Staring into her rich blue eyes, he felt the welter of violence washed away in a flood of despair.

With a muffled curse, he snatched his hand from her and went to get his drink.

“Mrs. Clocker said you’d asked not to be disturbed,” Beatrix said. “And of course the first thing I did was disturb you.”

“Don’t come up behind me,” Christopher said roughly. “Ever.”

“I of all people should have known that. I won’t do it again.”

Christopher took a fiery swallow of the liquor. “What do you mean, you of all people?”

“I’m used to wild creatures who don’t like to be approached from behind.”

He shot her a baleful glance. “How fortunate that your experience with animals has turned out to be such good preparation for marriage to me.”

“I didn’t mean . . . well, my point was that I should have been more considerate of your nerves.”

“I don’t have nerves,” he snapped.

“I’m sorry. We’ll call them something else.” Her voice was so soothing and gentle that it would have caused an assortment of cobras, tigers, wolverines, and badgers to all snuggle together and take a group nap.

Christopher gritted his teeth and maintained a stony silence.

Pulling what looked like a biscuit from the pocket of her dress, Beatrix offered it to Albert, who bounded over to her and took the treat eagerly. Leading the dog to the door, she gestured for him to cross the threshold. “Go on to the kitchen,” she said in an encouraging tone. “Mrs. Clocker is going to feed you.” Albert was gone in a flash.

Closing and locking the door, Beatrix approached Christopher. She looked fresh and feminine in a lavender dress, her hair neatly swept up with combs. One could not fathom a different picture from the outlandish girl in breeches.

“I could have killed you,” he said savagely.

“You didn’t.”

“I could have hurt you.”

“You didn’t do that, either.”

“God, Beatrix.” Christopher went to sit heavily at a hearthside chair, glass in hand.

She followed him in a rustle of lavender silk. “I’m not Beatrix, actually. I’m her much nicer twin. She said you could have me from now on.” Her gaze flickered to the Armagnac. “You promised not to drink spirits.”

“We’re not married yet.” Christopher knew he should have been ashamed of the sneering echo of her own earlier words, but the temptation was too much to resist.

Beatrix didn’t flinch. “I’m sorry about that. It’s no fun, caring about my welfare. I’m reckless. I overestimate my abilities.” She lowered to the floor at his feet, resting her arms on his knees. Her earnest blue eyes, starred with heavy dark lashes, stared contritely into his. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you as I did earlier. For my family, arguing is a sport—we forget that some people tend to take it personally.” One of her fingertips drew an intricate little pattern on his thigh. “But I have redeeming qualities,” she continued. “I never mind dog hair, for example. And I can pick up small objects with my toes, which is a surprisingly useful talent.”

Christopher’s numbness started melting like spring ice. And it had nothing to do with the Armagnac. It was all Beatrix.

God, he adored her.

But the more he thawed, the more volatile he felt. Need surged beneath the thin veneer of self-control. Too much need.

Setting the unfinished liquor on the carpeted floor, Christopher drew Beatrix between his knees. He bent forward to press his lips to her forehead. He could smell the tantalizing sweetness of her skin. Settling back in the chair, he studied her. She looked angelic and guileless, as if sugar wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Little rogue, he thought with tender amusement. He stroked one of her slender hands, which was resting on his thigh. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly.

“So your middle name is Heloise,” he said.

“Yes, after the medieval French nun. My father loved her writings. In fact, it occurs to me . . . Héloïse was renowned for the love letters she exchanged with Abélard.” Beatrix’s expression brightened. “I’ve rather lived up to my namesake, haven’t I?”

“Since Abélard was eventually castrated by Héloïse’s family, I’m not especially fond of the comparison.”

Beatrix grinned. “You have nothing to worry about.” As she stared at him, her smile faded. “Am I forgiven?” she asked.

“For endangering yourself? . . . Never. You’re too precious to me.” Christopher took up her hand and kissed it. “Beatrix, you are beautiful in that dress, and I love your company more than anything in the world. But I have to take you home.”

Beatrix didn’t move. “Not until this is resolved.”

“It is.”

“No, there’s still a wall between us. I can feel it.”

Christopher shook his head. “I’m just . . . distracted.” He reached for her elbows. “Let me help you up.”

She resisted. “Something’s not right. You’re so far away.”

“I’m right here.”

There were no words to describe this infernal sense of detachment. He didn’t know why it appeared or what would make it go away. He only knew that if he waited long enough, it would disappear of its own accord. At least, it had before. Perhaps one day it would appear and never leave him. Christ.