Axel by Grace Burrowes Read Free Book Online Page A

compliment me as well, implying somebody would desire my company enough to kill for it.”
    “I am not withdrawing the question.” And she was stalling rather than answer directly.
    “I do not now,” she said, picking up another tea cake, “nor have I ever, had reason to stray, Mr. Belmont. What on earth would be the point?”
    Not a clear no
, and since when did erotic pleasure require a
point
? Axel poured himself more tea to buy a moment to consider her prevarication. He’d lifted the silver teapot and served himself half a cup before he caught her watching him.
    Helping himself
to a lady’s tea tray.
    “I beg your pardon.” He sat back, chagrinned at this small, pathetic evidence of his widower status.
    She didn’t smirk, she didn’t even smile. “Perhaps you’d top up my cup as well?”
    He obliged, as a memory assailed him. He’d come upon Colonel Stoneleigh on a morning hack, hounds trotting at the horse’s heels, Ambers several respectful yards behind on a nervous hunter. By way of small talk, Axel had asked if Mrs. Stoneleigh enjoyed riding out, and the colonel’s ruddy face had wrinkled with distaste.
    “She’s the delicate sort,” he’d said. “Easily overset, always flying into the boughs. A man wants to start his day with some peace and quiet. Can’t be cossetting the weaker sex at all hours, can we?”
    Mrs. Belmont might be pale, but easily overset had been husbandly exaggeration from one who was himself given to tempers at the local pub and in the hunt field.
    “Back to the topic, Mrs. Stoneleigh.” Axel set the teapot down, then realized he’d only bungled further. “Oh, very well.” He added milk and sugar to her cup, then passed it to her.
    “Thank you, Mr. Belmont. I cannot recall when I last was served a cup of tea as I prefer it, but for your fussing on the day of the funeral. My husband was far too liberal with the sugar. You will have to call more often.”
    Axel Belmont did not fuss, except when among his roses. Was she teasing him? Flirting? Or maybe—sad thought—realizing that life without a spouse could be grindingly lonely?
    “About your lovers?” Axel prompted. “You may have none now, but I want you to keep a list of fellows who come calling, and the ones who seem particularly solicitous or curious about your finances.”
    “Gregory has—had—an old friend several miles east of here.” She took a sip of her tea, closing her eyes for a moment as if inhaling fortitude along with the fragrance of a mild gunpowder. “Sir Dewey Fanning. They served together, and as you heard, Sir Dewey is the recipient of Gregory’s collection of hunting horns. He’ll likely come to call any day—hang protocol, for Sir Dewey is a bit of a mother hen—and several other old army chaps might come around as well. You don’t need to know about those fellows, do you?”
    Half the regiment would soon be camping on her doorstep, Axel suspected, though where were
her
friends who’d
hang protocol
to be at her side?
    “I do need to know about those fellows, Mrs. Stoneleigh, and why are you frowning?”
    Worse than frowning, he’d caught her blinking at her tea cup in a manner that made a man eye the door and hope his handkerchief was clean. She set down her tea cup, rose, and went to the window.
    “Would you frown, Mr. Belmont, were I to order you to name your potential intimates for my perusal, lest one of them be guilty of murdering your spouse?”
    He would eject her from the premises. “Valid point, but my brother assures me that dalliance, while a predictable element of grief, is not usually suspicious. You want to take note of those fellows who are subtly beginning the courting dance.”
    “I see.”
    He approached her, wanting to
see
her eyes when the conversation turned difficult—also wanting to look her in the eye when he apologized.
    “I have offended, and I regret that. Is this transgression greater than my usual lack of tact or delicacy?”
    She stared out at the