by Yasmine Nash
As Alexa wasn’t much concerned about the subject herself, she let her mind wander until the men rejoined their party half an hour later. She wished she could still feel disinterested then, but it seemed as though her body was attuned to Henry’s every movement. Alexandra couldn’t help her eyes from straying to him over and over, taking in the lines of a face which had once been so beloved to her.
Who was she kidding? The lines of his face, and every other thing about Henry Northam, were still precious in her heart of hearts, try as she had to extinguish her feelings. She could barely attend to the conversations happening nearby as this realization washed over her.
The quirk of his mouth as he smiled. The way his dark brown hair fell into his eyes when he took a drink of tea. The muscles that showed in his forearms when he knelt to place another log on the fire. Who was she kidding? Try as she might, she was still desperately in love with him. Furious and heartbroken, yes, but also deeply in love. Blast!
“You look deep in thought,” came a nearby voice. She looked up and there was Sir Neville standing by her chair, smiling kindly down on her. “Puzzling through the meaning of one of your poems, perhaps?”
“Oh. Yes, quite right.” She smiled weakly back at him. “I’ve just been contemplating a verse by Keats,” she said wildly.
He frowned a little apologetically. “I’m afraid I won’t be much help with you there, alas. I’m not much of one for reading. Although I do enjoy hearing you speak of it. Your enthusiasm almost makes me want to pick up a book myself.”
“It’s no matter,” she assured him, relieved he wouldn’t press her on the verse she’d supposedly been thinking of. As much as she adored Keats, her mind did not feel up to the task of dissecting any poem at the moment. She was still reeling from the revelation she’d just come to.
Sir Neville was not a man who could abide silences for long though. “What did you think of my gardens?” he inquired a moment later. Alexa made a polite response in the most general of terms since she couldn’t recall a single detail from the landscaping. Sir Neville seemed satisfied though, and he began to talk of his plans to make further changes to the gardens, before segueing into his future renovations for the abbey itself.
Alexa nodded and smiled at the right intervals, but she took in barely one word in five. At times, she thought she could sense Henry’s eyes on her back. Would he really make good on his threat to expose her to Sir Neville? She didn’t want to think him capable of such a betrayal, but she also couldn’t take that risk. At the next opportune moment, she rose and made her excuses.
“Pardon me, Sir Neville, but I spy a harpsichord sitting in the corner over there. I can never resist playing one when I see it, especially now that I have been so deprived. My cousin doesn’t have a harp here in London, you see.”
“Then, by all means, you must play!” he demanded jovially, settling himself down on the seat she had just vacated.
Alexa’s hands traveled gently up and down the harp’s strings, exploring it. This had been a ruse to extricate herself from Sir Neville’s company, of course, but now that she was examining the instrument up close, her fingers itched to play. It really had been the longest age since she’d played; before she’d left Peverton from London, in fact.
There was a stool nearby, and she pulled it up to the instrument. Her fingers were sluggish as they struck the first few chords, but they soon felt as though they’d never taken a break from the instrument. Her brain was a few seconds behind her hands, it seemed, because it took her a few moments to realize she’d started playing one of her favorite Mozart concertos without conscious thought.
Soon, the entire party had stopped what they were doing to watch her performance. Next to poetry, music was Alexandra’s great joy. She wasn’t a vain woman in general, but she took great pride in her uncommon musical abilities. She had spent thousands of hours practicing as a child under the strict tutelage of her music masters, until she could perform her favorite songs by memory. She allowed herself a few minutes to simply be lost in the music, her eyes closed, not caring what the others thought of her. When she opened her eyes again, she looked boldly at Henry, whose expression was hidden from the shadows of the flickering firelight.
She finished the song with a flourish, and only then did she break eye contact.
Sir Neville jumped up and began clapping immediately. “Capital! Capital!” He went around the room, expressing his praise of her performance to anyone who would listen.
Perhaps her music playing hadn’t been the best method for avoiding his attentions, she thought ruefully. Fortunately, someone new entered the room, drawing Sir Neville’s attention. Charles Camden. Was the man always late? Sir Neville rushed over to him. “Well, you’ve finally made it, Camden! I was starting to think your carriage had tumbled over on the road. But no matter. Welcome, welcome. We’ve just been listening to Miss Morland’s angelic harpsichord playing. Neither of my sisters knows the instrument, so it’s just been sitting in a corner gathering dust for ages.”
The blond man’s eyebrows rose. “Far be it from me to interrupt an angel,” Charles said, taking a seat near Henry. Was she imagining a slight acidity in his tone of voice? Or perhaps that was merely the way he always spoke?
The commotion of Charles’ arrival over, the other guests pressed Alexandra to continue playing. Since Alexa felt it would be best to remain with the instrument rather than socialize with anyone in her present state, she readily obliged them, though her eyes kept being drawn back to Henry as she did so. She stayed with the harp until the guests rose to go to bed, then she left likewise for her bedroom with Mariah.
Chapter 19
It was impossible to escape her, it seemed.
The only reason Henry had agreed to this visit was because he knew he needed a change of pace from his daily routine back in London. And yet, he felt like he’d been sent back to square one after seeing Alexandra in such close proximity all day. He had lost his temper with her in the garden, and he had been so close to losing control of himself in other ways as well. The fire that had blazed in her eyes while she’d boldly stared at him during her harp performance would not stop stirring his thoughts.
And in truth, he had said some unjust things. It was his fault and his alone that he had fallen so deeply for her. If he was being honest with himself, he couldn’t accuse her of leading him along. It just felt better to have someone to blame aside from his own weak heart. Henry had fallen in love once before Alexandra Morland, or he had thought he had at the time. But he had not felt this extended malaise or gloom after the business with Jane the way he had for the past months since falling out with Alexa.
The memory of her pink, rounded lips flashed into his mind. Henry groaned, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands. The rest of the household had gone to their rooms hours ago, but he had remained in the parlor, watching the flames die down, caught up in his thoughts. It seemed sleep would be evading him tonight.
He would rise early and head back to London before the rest of the household woke. That was the best course of action. He could make his apologies to Sir Neville another time.
Dawn was still hours away though. Until then, there was one thing that could distract Henry from his thoughts. He pulled a letter from his jacket. Charles had handed it to him when he’d first arrived in the middle of Alexa’s musical performance, saying it had been given to him by Henry’s butler.
Henry had nearly forgotten about the letter, he was so caught up in other thoughts. It was Mr. Jameson’s writing on the envelope. Henry opened the seal and read the contents.
As he read, his heart plummeted. It was indeed from Mr. Jameson, bearing the news that Henry’s application to membership in the Courts had been denied by the senior members. Apparently someone influential, whom Mr. Jameson could only assume to be Henry’s father, had convincingly persuaded the court that Henry would not be a good fit. A large donation to several of the senior members had helped sway their opinions rather decisively. Mr.
Jameson was very apologetic, but there was nothing else to be done. Henry was not to be a barrister.
Henry read the letter several times over before lowering it in disbelief. This was it? He had worked so hard, for so many years, only to fail because his father had worked against him? The blood began to pound in his ears and he paced back and forth furiously, considering his options. It didn’t take him long to come to the same conclusion as Mr. Jameson, however. If his father has already bought the other members’ opinions, there was nothing Henry could do to counter that. This was the end of his ambitions.
Henry wanted to break something. Or punch someone.
He would settle for a drink.
* * *
Alexandra woke up to the sounds of snoring. Mariah’s snoring, to be exact. She had forgotten how noisy a sleeper her cousin was. They had often shared a room as children. At least Mariah no longer thrashed about in her sleep like she had when they were younger.
Alexa turned restlessly in the bed, trying to fall back asleep, but it was no good. Now that she was awake, she couldn’t avoid the snores. And her mind was all abuzz as well. For some reason, she kept thinking back to what Mrs. Eastman had said earlier. The woman’s conversation had been crude, sure, but her mention of governesses had gotten Alexa’s mind on the subject again.
The time was drawing nearer for when Alexa’s visit with Mariah would end. And if it really was as difficult to find a good governess as the older woman had said, maybe that meant Alexandra wouldn’t have any trouble finding work as one, if she chose to pursue that path. At the very least, that would mean she had more than one option to choose from for her future—which would be a lot more than what she had at the moment. After all, she had been educated by all the best tutors as a child. She played two instruments and she could speak passable French. Surely that qualified her for something?
Of course, there was no need to decide on anything tonight. She had a little money saved up which would support her if need be. And her room at Mrs. Godersham’s would be there waiting for her when she left Grosvenor’s Street.
Now Alexandra really wasn’t going to be able to sleep with these questions of her future rattling around her brain. With a sigh, she sat up.
If she was lucky, one of the servants would still be awake. She would ask them to make her a tisane for sleeping. Alexandra wrapped a deep blue shawl around her shoulders to guard against the night’s chill, then set off on tiptoe to find the kitchens. Hopefully her nighttime rambling wouldn’t waken any of the other guests.
The wooden floorboards were chilly against her bare feet. She lost her way, wandering around Sir Neville’s old abbey. Instead of the kitchen, she passed the parlor, rays of light peeking out of it. Curious as to who else was awake at this hour, she glanced inside. There was Henry, sitting on a chair by the embers of the fire.
When he looked up from the flames, Alexa couldn’t hide the shock on her face. He looked completely altered from just a few hours earlier. She had never seen him look this undone before. His cravat was missing and his shirtsleeves were pushed up to his elbows, revealing the sinewy lines of muscle and fine hairs which shone in the firelight. His eyes were rimmed by dark shadows.
He was also undeniably inebriated. All his movements were loose and languid, and when he spoke, his words were carefully enunciated. “I see you’re wearing navy again. Lovely color on you.”
Self-conscious, Alexandra pulled the shawl more securely around her shoulders and stepped hesitatingly into the room. “Henry, are you quite well?”
“No, but then I haven’t been well for months. What’s another few days of it, eh?”
“Did something happen?” she pressed. She had never seen him like this and it worried her.
Henry chuckled bitterly. “Oh yes. It seems my father has called in a few favors to well-connected friends of his. No one in the Inn of Courts will recommend me now, at his request, so I’ll never be a barrister. Which means now he can be proud to call me his son once more. I can uphold the proud history of the Northam family line by providing nothing of value to anyone.” Henry shifted in the candlelight and she saw the thin trickle of blood on his knuckles for the first time.
“You’re bleeding,” she exclaimed, hurrying closer to him. He tried to take his hand away, but she grasped it firmly in her own two and set to work examining the wound. “It’s shallow,” she said after a few moments, “but I believe you’re going to have a scar.” Taking her handkerchief from her pocket, she began dabbing carefully at the blood. Some of it had already started crusting over, which she was careful not to disturb. She pretended to fiddle with the handkerchief several minutes longer after she had finished, for once she had done, she’d have no excuse to touch him anymore. The same fine hair that covered his arms lightly dotted his knuckles and the back of his hand. She wanted to stroke the fine bones in his fingers, to run her finger down the line of his veins, to dot kisses upon his old scars…
She came to herself and made to let go his hand, but his hold, lax until now, tightened. Henry was gazing at her with an open expression on his face, as though trying to figure her out.
“How did this injury happen?” she whispered. She was afraid to look away and break their gaze.
He laughed darkly. “I’m afraid I’ll have to apologize to Sir Neville when he wakes up for the sizeable hole I punched in his wall.” Henry motioned languidly to a gaping crack in the wall across the room. “But why do you care?”
She always seemed to feel flustered around him. “I only care as I would for a friend.”
He saw right through her. “Liar,” he said calmly. His thumb had begun stroking her wrist and she was sure he could feel her pulse speeding up at the movement. “We’re both very good at telling lies.” With one sudden movement, Henry pulled Alexandra down to sit in his lap. She could only let out a gasp of surprise before his mouth was fiercely covering hers. She could taste the whiskey on his lips.
This kiss was rougher than any they had had before. Alexandra exhaled all her desperation, her loneliness into that kiss. Wanting to make him suffer a little of the pain she had been feeling the past months, she bit down lightly on his full bottom lip and dug her nails into his neck, leaving a trail of scratches down his back. She ran her teeth along the bristles of his stubble. He growled and shifted her body so she was straddling him completely now, one leg on either side of him.
His hands firmly grasped her buttocks through the thin cotton nightgown she wore and his head dipped lower, lining her chin and neck with fire hot kisses. She moaned into his neck, fingers gripping his muscled back. Her entire body burned hot all over, the fire pooling near her belly. She shifted experimentally in his lap, eliciting a groan from Henry and making him clutch her all the tighter. She could have lived in that moment forever.
Something seemed to switch in Henry though. He kissed her hard and thoroughly once more on the mouth, then physically lifted her away from his body. She let out a whine of dissatisfaction at the separation. Henry rubbed a hand slowly over his eyes. “This is a terrible idea.” Alexa was so engrossed by the movement of his mouth as he spoke that it took her a few moments to register his words. “Forgive me. You should go, before we do something we’ll both regret.”
Alexandra’s cheeks flushed for an entirely different reason than they had a few minutes ago. Without a word, she rushed from the room in mortified silence.
Chapter 20
Henry awoke with a splitting headache, the remnants of his hangover from last night. He was laid out on the couch in the parlor, still in his clothes from the day before, every muscle aching from the chair’s unforgiving seats. He sat up slowly, holding a hand against his eyes to block out some of the sun that was starting to peek through the curtains behind his sofa. Wait. That wasn’t his sofa. He was still in Sir Neville’s home.
His mind was immediately flooded with flashes of his interactions with Alexa from the night before. Talking, kissing her, pushing her away…if only he had merely dreamed it.
With a loud groan, he let his head thud back against the couch’s armrest. How could he have been so foolish? He seemed to lose all sense of control and reason whenever it came to Alexandra Morland. Why did he keep torturing himself?
Slowly, so as not to exacerbate his raging headache, and cursing silently to himself the entire time, Henry rose and went to his bedroom. There, he found a basin of water he used to splash on his face. He stared at his reflection in the mirror hanging above the sink. The picture it showed was not flattering. Bloodshot eyes, dark undereye circles, hair sticking up in all directions from sleep, and he was already in need of a shave.
The question in Henry’s mind was whether he should try to wait out the hangover here or make his escape before seeing anyone and chance it by horseback?
The throbbing headache decided the matter for him. He wasn’t fit to ride anywhere at the moment. Or perhaps ever again, he thought with a groan.
For now, he would settle for getting himself a steaming hot cup of coffee. With that thought in mind, Henry dressed—very slowly—and then cautiously made his way to the breakfast room. It was empty, except for a servant, who was very quick to bring Henry a full put of hot coffee. Judging by the quiet, the other houseguests had already left on the day’s excursions. Thank the heavens. He wasn’t ready to see anyone quite yet.
He was on his third cup when the door to the breakfast parlor opened and Charles Camden walked in. Charles was Henry’s closest friend and still the only person who knew the truth about Alexa (mainly because he had been present when Edmund had explained her history to Henry as the price for losing that bet). Even so, Henry was not in a mood to divulge the details of the previous night at the moment.
