Audrey had looked at her directly. “I wonder if Prudence can manage him. He’s so determined to have her . . . but he’s not the man he was. And Prudence won’t have the sense to realize it. I even wonder if he’ll be a danger to her.”

Pondering Audrey’s ominous words, Beatrix walked to the Phelans’ house with a mission in mind. Although there was nothing she could do for Christopher, there was a great deal she could do for Albert. An aggressive dog was likely to do harm to others, and he would be deprived of necessary love and attention. Dogs were inherently sociable animals, and therefore Albert must be taught how to get on with other creatures.

The Phelan housekeeper, Mrs. Clocker, greeted her at the door and said that Audrey was not at home, but was soon expected to return from a visit to the village. “Will you want to wait for her, Miss Hathaway?”

“As a matter of fact, I would like to speak to Captain Phelan on a particular business.” Beatrix smiled faintly at the housekeeper’s questioning gaze. “I want to offer to look after Albert while Captain Phelan is in London.”

The housekeeper’s eyes widened. “The master had planned to leave the creature here, and have the servants look after it.” Leaning close, she whispered, “He is a hound of Hades, miss. The devil himself wouldn’t have such a dog.”

Beatrix smiled sympathetically. “I hope that I may influence him for the better. If Captain Phelan allows, I will take Albert with me today, and relieve you of the burden of managing him.”

Mrs. Clocker looked positively exuberant. “Oh, that is very kind of you, Miss Hathaway! I will inform Captain Phelan immediately.” She hurried off as if she feared Beatrix might leave.

When Christopher’s tall form entered the front receiving room, Beatrix was instantly covered with a full-bodied flush. Stop this at once, Beatrix Hathaway, she told herself sternly. If you insist on being idiotic, you will have to go home and drink an entire bottle of sorrel tonic.

“Miss Hathaway,” Christopher said, bowing with meticulous politeness.

The dark smudges of sleeplessness beneath his eyes made him even more appealing, if that was possible, lending a human texture to the hard contours of his face.

Beatrix managed to pull up a casual smile. “Good morning, Captain Phelan.”

“It’s afternoon.”

“Oh, is it?” She glanced over his shoulder at the mantel clock. Half-past twelve. “Good afternoon, then.”

One of his brows lifted. “Is there something I may do for you?”

“The reverse, I hope. I would like to keep Albert with me at Ramsay House while you are away to London.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“I want very much to help him adjust to his new life. Albert would receive the best of care, and I would work with him, train him . . .” Her voice faded as she saw his forbidding expression. It had not occurred to her that he might refuse her offer.

“Thank you, Miss Hathaway. But I think it in his best interests to remain here with the servants.”

“You . . . you doubt I could help him?” Beatrix managed to ask.

“The dog is excitable. He has need of absolute peace and quiet. I mean no offense in saying that the atmosphere at Ramsay House is too tumultuous for him.”

Her brows rushed downward. “I beg your pardon, Captain, but you are entirely wrong. That is precisely the kind of environment Albert needs. You see, from a dog’s perspective—”

“I don’t need your advice.”

“Yes you do,” Beatrix said impulsively. “How can you be so certain that you’re right? You could at least spare a moment to listen—I daresay I know more about dogs than you.”

Christopher skewered her with the hard stare of a man who was not accustomed to having his decisions questioned. “No doubt you do. But I know more about this one.”

“Yes, but—”

“It’s time for you to leave, Miss Hathaway.”

Beatrix was filled with a surge of bitter disappointment. “What do you think your servants will do with him in your absence?” she demanded, and rushed on before he could reply. “They’ll keep him shut away in a shed, or locked in a room, because they’re frightened of him, and that will make Albert even more of a danger. He’s angry and anxious and lonely. He doesn’t know what’s expected of him. He needs constant attention and care, and I’m the only person who has the time and the willingness to provide those things.”

“That dog has been my companion for two years,” Christopher snapped. “The last thing I would subject him to is that bedlam of a household. He doesn’t need chaos. He doesn’t need noise and confusion—”

He was interrupted by an explosion of wild barking, accompanied by an earsplitting metallic crash. Albert had come racing through the entrance hall and had crossed paths with a housemaid bearing a tray of polished silver flatware.

Beatrix caught a glimpse of forks and spoons scattering to the doorway, just before she was thrown bodily to the receiving room floor. The impact robbed her of breath.

Stunned, she found herself pinned to the carpet and covered by a heavy masculine weight.

Dazedly she tried to take in the situation. Christopher had jumped on her. His arms were around her head . . . he had instinctively moved to shelter her with his own body. They lay together in a confusion of limbs and disheveled garments and panting breaths.

Lifting his head, Christopher cast a wary glance at their surroundings. For a moment, the blank ferocity of his face frightened Beatrix. This, she realized, was how he had looked in battle. This was what his enemies had seen as he had cut them down.