Free Axel by Grace Burrowes

*
    “So how does this work?” Mrs. Stoneleigh let Axel seat her at luncheon and crossed her arms over her chest.
    Her somewhat ample chest, for all her slender proportions.
    “How does what work?” Axel lifted the lid from a serving tray and passed her a bowl of vegetable soup, followed by hot rolls and butter.
    She ignored the food, while Axel tried to ignore the hint of color in her cheeks—delicate pink, reminiscent of campions in spring.
    “How does this business of being your prisoner work? Particularly when I am in mourning.”
    Oh,
that.
She was back in her green velvet riding habit, which, thanks to her negligent staff, had yet to be cast into the dye vat of eternal woe.
    “My staff can dye your frocks for you. As for the rest, please do not leave this house without letting me know your exact destination, and do not leave the property without my escort, or an escort approved by me.”
    She snapped her serviette across her lap. “My presence will be disruptive for you. I inspect my acres regularly, meet with Mrs. Jensen, and so forth.”
    Disruptive was an understatement, but Axel had settled on this course when confronted with the notion that Mrs. Stoneleigh’s decline might be because she feared becoming the murderer’s next victim.
    Which thought had stopped all progress on his herbal, and damned near resulted in a nasty slice to his right index finger at the grafting table.
    “I can accompany you on those errands, Mrs. Stoneleigh, or send somebody along.”
    “You will find my routine surpassingly tedious.” Either that thought, or the aroma of the soup steaming before her pleased her.
    Who would have guessed she had such a beguiling, mischievous smile?
    “Please do eat, madam. I cannot start on my soup until you at least make a pretense of consuming yours.”
    “Somebody pounded manners into you,” she said, taking a dainty spoonful of broth. “For all you kidnap your neighbors.”
    She put her spoon right back down, so Axel buttered a roll—liberally—and passed it to her.
    “Madam will note that I’m on my best behavior. This is my first kidnapping, you see.”
    No smile, but she did tear off a corner of her roll. “In truth, I am not very social, and Gregory preferred a retiring life. I love to read though. I’ll probably become eccentric.”
    “Eat your soup, Abigail.” But for his children, Axel would have blundered past eccentric long ago. He was comforted by the knowledge that Matthew might have succumbed to the same fate, but had also been saved by the necessity of raising Axel’s nephews.
    “Now there,” Axel’s guest said, “you have again made a decision affecting me without consulting me. I do not appreciate it,
Axel
.”
    The daft woman thought his name on her lips would serve as a scold. “My apologies, but you are a guest in my home, and I am the king’s appointed kidnapper in this shire, so I ask you for the privilege of informal address when sharing an informal meal.”
    “My own husband usually referred to me as Mrs. Stoneleigh, but then, Gregory was old-fashioned,” she replied, dipping a corner of her roll in her soup and nibbling at it. “When you and I are private, I see no harm in informal address, but you should have asked.”
    She was right of course, and she was also eating.
    “I beg your pardon.” Axel would probably be doing that a fair amount, unless he discovered she’d conspired in her husband’s death.
    Which, increasingly, he hoped he would not be doing.
    “You are attached to the university, are you not?”
    Not small talk, but rather, an interrogation. Mrs. Stoneleigh’s kidnapping—or the prospect of refuge from her own home—had apparently improved her spirits.
    “I do most of my teaching in the autumn. Plant physiology, morphology, and reproductive anatomy. With my next publication, and some generous donations in the right pockets, I hope to become a fellow. The sex life of the flower is surprisingly worthy of study.”
    Mrs.