Alexandra could have yanked her sister’s hair out.
Griffin blinked. “Let us hear none of that. I didn’t invite Tristan here as a potential suitor.”
“Why not?” Corinna asked. “You’ve invited every other unmarried gentleman in all of Britain.”
“Not quite yet, but I’m working on it.” He flashed his crooked grin, then nodded toward a book on Alexandra’s bedside table. “Have you been reading The Mirror of the Graces?”
“Oh, yes. Every night,” she assured him, ignoring her sisters’ muffled giggles.
Griffin had given them each a copy of the etiquette manual, authored by “A Lady of Distinction,” in the hope that they’d learn to deport themselves in a manner conducive to winning fine husbands.
He was leaving no stone unturned in his quest to see the three of them married off.
“Excellent,” he said. “I trust you’re feeling better now?”
“Much better, thank you. Shall we go downstairs to dinner?”
Downstairs, she thought as she trailed her siblings out of the room, Lord Hawkridge was waiting. A jittery mix of anticipation and apprehension nearly made her knees buckle.
In this state, it’d be a wonder if she managed to negotiate the staircase, let alone a romantic intrigue.
Chapter Five
The evening began pleasantly enough.
An efficient dresser, Tristan was first to the drawing room. He had a moment to appreciate the view from its large, south-facing windows before the four Chases entered together, Alexandra bringing up the rear in a fetching blue dinner dress.
I always knew she’d turn out to be something special, he thought.
The notion took him by surprise, though she certainly was spectacular. He’d scarcely been able to recognize her this afternoon. The rather gangly girl of his recollections was gone, replaced by a young woman with gentle curves softening her slender frame and long, sooty lashes accentuating her lovely brown eyes. Her chestnut hair was the only bit of her that remained exactly the same—so springy it seemed alive, refusing to stay pinned demurely atop her head. He couldn’t help admiring her.
Truth be told, any man with eyes in his head would admire a girl like Alexandra.
But it wouldn’t do to let her brother get the wrong idea. Griffin had made his feelings very clear regarding Tristan courting any of his sisters: Perish the thought, he’d said. Keen as Tristan suddenly was to renew his acquaintance with Alexandra, he knew he’d better keep his distance.
Accordingly, when she caught his eye on entering the drawing room and gave him a furtive little smile, he merely inclined his head. She looked away.
He felt a little pang of regret.
Boniface arrived to announce dinner, and the party went through to the dining room. Tristan was dismayed to find himself stationed immediately across from Alexandra—who, as the lady of the house, had undoubtedly chosen the seating arrangement. Though her gaze seemed to linger on him through much of the first course, he resolutely kept their interaction to a minimum and his eyes directed elsewhere.
By the second course, he was beginning to suspect their proximity was no coincidence. Attending to Griffin’s talk was growing steadily more challenging with Alexandra in his peripheral vision. From her coy looks to her peals of feminine laughter, every action seemed calculated to attract his attention. Even her habit of fiddling with the necklace that dangled enticingly near the swell of her—
He froze with a forkful halfway to his lips. She was wearing the cameo he’d sent her from Jamaica.
And he felt entirely too pleased to see it on her. Candlelight glinted off the three little diamonds and the planes of the pearly face.
He couldn’t fathom what game Alexandra was playing with him. But he felt sure she was winning.
The meal stretched on for two more courses and an eternity. Tristan ate everything on his plate without a clue what he’d been served.
When their little party finally removed themselves to the music room to be entertained by the ladies, he found himself sipping port at an impolite pace.
Corinna had a pretty voice, and the music Juliana coaxed from her harp was nothing less than exquisite. But Tristan had ears only for Alexandra. She’d removed her gloves, and her bare fingers, long and elegant, flew gracefully over the keys of the pianoforte. Though the resulting tune was proficient rather than masterful, her playing had him enthralled.
Watching her, he realized that he had always known she was special.
As an adolescent, he’d never paused to consider the source of his particular affinity for Alexandra. She always talked to him more than Griffin’s other sisters, and although she’d been so much younger, he’d found something delightful about the mature, sensible-minded intellect living behind her china-doll face. But now that he was a bit older and wiser, he could see the connection between them plain as day. He saw it in the open, eager way she looked at him—the same way she’d always looked at him. The same way he himself used to look at girls he believed he was in love with, as if they were the answer to everything.
He couldn’t bear the thought of dashing that look from her eyes.
“Would you care for more?”
Tristan looked up to find Griffin standing over him with the bottle of port. “My thanks,” he murmured, raising his glass.
Griffin settled beside him on the small gold brocade sofa. “Civilized, aren’t they?” He gestured toward his sisters, all seated primly on dainty chairs with brocade seats and gilt backs. His chuckle was low enough not to carry across the room. “Whoever would have thought they’d actually grow up?”
Tristan smiled to cover his misgivings.
Alexandra glanced over at him again, a shy smile of her own curving her lips. He looked away and sipped. He would have to have a talk with her. At the very least, he owed her an explanation.
“What is life like at Hawkridge?” Griffin asked quietly.
Lonely, Tristan thought. He hadn’t realized how lonely before coming here. But he wasn’t looking for pity. “I keep busy,” he said. “Doing very ungentlemanly things.”
“Are you implying you work?” Griffin asked in mock horror.
“Incessantly, I’m afraid.”
Griffin’s laughter brought Alexandra’s head up once more.
“Hawkridge’s restored vineyards are the least of my improvements,” Tristan said, turning deliberately to his old friend. “I’m building a gasworks. And I’ve found that methodical land management produces significantly larger crops.”
Griffin sipped slowly. “And I hear you’ve begun a new breeding program as well?”
“Yes, I’m importing stock from distant estates. Not just horses, but also common swine and sheep. I ascribe to the theory that interbreeding produces weak animals.”
Griffin looked a bit overwhelmed. ”I look forward to learning more of this.”
“I look forward to explaining it,” Tristan told him with a clap on the shoulder.
Miraculously, it seemed that he still had a steady friend in Griffin. Yet another reason to steer clear of Alexandra. It wasn’t worth ruining such a long-standing friendship—the only one he had left—over something that could never be.
When the song came to an end, instead of launching into another, the sisters held a short, murmured conversation. Tristan saw Juliana nod before they all rose. As they started across the parquet floor, Alexandra’s hand went up to touch the cameo.
“That was very nice, girls,” Griffin said.
Alexandra sought Tristan’s eyes, but he trained his gaze on the large gilt-framed mirror that hung above the white marble fireplace. The room seemed too hot. He tugged to loosen the cravat so carefully tied by the valet who’d dressed him for dinner.
“Are you overly warm?” Juliana smiled sweetly. “Perhaps a walk along the battlements in the night air would help.”
That sounded like an excellent idea. “I believe I shall take your suggestion,” he said, beginning to rise. He needed to get
out of here. He needed to think. He needed to plan carefully what he would say to Alexandra. Out of sight of her, and her warm brandy-colored eyes, and the cameo he’d given her dangling just over her heart.
“I’m pleased you agree,” Juliana said, still smiling. “Alexandra would be happy to accompany you.”
Chapter Six
Alexandra was shocked at her sister’s bold suggestion, and even more shocked when Lord Hawkridge, after a slight hesitation, nodded rather grimly and said, “That would be delightful.”
He sounded less than delighted.
“Tristan,” Griffin said in a quiet tone laced with warning. But Lord Hawkridge ignored Alexandra’s brother, rising and taking her elbow, and she was too excited to pay Griffin any heed. She’d never thought to disobey him before, but then, she’d also never wanted to do anything he’d prohibit. At seventeen, it seemed, she was suddenly developing a defiant streak.
Lord Hawkridge had agreed to walk with her. Out of doors. Alone. Whether he was delighted or not, it seemed too good to be true. This was the perfect opportunity to make him notice her in the short time he’d be here.
If only she knew where to start.
Her efforts so far had been disastrous. She’d hoped to engage Lord Hawkridge in conversation over dinner, but after deliberately seating him across the table from herself, her nerve had failed her. Each time she’d mustered up the courage to look his way, her powers of speech had fled. Her agitation had exposed itself in fits of nervous laughter and unladylike fidgeting.
But perhaps he’d failed to notice, for now he was touching her! Just her elbow, but still, it was something! His grip was strong—almost painful, in fact. In determined silence he steered her from the room. In silence they descended the staircase and walked outside into the quadrangle. In silence they crossed the groomed lawn.
After a while, the silence grew worrisome.
She couldn’t help wishing he’d sounded happier when he’d agreed to this walk. Perhaps he’d only acquiesced to avoid embarrassing Juliana. Maybe he would rather have stayed inside with Griffin. Though there was a full moon tonight, his gray eyes were unreadable.
She averted her gaze before he could catch her looking. She had to say something. “My lord,” she began.
“After all the years we’ve known each other,” he interrupted, “you’re not going to start addressing me formally now, are you?” Having spent enough time at Cainewood to know his way around, he guided her uphill toward the keep, which sat atop an ancient motte—a mound of earth built to give the castle’s defenders the advantage of height. “You called me Tristan when we were younger. Or Tris. I always liked that.”
Had he? Feeling her cheeks heat at the thought, she was happy when it grew darker as they stepped into the tower.
He let her lead the way up the winding stone staircase, following close behind—as a gentleman should—in case she should stumble in the darkness. She put a hand to the rough wall for balance. “You weren’t a marquess when we were younger.”
“I’m still the same person.”
She wasn’t so certain he hadn’t changed in three years. Braver in the dark than she’d have been in the moonlight, she blurted the question she’d been dying to ask. “However did you become a marquess?”
Behind her, Lord Hawkridge sighed. “My father was a second son—a spectacularly unsuccessful one. It was my uncle—the marquess—who financed my schooling and university.”
“So I gathered.” She glanced at him as they stepped through the archway and back into the pale illumination. “But your uncle had heirs, didn’t he?”
“The requisite heir and a spare, yes.” By unspoken agreement, they began strolling along the top of the wide, crenelated wall. “My uncle had married well, an heiress who came with a large plantation in Jamaica. Her family lived on other property they owned on the island, and though she and Uncle Harold had a good marriage, she pined to see them from time to time. While I was in Jamaica learning the ropes, she brought her sons home for a visit. None of them returned. Weeks after they were due to arrive, my uncle learned their ship had gone down in the Caribbean. He sent for me earlier than I expected, only a year after I’d left England, because suddenly I was his heir.”
“You’ve been back in England two whole years? And you never called on us?” To think, all this time she’d been picturing Tris in a jungle halfway across the world, and in truth he’d been half a day’s ride from her front door!
“When I first returned, things were…difficult. My own father had died while I was en route, and I’d inherited his estate—which was little more than a mountain of debt. I was in dire straits.”
He hesitated as though he wanted to say more, but she waited a while and he didn’t. “I’m very sorry for the loss of your father.”
“Thank you.”
He reverted to silence.
“It must’ve been dreadful for you,” Alexandra prompted. Still nothing. “An estate full of dependents suddenly counting on you to save them from destitution,” she went on, “and you just a year out of school and quite on your own.”
“Yes, but all that was solved when I inherited the marquessate,” he said and hesitated again. Their footfalls echoed into the night. “But there’s no need to call me Lord Hawkridge,” he finally added, bringing the conversation back to where they’d started.
She was certain there was something else he hadn’t told her, and besides which, the account didn’t explain his two-year absence from the social scene. But she felt too shy to press. “You always called me Lady Alexandra,” she said instead. “On the rare occasions you noticed me, that is.” She glanced toward him and smiled—a blithe smile, she hoped. “Last time you saw me I was just Griffin’s vexatious little sister.”
If only he could see her as more than that now. Shadowed in the moonlight, his features gave her little insight to his thoughts. A lock of his tousled hair had fallen onto his forehead. His eyes looked hooded.
“I always noticed you, Alexandra.”
No Lady. She should take offense, she supposed—they weren’t close enough to warrant that sort of familiarity. Not anymore, in any case. But she wanted to be that close. And he’d said…
Sweet heaven, had he actually said he’d always noticed her?
“Did you?” she asked breathlessly, even knowing he couldn’t have meant it the way she hoped. I always noticed you. “Probably because I bothered you,” she said with a shaky laugh.
“Not at all. You used to talk about the most interesting things. Deep things.”
She’d always been somewhat of a philosopher, even as a child. Her sisters were forever telling her she was too serious. She turned to the ledge and stopped, gazing out over the darkened landscape, the fields and the nearby woods. The River Caine glistened in the distance.
She felt rather than saw him come up to stand beside her.
“I hadn’t expected you listened,” she said quietly.
“Alexandra.”
Something in his voice made her turn to him. “Hmm?”
“I listened to every word.”
When he laid a hand over hers where it rested on the ledge, she realized she’d forgotten to replace her gloves after she stopped playing the pianoforte. And he wasn’t wearing gloves, either. His hand felt warm and a little rougher than a true gentleman’s hand should. Not that she’d ever touched another gentleman’s bare hand.
The sensation was thrilling beyond words.
“Tris,” she breathed, the only syllable she seemed capable of uttering.
He grinned, his teeth flashing white in the moonlight. “That’s better.”
“I…I don’t think it’s proper for you to be touching my hand.”
“You’re right. I most definitely shouldn’t be touching your hand.”
But instead of removing his fingers, he tightened them over hers, and his other hand came up to touch the cameo she wore.
“You kept it,” he said.
“Of course I did.�
�� She wouldn’t tell him she’d put it away after a year. “It was the best gift I’d ever received. I was so surprised when it arrived.”
“I promised I’d send you something from Jamaica.”
“No. You were supposed to bring me something.”
“I couldn’t,” he said simply. And then, “Alexandra, there’s something I must tell you.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Yes?” she all but croaked.
“I listened to you, and I’ve thought about you, all the time. More often than even I realized,” he added with a fleeting smile. “I wanted you to know that.”
Had he just said those words, the very ones she’d always daydreamed about hearing from his lips? I’ve thought about you all the time. Her heart seemed to swell in her chest. She was so excited, she barely heard what he said next.
“But I also need for you to know—”
“I always noticed you, too,” she burst out.
He winced, as though her admission had hurt him. “I’m almost sorry to hear that, sweetheart. There are circumstances…”
Heavens above, he’d called her sweetheart!
He seemed to be gathering himself. She waited. And waited. She’d never realized she could hold her breath so long.
“We’re not meant to be together,” he said at last. “Your brother would never—”
“This isn’t my brother’s choice.” Now that she knew he had noticed her, she wouldn’t let Griffin or Lord Shelton keep her from Tris. The Prince himself couldn’t stand in her way! “I shall have a talk with him.”
He shook his head mournfully. “Even in the extremely unlikely event that Griffin might agree, I cannot allow—”
“Hush, Tris.” She turned her hand over beneath his and gripped his fingers, hard. “You don’t mean it.” She moved even closer, so close she had to tilt her head back to search his eyes, looking for understanding and failing to find it. Then, without thinking, she reached up and swept that single renegade lock off his forehead.
All at once, something changed in that molten gray gaze, and he stepped closer, his scent overwhelming her—that clean-Tris scent. “Alexandra,” he murmured, his fingertips grazing her cheek.
Love Regency Style Page 27
