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quite extraordinary."
    "She was a paragon of grace and beauty," he said very steadily. "She was faithful, gentle, and a loving
    mother to my sons. No man could ask for more from any woman. She had the face and temperament of
    an angel."
    For some reason, Beatrice's heart plummeted at that news. She managed a polite smile. "You were
    fortunate, sir."
    He hoisted the brandy glass in a small salute. "Just as you were, Mrs. Poole. As you said, so few ever
    know true love, even for a short while. 1, too, have no wish to dim the bright flames of memory by
    contracting a second marriage that could never equal the first."
    "Indeed." Beatrice did not like the brooding quality that had crept into his tone. She struggled to find
    something bracing to say. "Perhaps it is for the best. As we have both learned from our own tragedies, a
    great love may command a great price."
    "You know, Mrs. Poole, you sound exactly like a character in one of those horrid novels we discussed
    yesterday."
    "Then we are even, sir." She picked up the scissors and clipped the end of the bandage. "You bear a
    striking resemblance to a character in one of those novels yourself, what with all this dashing about at
    midnight and getting shot."
    "Bloody hell. Maybe Finch is right. Perhaps I am getting too old for this kind of thing."
    Beatrice smiled very sweetly. "As he said, after a certain age a gentleman really must cut back on
    excessive, excitement."
    He winced. "Touche, as your maid would say." Unfortunately Sally would not say it with such an
    excellent accent, Beatrice thought. She examined her work in the firelight. A small thrill of awareness
    coursed through her. She told herself to stay calm. True, it had been a long time since she had last seen a
    man who was not wearing a shirt. Nevertheless, she was a mature woman. She ought to be able to take
    these things in stride.
    A fleeting image of Justin's slim physique popped into her head. Odd, she had not realized until then that
    her husband had been a trifle too thin about the chest and shoulders.
    Of course, Justin had been much younger. There had still been a great deal of the slenderness of youth in
    his frame. Leo, on the other hand, was a man in his prime. Tough, sleekly muscled with very solid
    shoulders and a firmly contoured chest.
    It was not just the sight of so much bare, masculine skin that disturbed her, she realized. Leo's dark hair
    was windblown from his ride. He carried the scent of the night on him. She had not partaken of the
    brandy, but she felt a little giddy nonetheless.
    "How did your husband die?" Leo asked abruptly.
    The question jolted her out of her reverie. She collected her senses. "He was shot dead by a
    highwayman."
    He looked genuinely startled. "Good Lord. I'm sorry."
    "It happened a long time ago." She had repeated the story so often during the past five years that she no
    longer stumbled over the words. She sought to change the subject. "Do you know, sir, I believe this
    incident tonight detracts somewhat from the Monkcrest legend."
    "What the devil do you mean by that?"
    "A genuine sorcerer would surely have examined his oracle glass before riding out tonight. He would no
    doubt have canceled the affair once he viewed the outcome."
    Leo gave her a wry, fleeting grin. "Madam, I assure you the injury to my shoulder has taught me my
    lesson. There is no need to wound my pride as well."
    "But it is such a large target, my lord. How can I resist?"
    "Enough. I surrender."
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    "Very well." Beatrice turned away to wash her hands. "You will be sore for a few days, but in the end I
    doubt that you will have anything more than a dashing scar to show for this night's work."
    The amusement in his eyes evaporated. The brooding look returned as he watched her dry her hands on
    a clean towel. "I suppose I must thank you."
    "Pray, do not trouble yourself to be civil, my lord. I would not want you to do