Free Spirited Away by Cindy Miles Page B

a breeze had caught it. He stiffened again, then went on.
    Weird. She hadn't felt a breeze. Maybe the kitchen vent had rushed a pocket of air near him.
    "Tristan de Barre, my lady."
    Andi crossed one leg under her rear end and propped her chin in the palm of her hand. Whoa. De Barre. What a sexy name. Man oh man. "Go on. I want the scoop. The skinny. Details, man."
    Jameson straightened himself and walked to the pantry. "I daresay 'tis much like gossip, if you ask me."
    "I didn't. Proceed."
    "Ahem."
    Andi looked around the room. She saw no one but the steward. "Was that you?"
    Jameson cleared his throat, then coughed several times. "Aye. Allergies." He confirmed that with another bout of throat-clearing, followed by a few sniffles.
    She narrowed her eyes at the butler. "Hmm." Finishing her sandwich, she drained her mug of tea, stood, and pushed the heavy oak chair under the table. Her brows furrowed together. "If you won't give up the information I want, then I'll just have to ask Tristan myself. Tonight." She smoothed her hair behind her ears. "Now, are we still on for a trip to the village?"
    "Well, old man, you've done it now. You'd best answer the lady."
    Jameson, used to years of having been sneaked up on, didn't even grace Tristan with a jump. "Of a certainty, my lady." Jameson lifted his chin. "I'll be ready to leave promptly at five."
    Andi grinned. "Great. I'll just clean up a bit and change my clothes." With that she turned and nearly bounced out of the larder.
    As soon as she was out of sight, Tristan materialized, his mirth now gone. He turned a brooding scowl on his man.
    "Yes, my lord?"
    Tristan's brows rutted as he crossed his arms over his chest. "That woman is not to return to my solar—tonight, nor in the morn."
    "But you invited her to have speech with you this eve."

    "I don't care. Fix it."
    Jameson inclined his gray head. "I take it the meeting did not go as you'd hoped?"
    "Nay, it bloody well did not. God's bones, the wench is infuriating. Passing nosy. She wants to know too much regarding the legendary Dragonhawk. I just won't have it."
    "What could she possibly have done to foul your humor so?" Jameson blinked, flicking something off his shirtsleeve. "She is quite polite."
    "She is too bold, for one, and 'tis just the beginning." He paced behind Jameson. "She has haughty ways, which explains why you've taken to her." He stopped to stare down at the stone floor. "She is intriguing. Beautiful. Witty. Tenacious beyond belief." He looked up at Jameson. "And she thinks me a live man."
    "Did she remember you?"
    "Aye." Tristan rubbed his chin. "But I convinced her 'twas not me she'd seen all those years ago."
    He hardened his stare once more. "I do not wish to speak with her again."
    "My lord, if you will." Jameson inclined his head. "I'm quite sure Dr. Monroe meant no harm. She is rather enthusiastic regarding her work and the legend surrounding Dreadmoor. Allow her to at least speak with you this eve." He raised an eyebrow. "Besides, you've already agreed to do so. I do believe she is only interested in the history, but in case you haven't noticed, she is quite persistent.
    More likely than not, she'll continue to pursue you until she is satisfied."
    "Persistent hardly describes her," Tristan muttered as he walked away, then turned back to glare at his steward. "I will see her tonight, answer her ridiculous questions, and then tell her I'm off on a business trip and won't return until her work is complete."
    "You're no good at lying, my lord. 'Tis dishonorable to break the code. You said so yourself."
    Tristan glowered and drew within an inch of his man's nose. "Blast the bloody code. The code was written before women became so ... independent. After tonight, it will be up to you to keep her away from me." He drew up to his full height and cracked his neck—or at least conjured up the effect. 'Twas a habit he'd retained through the centuries that he couldn't seem to break. "Do not cross me on this,