by Meghan Sloan
Stop it, he told himself firmly. You are lusting after her like a coarse boy!
Determinedly, he tried to push the lustful thoughts aside. They had a whole evening to get through, after all. He didn’t want to be in a state of semi-arousal the whole time. But even as he made the resolution, he was distracted by her lips. They looked like a small cherry, and he could just make out the tip of her pointed pink tongue, poking through…
He shivered in an agony of longing. What would they taste like?
Suddenly he remembered Marina’s lips. The plumpness of them, the fullness, rosy and so, so soft. Alice’s lips weren’t as full as Marina’s. And while her eyes were unusual, how could they compare to Marina’s vividly deep blue eyes, so deep that they appeared violet?
And – just like that – Marina swept into the room, standing between them.
Go away, he thought desperately. Leave me be! I implore you!
Fiercely, he tried to remember what Nicholas had said when they had talked alone earlier in the evening to distract himself. He had been mad at his friend, but he knew that some of what he said was the truth. Nicholas had told him that he thought Alice would be good for him, a calming influence, after the flamboyance of Marina.
It was true, he thought. Marina had been overdramatic, almost mercurial, in her moods. He had loved that about her at the time. But now, doubts flooded through him. She would have been hard to live with, hard to keep up with. He had always known it, but the strength of his love for her had pushed that knowledge aside.
The petite woman standing before him was not like that at all. She would be very easy to live with. She had already stated that she was not particularly social, and desired nothing better than her own company, or only a small group of others. That suited him. He had often felt his energy and will flagging as Marina had dragged him from one event to the other, from ball to soiree, and everything in between.
She had been hard to keep up with, he admitted to himself.
It was working. The ghost of Marina was fading away now, drifting back into the shadows. Only the small, auburn-haired woman remained. He almost breathed a sigh of relief.
She was calm. She had a sweet, gentle voice, almost lulling. And she was very easy to talk to. Far easier than he had anticipated.
Yes, the evening was full of promise.
At that moment Nicholas started talking above the thrum of conversation. “As loathe as I am to interrupt everyone’s jolly time, I have just been informed that dinner is about to commence. If you could all start to make your way to the dining room, please!”
Silas looked down at Alice, holding out his arm. “May I escort you?”
She smiled. Her teeth were small and white, and two dimples appeared in her cheeks.
“I would like that very much,” she said, taking his arm.
He resolutely tried to ignore the spark that seemed to fill the air as their flesh connected.
Chapter 9
Alice’s heart was beating fast as he led her into the dining room. For some reason she couldn’t look up at him at all. Something very strange had happened when she had taken his arm. It was as if something had been lit within her, sparks shooting through her, in almost violently exquisite waves.
She had never experienced anything like it in her life. She had never known that such a thing was possible that her body could react so instinctively, and so strongly, to the touch of another person.
How was it possible?
She couldn’t look at him. She mustn’t. Had he felt the same thing? Would he know, just by looking at her, that she had experienced this from touching him? She had no idea about any of it. She was totally inexperienced with men. She had not had even one suitor. No one had ever held her hand or kissed her. Nothing.
Was it shameful, what she was feeling?
Thankfully, they reached the long dining table. She let go of his arm, still not daring to look at him, glancing at the names written in elegant script on cards on the table. Nicholas Turner had been as good as his word – he had made sure to make room for them. She spotted her name at the far end. Charlotte was seated next to her, on the left. A lady named Lucy Oakley was sitting beside her on the right, and Silas was opposite.
Everyone was still talking as they took their seats. A footman was filling up the crystal glasses with a ruby-red wine, which looked dense and rich. She still couldn’t look at Silas. A lady with light-brown hair streaked with gold, sat down beside her. She was wearing an elegant ivory white dress with a gold headband attached to a long, plume-like white feather. She had a full, buxom figure, slightly plump, and large, velvet-brown eyes. The lady turned to her, smiling faintly.
“Hello,” she said. “We have not been introduced yet. I am Miss Oakley.”
Alice smiled back. “Miss Sinclair. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
The lady picked up her wine glass, sipping it gingerly. She grimaced slightly. “Nicholas always does insist on such heavy wines with dinner,” she said, putting the glass down. “He believes himself a wine aficionado, even travelling to France to fill his cellar, but his tastes do not match my own. I prefer more delicate wines entirely.”
Alice picked up her own glass, sipping it. It was heavy.
“It is a merlot, I believe,” she said, placing the glass down. “My father fancies himself as a wine aficionado, too, Miss Oakley, and has lectured me about the varieties. My family even went on a tour of the vineyards of Brittany a few years ago.”
“Well spotted,” said Silas, smiling at her. “It is a merlot. A fine drop, from the Loire Valley I do believe. I prefer the heavier, fuller varieties myself.”
Alice shivered with delight. She knew it was a residual reaction from how her body had responded to him. Even looking at him seemed to bring it on. Almost like a fever.
She felt herself blushing to the roots of her hair. But how could she not look at him? It would seem so rude. He was her fiancé, after all.
He was gazing at her in an almost knowing way, his green eyes narrowed. Suddenly, she knew. He had felt it too. Whatever that spark was, it had not been one-sided. That spark had flared between them, infecting them both.
“Ahem.” Miss Oakley was looking at them both. “Silas, it is so good to see you again. It has been a long time.”
Silas turned his head, gazing at the lady sitting beside her. He didn’t look particularly happy to see her, Alice thought.
“Lucy,” he said eventually, picking up his wine glass. “It has been a long time. Have you been keeping well?”
She shrugged. “As well as I can, I suppose,” she said slowly. “I have been trying to keep myself occupied, to distract myself…from it all.” She stopped abruptly, her lips thinning.
“Indeed,” said Silas, looking strained. “It has been difficult for us all….”
Alice was mystified. There seemed to be something between them, some tension that was not being explained.
“I read of your new engagement in the newspaper,” continued Lucy stiffly, her dark eyes flashing. “I suppose congratulations are in order to you both.” She glanced at Alice. “Good luck, Miss Sinclair. You have big shoes to fill, I think.”
Alice felt as if she had just been slapped by the lady. Who was she, and why was she acting so strangely towards her?
“I can see that you are wondering who I am,” continued the lady slowly. “Marina St. George was a very good friend of mine. My best friend, in fact.”
The name of Silas’s missing fiancée seemed to hang in the air between them. It was the very first time anyone had dared to mention her. The effect on Silas was immediate.
He paled quite abruptly, his green eyes looking sharply bright. He kept staring at Lucy Oakley. Alice noticed that his knuckles had turned white as he gripped his wine glass. There was an uncomfortable silence.
“I am very sorry for your loss,” said Alice, turning to the young lady. “It must be truly awful to lose someone in such a way.”
The lady looke
d surprised, then gratified. “It was, Miss Sinclair,” she said in a quiet voice. “A terrible shock that something like that could happen to someone I cared for so deeply. To not know what happened to her. To be forever questioning…”
Alice took a deep breath, trying not to look at Silas, to focus completely on the young lady by her side.
“I could only imagine,” she said, feeling tears of sympathy fill her eyes. “All those who knew her must feel it.”
She was conscious that Silas was staring at her intently. But he didn’t say a thing. Abruptly, he turned to the man sitting beside him, engaging him in conversation.
“You know,” said Lucy, in a quiet voice. “I was a bit upset to hear about Silas’s new engagement. A bit angry. It seemed to me that Marina was being forgotten, that the world was moving on and leaving her behind.” She paused. “But now that I have met you, Miss Sinclair, and heard your kind words of sympathy, I feel differently. Perhaps it is for the best, after all.”
Alice blinked back tears. “Thank you so much, Miss Oakley,” she whispered. “I do have big shoes to fill, as you say, and I am very conscious of trying not upset the applecart even more. To honour all those who knew Marina and feel so very sad about the circumstances of her disappearance.”
Lucy picked up her wine glass, studying her intently. “I am sorry I said that,” she said quietly. “I was angry. I think that you and Marina are as different from each other as chalk and cheese, but that is not necessarily a bad thing.” She paused. “Marina could be difficult, to be around. She was such a strong personality, and she treated all those around her like acolytes. Sometimes I feel like she is still ruling my life…” Her voice drifted off.
“What do you mean?” Alice stared at her intently.
But Lucy Oakley bit her lip, shaking her head. And at that moment, the dining room door opened. Two footmen entered, carrying two large silver soup tureens. The first course was about to commence.
Charlotte turned to her, asking a question, and Miss Oakley was engaged by the gentleman, sitting on her other side. Their brief conversation was over.
As the soup was served, Alice pondered. She had no doubt that Miss Lucy Oakley sincerely missed her friend, but there was obviously more to Marina St. George than she had first envisioned.
Nicholas Turner had intimated as much, in The Honeypot, and Charlotte had backed it up. As popular, charming, and beautiful as Marina obviously was, there had been a dark underside to the lady. Something that even her best friend was conscious of.
She frowned, pondering it further as she picked up her soup spoon, dipping it into the bowl. Lucy Oakley said that Marina treated those around her like acolytes. An interesting term. It implied that Marina St. George considered herself the star, or centre, of her world. That those close to her, or not so close, must listen and do as she commanded. As if she was the leader.
And leaders could lead well, or not. If they had power over people, they could get them to do whatever they wanted, in a sense.
For good. Or for bad.
There was obviously tension between Silas and Lucy Oakley, too. He hadn’t looked pleased to talk to her. Alice thought it would be natural for those who had been close to Marina to turn to each other for support after her disappearance. But it looked like that had not happened in this case. It sounded like Silas had barely spoken to Lucy since.
All of it was a mystery. And she had to admit, there didn’t seem to be any immediate answers to any of it.
***
Alice felt flushed from all the wine. The dinner had been splendid, and she was enjoying talking to the ladies in the parlour. All of Nicholas Turner’s guests were charming, friendly, and interesting. Lady Zara Langley had regaled her with stories of her travels in the Far East, and another lady, Mrs. Dora Brooks, had just returned from Prussia, of all places, with her ambassador husband.
She had even had another brief conversation with Lucy Oakley, which had gone well. The lady had obviously decided to like her, despite her intentions not to, out of loyalty to Marina. She had even invited Alice to attend an exhibition with her, later in the week.
All in all, it had been a successful evening.
Her head was beginning to spin a little, though, from the wine. The fire had been built high, and was roaring, creating a claustrophobic air in the room. She turned to Charlotte.
“I think that I shall go outside for a little air,” she declared, fanning herself vigorously.
“You are flushed, Alice,” said Charlotte, frowning a little. “Are you feeling quite well?”
Alice smiled faintly. “Nothing that a bit of fresh air cannot cure, my dear. I shall not be gone long. If you give me the directions to the garden, I will be there and back in the blink of an eye.”
She made her way through the house to the large double doors at the rear of the property, as Charlotte had instructed. As soon as she opened them, stepping out into the night, a frigid wind hit her in the face, cooling it instantly. For a moment she took deep, gasping breaths, filling her lungs with the cold air.
She sensed that she was not alone. She spun around just as Silas stepped out of the doors towards her. He was frowning slightly as he gazed down at her.
“Miss Hayward told me that you needed air,” he said slowly. “Are you feeling ill, Alice?”
She smiled up at him. “I am perfectly fine, Silas,” she said. “The air was just a little stuffy in the parlour, that is all. I often find it restrictive, during cold weather, when fires burn so high, and large amounts of people gather in a room.”
He nodded. “Should we go for a little walk along the path to clear your mind? It is rather lovely, even in the dark.” He paused, taking off his jacket, and lying it around her shoulders. “There. That should fend off the cold.”
Her heart started to beat violently in her chest. It was a simple, gallant gesture that any gentleman might have done for a lady. But somehow, in this circumstance, it thrilled her to the core. The jacket was thick and warm and it smelt nice. A combination of tobacco smoke, from the cigars the gentlemen had just indulged in, sweat, and something else, which she couldn’t identify. Something musky.
It was the smell of him.
He took her arm and they headed off down the path. It was so very cold. Snowflakes were drifting through the air, swirling, looking like tiny white diamonds, falling from the heavens. But she had never felt so warm in her life. His jacket, and the feel of his arm against hers, which was causing all those wild feelings to flutter to life within her once more.
“Nicholas had this especially made,” he said, breaking the silence. “He employed a landscape gardener to design it when he purchased the house. I think he has done a splendid job.”
Alice gazed around. It was rather lovely, even in the dark. A wide path lined by rose bushes. They were not in bloom at this time of year, but there were several evergreen trees, beyond them. At the end of the path she saw a large, wrought-iron gazebo, painted white, which glowed almost iridescently in the darkness.
They reached the gazebo, sitting down next to each other. She could feel the warmth of his breath next to her. A frisson of pure delight ran down her spine.
What was happening to her? It was like some sweet madness, some divine web, that was being spun around her, encircling her ever closer.
They didn’t speak for a moment. And then in the stillness they heard the sound of the pianoforte drifting from the house. The sweet notes of Beethoven, one of her favourite composers.
