Song of the Heart - Alexa Aston Page 0,19

though it was but eight of the clock. As he continued, a fine mist began, slowly turning into a lazy drizzle. Garrett cursed under his breath. He had hoped to reach his destination before the rains began. Now he would arrive wet and miserable, feeling as black as his soul at this moment. He pondered on his mood, which had been dark since they’d reached London. Or rather, as Ashby had pointed out, since just before they’d come upon the city.

Thanks to Lady Montayne.

The vision of the woman calling herself thus invaded his private musings. He had tried to shake off her image over the last two days with no luck. She came to him at the oddest times, when he least expected it.

Why was he so taken with a stranger? Especially one whose true name he didn’t even know. He closed his eyes briefly and the blond beauty appeared again. He could see those deep amethyst eyes that dominated her face. The flawless skin, the delicate bone structure, the generous mouth that wove her outlandish tales, were all too real.

And the feel of her. Garrett remembered how little she weighed, despite her height, which was taller than any woman he’d seen. She’d fit quite nicely against him once she’d fallen asleep in the saddle.

Garrett cursed again and opened his eyes. The picture of the mystery woman dissolved, leaving him to wonder again why she plagued him so. He thought back to his conversation with Ashby the previous day.

“You’re coming out of your mourning for Lynnette, Garrett,” Ashby reminded him. “It’s simple to see. You’re ready to live again. You’ve met an exceptionally attractive woman and you were drawn to her.” Ashby shrugged nonchalantly, which infuriated Garrett.

“I’ve had plenty of women since Lynnette’s leaving,” he told his friend bluntly.

“Aye, Garrett, but you’ve not gotten close to any one of them. They were nothing more than a quick roll in the hay—sometimes literally.” Ashby laughed, amused by his own clever reply.

Garrett suspected Ashby was right. He’d changed when his wife had disappeared. He did everything possible to keep busy, the better to have no time to think. To feel. Driven in all he did. He’d thrown himself into the management of his estate in England and the vineyards he owned in France, even taking his first trip to the Bordeaux area the previous year. He had learned more about wines during his month in France than he would have thought possible. Robert Bouchard, who oversaw the Montayne family estates in France, had proven to be reliable and knowledgeable. His son, Pierre, had even more expertise. By the time Garrett came home, he could list all the fine intricacies of a Cabernet Sauvignon and how it was distinguished from a Merlot.

Unfortunately, he had turned to his cups lately, drinking more heavily when the headaches came upon him, as much to numb the throbbing in his head as to ease the pain in his heart.

Now, some strange woman had come into his life and intrigued him with her beauty and her spinning of yarns and, suddenly, he felt alive again, wondering what new story she’d invent once they reached London and she didn’t know where the Montayne family home lay. Then she’d cheated him by vanishing without a trace. Garrett suspected the smith’s wife had known more than she’d let on, but short of beating the woman into a confession, he’d been helpless. Despite his reputation, he had never struck a woman, and so he and Ashby had pressed on to London without their female companion.

Garrett arrived at Lord Fenton’s, the gentleman who’d introduced him to Henri de Picassaret. He dismounted and handed Ebony’s reins to a young lad, who gazed at the steed with admiration.

Garrett ran his fingers through his damp hair and hurried up to the shelter of Fenton’s home. A pretty blond maid answered his knock and led him down a long corridor. Normally, Garrett would have enjoyed the sway of her hips—but she wasn’t the blond female who weighed on his mind. He was glad he’d left Ashby behind in the Montayne shipping offices, for this comely wench would have distracted his friend from the business at hand.

The servant showed him to a cozy room, complete with a roaring fire. He slipped his cloak off and tossed it aside, taking a seat near the fireplace. He stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. The heat quickly warmed him, slowly moving from his booted