating, changing. They turn dark, like green glass, when you look at my mouth. You fill that dress sinfully, and your lips are my favorite pink.”