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nevertheless found her quite
    riveting. There was a deeply compelling aspect to her smoky green eyes. In them he saw the
    hard-learned caution of a far older and more experienced woman.
    The tight bodice of her gown revealed the outlines of small, elegant breasts and the curve of a waist that
    was not quite as tiny as fashion decreed. The recent forced intimacy that had resulted from sharing the
    back of a horse with her had informed him that the lady possessed a charmingly rounded derriere.
    He had never been a strict follower of female fashions, he thought. Concordia’s proportions might not
    conform to those illustrated in the magazines and journals of style but they suited him very well.
    There was pride and grace in the way she held herself. Intelligence and a certain vital inner force that he
    recognized as a sturdy, indomitable spirit marked her in a way that no cosmetics ever could. Even now,
    exhausted as he knew she must be, there was an irrepressible energy and determination about her that
    elicited admiration.
    No, not admiration, he reflected, desire. That was what she elicited in him. It was disturbing, but there
    was no point ignoring facts.
    Part of his reaction was purely physical, he knew. It could be attributed to the familiar aftereffects of
    danger and those two hours spent riding behind her on the horse. Also, Concordia Glade was still very
    much a mystery. He was driven by nature and training to look beneath the surface for answers.
    But none of those entirely logical reasons fully explained the inexplicable fascination that he was
    experiencing for this woman tonight.
    He watched Concordia take another swallow of sherry. The glass trembled ever so slightly in her fingers.
    Tension, danger and the effects of fear were catching up with her. He suspected that the worst was yet to
    come. That would happen when the reality of the fact that she was responsible for crushing a man’s skull
    struck home.
    Such soul-shivering realizations tended to occur at night, he had learned. Dark thoughts thrived in the
    dark hours. If his personal experience with violence was anything to go by, Concordia would likely find
    herself awakening in cold sweats from time to time, not just in the days ahead, but weeks, months or
    years from now.
    The knowledge that the act had been committed to save her students as well as herself would do little to
    quell the nightmares. His training had taught him to think of violence as a dangerous form of alchemy. It
    gave the one who wielded it great power, but it exacted a heavy price.
    “If you would prefer, we can conduct this conversation in the morning after you have had some rest,” he
    said, surprising himself with the offer. He had not intended to make it. He wanted answers immediately,
    not tomorrow. So much had gone wrong today. All of his carefully constructed plans had gone up, quite
    literally, in smoke. A new scheme had to be formulated as swiftly as possible.
    But he could not bring himself to push her any further tonight.
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    “No.” She lowered the sherry and faced him resolutely. “I think it would be best if we answered each
    other’s questions now. To begin, I wish to know how and why you came to be at the castle tonight.
    What was your purpose there?”
    “I have been watching the comings and goings at the castle from the cover of an abandoned farmer’s
    cottage nearby for twenty-four hours. I was waiting for a certain man to arrive. My informant told me that
    he was due soon. Tomorrow or the next day at the latest. Given events this evening, I think it is safe to
    say that it is more than likely that he will not show up, however.”
    “Who is this man?”
    “Alexander Larkin.” He watched her closely to see if the name meant anything to her.
    Her eyes widened behind the lenses of her spectacles. “I heard the name Larkin spoken occasionally at
    the castle, but always in hushed