The giant man with the shaggy mop of blond hair grunted and flicked his attention to Donovan. He completely ignored Alice. “Best watch your step. Even nobs can have accidents in the country. One little slip, a turn of the ankle on unfamiliar land, and down they go.” Then he shoved his way past them, knocking Donovan’s shoulder as he passed. And in a low voice, he added, “Best remember to leave your wolf home if you come calling again.”
What the devil? Did he know about the beast within, and if so, how? “I’ll remember that next time I’m here on a visit,” he couldn’t help responding. He chuckled when the big man didn’t respond.
A sigh of relief escaped her. “I apologize for him. It seems he had a temper and has no understanding of rejection.”
“Has he threatened you before?” Every instinct screamed at him to shift into the wolf and run after the man, tear into him for daring to act with vulgarity and insinuation against her. But he remained by Alice’s side, his arm still about her waist, shielding her with his larger body—protecting her.
She is ours, his wolf insisted in his mind. He’ll be trouble.
He absolutely ignored his beast. Now was not the time to speculate.
“He has acted… ugly a time or two when I turn down his advances.” She angled her head toward him with a frown. “It’s his assumption I can do no better than him, and that he’s doing me a favor by paying me attention.”
Donovan turned them both about and set them into motion. “If he does so again, tell me and I will respond with the fullest extent of my reach.” He glared even as his wolf urged action. “I will make certain his life is miserable.”
Alice huffed, with annoyance or something else, he couldn’t say. “I am capable of handling my own problems. You needn’t concern yourself.”
“No doubt you are, but if it bothers you, it bothers me. For my own peace of mind, do me this courtesy.” When she gave him a curt nod, he relaxed, but only a fraction. “I’m escorting you back now, but will you be of a mind for another call soon?”
The worry clouding her face cleared with her smile, and his own outlook brightened from it. “I would enjoy that, and perhaps we shall have more time together then.”
“I shall do my level best.” And he knew one other thing with certainty: tonight while in wolf form, he’d stand guard near her door in an effort to keep the blacksmith away.
CHAPTER SIX
September 19, 1815
Shalford, Surrey
It had been two days since Alice had seen the duke. Two days since he sent her head spinning and her heart trembling. Two times since their first meeting had he deliberately sought her out, and what was more, he didn’t seem bothered or even concerned by her blindness.
Merciful heavens, what does this mean?
She didn’t know, but the tingling warmth of seeing him wouldn’t altogether fade, and even now, heat flirted with her cheeks when she allowed herself a little glimmer of a dream.
The duke would have to wait until another time, for today was a special day in its own right. Her best friend Fanny would wed her beau today, and Alice, not exactly standing up with her, would be in the front row and watching with dutiful adoration.
Is there anything more thrilling and romantic than a wedding?
Because of that, Alice dressed with more care than usual, and donned her best day gown, one of sprigged muslin in robin egg blue. A petticoat and shift of fine lawn—leftover from her days of living with the baron and hidden away, saved and safe, for a special occasion—slid against her skin each time she moved. It was so much better than the scratchy garment she usually wore. She’d been given the gown through a friend of a friend, who’d snagged it from a charity pile of one of the genteel homes in the Surrey area. With a few alterations, the three-year-old gown fit as if made exclusively for her. And she’d embellished it with leftover seed pearls, glass beads and bits of lace from the hat shop. A matching bonnet, designed by her, completed the ensemble.
Alice stood at a full-length cheval mirror in her room and looked critically at herself as far as she could see. “I’m sure I’m not fit for presentation to the King, but I’m passable for Shalford.”
After gathering a reticule that she also saved for special occasions and donning slippers she’d received with the gown, Alice left her room at the water mill. Fanny would marry in the small church in the village square, and a celebration dinner would follow at her parents’ cottage a mile away. The crisp afternoon air gave her a new spring to her step, and though she wished for her shawl to keep the chill at bay, she hated to cover such a lovely gown. Once she was among people, she’d warm.
As she walked through the business district, she approached a grouping of men who clustered on the steps of the pub. The sound of angry voices grew with intensity to join excited exclamations. Joe, the blacksmith’s son was one of them.
“I swear I saw one,” a man inserted.
“Saw what?” another asked, and since Alice’s natural curiosity wanted to know as well, she was glad someone asked the question.
“A wolf. I saw a damned wolf. Big, brown fur, menacing teeth. Slinking through the fields as if on the hunt,” said the first speaker in a stronger voice.
Alice’s heartbeat pumped faster. A wolf? In Shalford? There hadn’t been wolves in England for over a hundred years. How interesting. Was that the animal who’d bumped into her and threw her from the public road the first time she’d met the duke?
“I saw it too,” another man backed up the first claim. “I’d come home from this pub and I saw him. With the fresh kill of a sheep in his jaws.”
“My sheep!” An older man Alice recognized as a farmer inserted himself into the conversation as she drew closer. “I’m down three in the last week, and I know for a fact it’s been killing other livestock on neighboring farms.”
Yet another man spoke. “Next, that beast will come for our children in the night. It’ll snatch them from their beds and eat them up.”
She nearly bit her tongue stopping herself from commenting. I rather doubt a hungry wolf, presented with fat sheep and more than enough cows, would start prowling through the village and attempting to open doors and windows to get at children. Their fears sounded like something out of fairy stories instead of grounded in logic and reality.
“We ain’t never had wolves here afore, and then that duke fellow come to Shalford. He brought ‘im. You’ll see,” said yet another man who sounded suspiciously like the blacksmith.
Gooseflesh raced over Alice’s skin and chilled her. Did he know how insane he sounded? It was the height of folly to even suggest something of the sort. Dukes didn’t command such beasts, neither did they consort with them.
The conversation turned ugly and heated after that, and while Alice found the information both curious and disturbing, she continued on her way. None of the men paid her attention, except Joe, who called her name, but she ignored him. As more men gathered and raised their voices, Alice hurried past.
Angry men in a mob didn’t bode well. And especially these who promoted action before thoughts, and she especially didn’t wish to find herself cornered by the blacksmith.
After a while, she arrived at Fanny’s cottage, and things were frantic with preparations. Alice greeted some of Fanny’s many siblings, who ushered her into her friend’s tiny room that she shared with three sisters.
“Alice! Can you believe I’ll be married soon?” Fanny rushed over the floor and engulfed her in a hug that smelled like orange blossoms. “My dress is gorgeous. A butter yellow organdy with a veil trimmed with Brussels lace Mother sent away for.”
“I’m sure you look radiant, just as a bride should.” Alice ran her gaze along the yellow blob that was her friend. She came close and dropped a kiss to Fanny’s cheek, felt the softness of the veil as it brushed the side of her face, ran her fingers along the puffed, satin-like sleeve of the wedding dress, and she sighed. “Yes, I’m quite certain that you do.” She pulled back and smiled. “I wish you a happ
y life and all that you’ve ever wanted.”
“Thank you.” Fanny sighed with such joy that Alice suffered a twinge of envy. “A married woman. Me.” She giggled and Alice joined in on the mirth as her friend picked up a small bouquet of yellow and white daises. Even with her blurry vision, Alice identified the flowers as well as their fresh, clean scent.
“You’ll make a fine wife,” Alice assured her. And she meant the sentiment even as her heart squeezed for her friend. Fanny was entering a part of life Alice never dreamed would happen to her. What would it be like to have the title of wife, to share daily life with a man, feel the love of that same man both in and out of the marriage bed, to one day feel the swell of a pregnant belly or hear the squall of a newborn babe? “Your Rupert is a lucky man indeed.”
Will I ever have that in my own life?
Then Fanny’s mother bustled in. Young ladies—Fanny’s siblings—surged around them, all babbling at once, and Alice was buoyed along in the excited tide, out the door. While Fanny and her mother were given the luxury of being taken to the church in someone’s carriage, the rest of the party walked, Alice among them.
At the church, Fanny clustered with her mother and sisters, while Alice found an open seat on the front pew. The buzz of anticipation flowed through the room. Talking bounced about in low currents, punctuated by laughter.
Then the atmosphere changed so perceptively that the hairs on the back of Alice’s nape quivered. Whispers started, and like a fire, they swept through the church. She turned her head in an effort to catch a snippet, and then quickly wished she hadn’t.
“…it’s that duke fellow Miss Morrowe knows…”
“…her reputation is being ruined each day…”
“…such a pretty lady he’s with. Lovely caramel hair and flawless skin…”
“…must be done with Alice if he’s with a new one…”
“…perhaps it’s his wife…”
A sick feeling circled through Alice’s stomach. What is happening? She swallowed a few times to ward off the urge to retch. Why was Donovan here, and accompanying a different woman? Then she reminded herself that she had no claim to the duke, nor he on her. Theirs was an unlikely friendship, nothing more. Except the kisses they’d shared seemed cheap and tawdry now, and not the tender and gentle explorations they’d been. The heat of mortification blazed in her cheeks. She pressed a hand to one of them while her heartbeat hammered. The urge to run, to hide, filled her. Why had he come? Could he not see how humiliated she was?
The woman next to her on the pew clicked her tongue. She patted Alice’s hand. A cloud of heavy rose perfume enveloped her. “It’s for the best, my dear. Obviously, he’s a womanizer of the worst order. Thank the Lord you never let him tupp you.” She shook her head. “It’s scandalous how men carry on these days, especially toward defenseless women who don’t know better.”
Oh, please, stop talking.
A fog of cold disappointment wrapped about her. She tuned out anything else the woman said. Surely he wouldn’t be so cruel. But then, what did she know of him anyway? Next to nothing, that’s what. He was a duke, and he’d made no secret of his vices in the short amount of time that she had spent with him. Her chin trembled while her chest constricted. How could she have been so stupid? Her breath came in labored pants as Alice struggled to maintain a calm she didn’t feel. She’d let him turn her head with pretty words and fancy gestures and fleeting kisses that had made her long for more from her life.
Made her forget that she might manage to strive for something else than her lot.
Forget who I am.
Still, she’d had those silly dreams of a future different from what she’d been given; it was inevitable. And now here she was being made the fool yet again in front of the whole village. Alice bowed her head lest the people around her spy the tears gathering in her eyes, threatening to choke her. As Fanny’s ceremony began, Alice prayed if—when—she did break into sobbing, the people around her assumed the excess of emotion stemmed from happiness for her friend.
Instead of from a heart twisted and the murder of budding hopes.
Fanny said her vows and received them from her groom. The affection and devotion in their faces further worked to send tears crowding into Alice’s throat. How beautiful it was to find that one man above all others who made a woman cleave from everything she’d ever known in order to walk by his side and build a life together. Surreptitiously, she sniffled until she had to root about in her reticule for a delicate, lace-edged handkerchief she’d fashioned herself from a leftover scrap at the shop.
Inevitably, the end of the ceremony came, quickly, for officially wedding one’s life-mate took very little time, and the minister announced them both husband and wife. Fanny and her groom hastened to sign the registry and then they swept down the aisle and out of the church. As people followed them out, a chorus of clapping and well-wishes resounded.
While the people around Alice stood and made their way outside to presumably greet the newly married couple, she remained in her spot, waiting for the crowds to thin and also wishing the duke to the devil. Perhaps he’d exit and she wouldn’t need to see him. Perhaps the floor would open and swallow her whole. Perhaps she’d find some balm to make this betrayal more tolerable.
Oh, would that I were elsewhere so I could give into these stupid tears.
The decision was taken from her when she felt a hand on her shoulder, noted his scent long before he spoke as he joined her at the front of the church. “Miss Morrowe… Alice.” The way he released her name from his lips in such an intimate fashion sent thrills down her spine. “It had been my hope to arrive well in time to sit next to you, but alas, I was unaccountably delayed.” Humor rode through the statement.
And it sent her anger to the boiling point. “Yes, well, no doubt waiting upon the whims of your newest fancy piece does take a toll on your time.” She shook off his hand and then stood, slowly, and faced him, hoping her expression conveyed the proper amount of ire. She didn’t care that the minister lingered or that a few of the village-folk clustered about the door, either stuck in foot traffic or so gauche that they wished to overhear.
It was time for her to grow bold and defend herself. She’d been docile enough throughout her life and let everyone else dictate her fate. No more.
“I… I beg your pardon?” Surprise hung on his voice, and the woman accompanying him had the audacity to laugh. She laughed! “I don’t have a clue to what you’re referring.”
Heat sprang into Alice’s cheeks. She stared past his left shoulder, noted the deep burgundy color of his frock coat, caught a glimpse of a pink-colored blob she assumed was the gown of his latest mistake, and she launched into the rest of what she would say to him. “How dare you, my lord?” As best she could, she ignored his companion. “Not only have you shown up here, to an event where you were not invited, but you’ve also brought a mistress,” her voice wavered upon the word, “after you spent time publicly seeking me out?” So angry was she that she shook from the force of her emotion. Not even when the baron—her own relation—turned her from her home had she been as incensed as she was now. “That is outside of enough, even for you. Now, if you’ll excuse me? I find I have somewhere else to be that doesn’t include dancing attendance upon you.”
It sent her ire ratcheting up another notch when he chuckled. “I must say, it’s quite refreshing to be so thoroughly dressed down, and in a church no less.”
Alice narrowed her eyes. Is that how all members of the ton behaved, as if everyone on the Earth were there to amuse them? “Please leave, Your Grace. I am quite finished with you.” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and waited for him to comply. The joy had faded from the day.
“Oh, I’d wager that’s not true at all,” he said in a lowered voice that smacked of sin and slid over her person like the finest silk. He laughed again, as did his companion, and when Alice opened her mouth to tell them both off, Donovan slid his hand around her upper arm in a gent
le hold. “Before you fly into the boughs again, let me explain. This woman, contrary to what you believe, is not my fancy piece. In fact, I believe she took offense at your statement, for she thinks it already a trial she resides in the same residence as me.”
Alice gasped. “Shares your home?”
He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “She is, in fact, my sister—Lady Elizabeth Sinclair.”
Oh, merciful heavens. I’ve just taken a duke and his sister to task. “I…” Her words drifted off, for nothing she could say would make right the discretion.
The duke fit his lips to the shell of her ear and whispered, “Elizabeth insisted she play chaperone, for she’s worried I’ll ruin you with continued calls if I come by myself.”
Heat of a different kind than anger or mortification swamped Alice. She trembled the longer he remained near, but hope crept into her heart once more. He must be serious in his intent if this was the result. Perhaps she was a fool for continuing to believe in the dream.
“In addition, Elizabeth rather thinks she’s my protector,” he continued.
“Protecting you from what or whom?”
He laughed, and a trace of bitterness clung to the sound. “That is a story for another time.”
A heavy sigh escaped her. “I apologize for my assumption and my words,” she mumbled, and when she attempted to move from him, he released her only to slide his arm about her waist.
Then his sister took both her hands in her own and tugged her away from Donovan. She kissed Alice on the cheek, which allowed Alice to see her face, albeit blurrily. Caramel hair upswept and held with jeweled combs, frank brown eyes and features similar to her brother’s. “Good afternoon, Miss Morrowe. I’m Lady Elizabeth, but please do call me Elizabeth.” She laughed and the sound was no longer mocking. “I have a feeling you and I will spend much time together.” Then she linked an arm with Alice’s and led her down the church aisle. “My brother doesn’t understand the finer points of courtship.”
Devil Take the Duke (Lords of the Night Book 1) Page 7
