She stopped at the sound of something . . . someone . . . moving through the thicket. Albert turned his head and let out a happy bark, bounding toward the approaching figure.

Beatrix was slow to lift her head. She struggled to moderate her breathing, and tried to calm the frantic stutters of her heart. She was aware of the dog bounding joyfully back to her, tongue dangling. He glanced back at his master as if to convey Look what I found!

Letting out a slow breath, Beatrix looked up at the man who had stopped approximately three yards away.

Christopher.

It seemed the entire world stopped.

Beatrix tried to compare the man standing before her with the cavalier rake he had once been. But it seemed impossible that he could be the same person. No longer a god descending from Olympus . . . now a warrior hardened by bitter experience.

His complexion was a deep mixture of gold and copper, as if he had been slowly steeped in sun. The dark wheaten locks of his hair had been cut in efficiently short layers. His face was impassive, but something volatile was contained in the stillness.

How bleak he looked. How alone.

She wanted to run to him. She wanted to touch him. The effort of standing motionless caused her muscles to tremble in protest.

She heard herself speak in a voice that wasn’t quite steady. “Welcome home, Captain Phelan.”

He was silent, staring at her without apparent recognition. Dear Lord, those eyes . . . frost and fire, his gaze burning through her awareness.

“I’m Beatrix Hathaway,” she managed to say. “My family—”

“I remember you.”

The rough velvet of his voice was a pleasure-stroke against her ears. Fascinated, bewildered, Beatrix stared at his guarded face.

To Christopher Phelan, she was a stranger. But the memories of his letters were between them, even if he wasn’t aware of it.

Her hand moved gently over Albert’s rough fur. “You were absent in London,” she said. “There was a great deal of hullabaloo on your behalf.”

“I wasn’t ready for it.”

So much was expressed in that spare handful of words. Of course he wasn’t ready. The contrast would be too jarring, the blood-soaked brutality of war followed by a fanfare of parades and trumpets and flower petals. “I can’t imagine any sane man would be,” she said. “It’s quite an uproar. Your picture is in all the shop windows. And they’re naming things after you.”

“Things,” he repeated cautiously.

“There’s a Phelan hat.”

His brows lowered. “No there isn’t.”

“Oh, yes there is. Rounded at the top. Narrow-brimmed. Sold in shades of gray or black. They have one featured at the milliner’s in Stony Cross.”

Scowling, Christopher muttered something beneath his breath.

Beatrix played gently with Albert’s ears. “I . . . heard about Albert, from Prudence. How lovely that you brought him back with you.”

“It was a mistake,” he said flatly. “He’s behaved like a mad creature ever since we landed at Dover. So far he’s tried to bite two people, including one of my servants. He won’t stop barking. I had to shut him in a garden shed last night, and he escaped.”

“He’s fearful,” Beatrix said. “He thinks if he acts that way, no one will harm him.” Eagerly the dog stood on his hind legs and set his front paws on her. Beatrix bumped a knee gently against his chest.

“Here,” Christopher said, in a tone of such quiet menace that it sent a chill down Beatrix’s spine. The dog slunk to him, tail between his legs. Christopher took a coiled leather leash from his coat pocket and looped it around the dog’s neck. He glanced at Beatrix, his gaze traveling from the two smears of mud on her skirts to the gentle curves of her br**sts. “My apologies,” he said brusquely.

“No harm done. I don’t mind. But he should be taught not to jump on people.”

“He’s only been with soldiers. He knows nothing of polite company.”

“He can learn. I’m sure he’ll be a fine dog once he becomes used to his new surroundings.” Beatrix paused before offering, “I could work with him the next time I visit Audrey. I’m very good with dogs.”

Christopher gave her a brooding glance. “I’d forgotten you were friends with my sister-in-law.”

“Yes.” Beatrix hesitated. “I should have said earlier that I’m very sorry for the loss of your—”

His hand lifted in a staying gesture. As he brought it to his side, his fingers curled into a tight fist.

Beatrix understood. The pain of his brother’s death was still too acute. It was territory he couldn’t yet traverse. “You haven’t been able to grieve yet, have you?” she asked gently. “I suppose his death wasn’t entirely real to you, until you came back to Stony Cross.”

Christopher gave her a warning glance.

Beatrix had seen that look from captured animals, the helpless animosity toward anyone who approached. She had learned to respect such a glance, understanding that wild creatures were at their most dangerous when they had the fewest defenses. She returned her attention to the dog, smoothing his fur repeatedly.

“How is Prudence?” she heard him ask. It hurt to hear the note of wary longing in his voice.

“Quite well, I believe. She’s in London for the season.” Beatrix hesitated before adding carefully, “We are still friends, but perhaps not as fond of each other as we once were.”