“Such news is certain to break my heart,” a masculine voice interjected; Aleck looked up to see the newcomer seat himself at Chandra’s left. “I had hoped that milady would stay for a while—until we all flee London, that is. Along with summer comes the plague,” he said, his dark head leaning toward her, a smile on his lips. “Or at least the fear of it.”
Aleck’s gaze narrowed on the man. “Lord Whitfield,” he said coolly. “I thought you’d taken a tumble from your horse and broken your neck.”
Leaning back in his chair, Viscount Whitfield inspected Alexander Hawke closely. Having gauged the man and the situation correctly, he broke into a wide smile; suppressed merriment danced in his green eyes. The two men were possibly the most sought after bachelors at court, but the viscount wanted to claim that distinction solely as his own. To his delight, it looked as though the competition was about to be felled. A small nudge might expedite the matter. It was worth a try.
“Thought, Montbourne? Or hoped?” the viscount asked, intent on raising the earl’s hackles. “Twas only a minor spill. A bruise or two, that’s all. You’ll just have to keep hoping.” He gave Chandra a conspiratorial wink. “The man is forever trying to chase me away from the young beauties who have gained his interest, but, alas, without much success. I suppose that is why he has yet to remarry.” Boldly he regarded her face, the curve of her graceful neck, then Chandra’s bosom. “I doubt he lets me win you over as easily as he did the others, though. You truly are a beauty. One of the rarest I’ve seen. And innocent, too, I’ll wager.”
His jaw clamped, Aleck eyed the viscount as though he’d just spotted vermin. Were he able to do so, he’d squash the pest between his thumb and forefinger, flick him away into the rushes, then grind his heel into him, making certain the little nuisance bothered no one again. “And as her guardian, I tell you: So she shall remain,” Aleck warned on what could only be termed a growl. “Haven’t you another place to sit, Whitfield?”
“The chair was vacant,” he said with a shrug. “Now it’s not.”
“I suppose it was the Lady Emory who pointed you in this direction?”
“I haven’t laid eyes on her today, so it would have been impossible for her to do so.”
Aleck backed toward his own chair, situated to his ward’s right, his cold stare remaining on the man. Whitfield was Aleck’s junior by two years, but by experience they were equally met. Aleck didn’t trust him in the least. He knew him too well. Vowing to keep an eye on the viscount for as long as he and Chandra were at court, he swung his sword outward and made ready to seat himself.
“Here! Watch what you’re doing,” a man’s voice objected strenuously.
Aleck bounded from the man’s lap back onto his feet. “My pardon,” he said, spinning around. “My pardon again, but you’re sitting in my chair.”
The fellow harrumphed. “There are other seats available, sir. This one is taken.”
Aleck’s hand tightened around his sword’s hilt. “Agreed, sir. And if you refuse to vacate it so that its rightful occupant may reclaim it,” he said, leaning close to the man’s ear, “you’ll find that you shall have no reason to sit ever again. Unless, of course, you are buried ensconced in a chair. Now, away with you.”
The man quickly came to his feet. With several hasty apologies, he sped off toward another chair.
His mood fast deteriorating, Aleck claimed the seat before someone else could attach himself to it. Glimpsing Chandra, he saw she was engaged in light conversation with Whitfield. As her laughter readily bubbled forth, its usually musical sound began to grate on Aleck’s nerves, especially when it was followed by Whitfield’s deep chuckle. So the meal continued, her attention on the man at her left.
From the corner of her eye, Chandra saw a capon fall upon Aleck’s plate. Using his knife, he attacked the thing with a vengeance. How delightful, she thought; he was clearly perturbed. Witnessing the exchange between the two men, she’d quickly comprehended that they were not exactly on the best of terms. She’d taken the viscount’s lead, needling Aleck however and whenever she could. By the end of their meal, he’d grown most surly. Had Chandra been wiser, she’d have known her capricious behavior would not go unpunished.
The trumpet sounded again. “Come,” Aleck said, rising from his chair. “Let’s find a place in the gallery so we might watch the masque from above.”
Chandra rose to her feet, then looked at the viscount. “Lord Whitfield, would you care to join us?”
“I believe he has other plans,” Aleck said, before the viscount could respond.
Above Chandra’s head, the men’s gazes clashed. “Actually,” the viscount said finally, “I had planned to view the masque with some old acquaintances of mine. However, I don’t see why we cannot all group together in the gallery.”
“Wonderful,” Chandra chimed in, a smile lighting her face. “We shall meet you above.”
Lord Whitfield was not in the least deterred by the forbidding look Aleck Hawke cast his way. “Keep eight places for us. We shall see you soon.” With a slight bow, he disappeared into the crowd.
Immediately, Chandra felt herself being pulled along. She saw they were headed toward the outer doors. “Where are we going?”
“To your apartment.”
“Why?”
“It is time for you to retire for the evening.”
“But we have not seen the masque.”
“Nor will we,” he said, his determined strides carrying them closer to the exit.
Chandra twisted free of his hold. “Why are you behaving in such a callous manner? I’ve never seen a masque, and I’d very much like to. It is not late, so tell me what is wrong with doing so?”
“I do not like the company that you keep,” he said, reaching for her arm again; she managed to evade his hand. “If need be, Chandra, I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you from here. Do you withdraw as would a lady, or do you go like a sack of flour?”
“Why don’t you approve of Lord Whitfield?” she asked, backing away from Aleck; slowly he stalked her. “He seems friendly enough and most kind.”
“That is the problem, little one. He is known to be too friendly at times, especially with innocent young ladies. You have no idea what he is capable of. Nor will you discover such—not as long as I’m your protector.”
“You attack the man’s character, but I’m certain he is no more of a rogue than you are. How do I know I’m safe with you?”
“You don’t.” Seeing her surprised stare, Aleck chuckled. “Come. I shall hand you over to Winnie’s care. There you will be quite safe.” As he reached for her again, his name was called from behind him. Turning, he spied Sir John heading toward him. When Aleck looked back, he saw his ward making her way toward the stairs leading up to the gallery; Whitfield loped toward her. “Damnation!” He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, then took off after her.
“Trouble?” Sir John asked, having caught up to the earl.
“Where she’s concerned, when is there not?”
“Unfortunately, there promises to be more.”
Aleck glanced at the knight. “James?”
“Aye,” Sir John responded as the two reached the stairs. In the crush, their progress slowed. “He was not too pleased when told what had transpired. Though I have no idea what he intends, it does not look good for you, Montbourne. I thought you should know.”
The two men climbed the stairs. “By the way I was summoned here in such haste, I had expected as much, Sir John,” Aleck said, his gaze tracking Chandra and Whitfield as they made their way across the gallery. “I appreciate your warning.”
“I’ve heard talk that he intends to speak with you tonight after the masque.”
“As always, I’ll be at his disposal.”
Reaching the gallery, the two men parted, Sir John wishing Aleck well. Having lost sight of his ward as the crowd flowed toward the seats, he quickly made his way to the area where he’d last seen her. He scanned the group, looking
for the flame-red hair that was exclusively Chandra’s, and caught sight of her at the fore of the gallery. Centered among at least a half dozen young swains, Whitfield beside her, she sat close to the rail. Excitement painted her cheeks and laughter danced in her eyes. With a muttered oath, Aleck elbowed his way toward his errant ward. There was no way to extract her from the group without making a scene, so he intended to keep watch over her—closely.
“Excuse me,” he grumbled, brushing past an elderly duchess. Unknown to Aleck, she teetered on the stairs, promising to tumble down them, until the hapless woman’s husband caught hold of her arm. No actual damage was done, but a discordant rumble went through the crowd nearby; all eyes turned to Aleck. Unaware of the censuring looks cast his way, the Earl of Montbourne fell into his seat, three rows back from his ward. From there he eyed her and her hopeful suitors, Whitfield in particular.
“Don’t look,” the viscount said, leaning close to Chandra’s ear, “but your guardian sits just above us. He seems most attentive to all that is happening around you. Dare we expect trouble?”
“I cannot say for certain,” she responded, turning her face fully toward the viscount, whereupon she spied Aleck from the corner of her eye. “However, Lord Whitfield—”
“Jason,” the viscount corrected with a smile.
“Jason,” she repeated, smiling also. “His mood is quite glum. Since he takes his position most seriously, perhaps we should remain on our best behavior and forego any controversy. I don’t wish to raise the ire of our king.”
“Surely you are jesting, aren’t you?” Jason asked, a wicked gleam in his eye.
Chandra studied him. “Why is it that I feel you’d rather enjoy seeing Montbourne make a complete fool of himself?”
“Because I would,” he responded. “He deserves no less.”
“I cannot agree.”
“Then you hold some feeling for him, correct?”
“Other than contempt, no,” she said with certainty.
“Then, sweet Chandra, you are lying to yourself.” Noting her frown, followed by her look of protest, Jason chuckled. “I believe the masque is about to begin,” he said, pointing to the floor below. “You’ll enjoy it, I’m certain.”
Above the couple, Aleck viewed them at length. Their heads together, they conversed with ease, gazes and smiles meant solely for each other. How cozy, he thought invidiously. He refused to acknowledge the emotion that ripped through his body; jealousy was foreign to Aleck Hawke. Yet his jaw clenched tighter as the two remained under his cold glare.
“They are quite a striking pair,” Felicia said from behind him. “Don’t you agree, darling? I had hoped to introduce them, but it appears Lord Whitfield found her on his own.”
“You are lucky he did, Felicia,” Aleck said over his shoulder, his eyes still on his ward. “For had you been the one to intervene, you would have regretted it. As it is, should anything happen, only Whitfield will feel the force of my anger. Leave it at such.”
Shocked by the force of his statement, Felicia settled back in her chair. Finally it dawned on her: Aleck was actually in love with the girl! Could it be? she wondered, hoping somehow it wasn’t. Unable to disallow what she knew to be true, Felicia stared at the back of Aleck’s head. His lustrous black hair shone under the torchlight. Her fingers tingled, wanting to thread through the familiar locks, and Felicia lamented over what might have been had Aleck not ventured to Scotland.
Just as the masque started, a rather plump young woman positioned herself next to Aleck, leaned toward him, and tapped his arm with her fan. “It is good to see you again, Lord Montbourne,” she said with a giggle. “I thought you had escaped to the countryside for the summer.”
Aleck recognized the girl as Lady Alison Fick; her father and mother, the Earl and the Countess of Radferd, sat directly behind her. Engrossed in his ward, he’d not seen the three converge on him. What else? he wondered, a curse rebounding through his mind several times over. Behind him sat his former mistress; before him, his aberrant ward. Now, beside him was the chit who constantly chased after him, hoping someday to make a match. It would not have annoyed him so, but her parents were as eager as she. Women! At the moment, he readily condemned them all.
Certain that things could get no worse, Aleck fast discovered he was mistaken. The masque progressed, and Chandra’s light laughter floated up to his ears, followed by Whitfield’s deep, seductive chuckles. The pair’s merriment was soon drowned out by the Lady Alison’s snorting guffaws as she rolled against him. Would this night ever end? he wondered, groaning in silence.
Finally, to Aleck’s great relief, the entertainment came to a close. He rose, intending to intercept Chandra before she escaped him again, but found his way blocked by the nubile Lady Alison, nuisance that she was. “Excuse me,” he said, trying to make his way around her, but to no avail.
“Why, Lord Montbourne,” she said, giggling, for he’d inadvertently clasped the thickness of her waist trying to maneuver around her, “I hadn’t realized I appealed to you.”
Aleck stared at her, confused. “What?”
“Your caress.” Flirtatiously she tickled his hand with her feather fan, “I had no idea you cared.”
“God’s wounds, woman,” he growled, shoving her back into her chair, “stay forever out of my way.”
Blinking furiously to control her tears, Alison watched forlornly as he loped up the stairs and out of sight. “Do not fret, Lady Alison,” Felicia said from behind her, bending close to the younger woman’s ear. “He rejected me also.” She sighed dramatically. “But I do at least have the memory of sharing his bed. Something you do not.” Her fan tapped the girl’s shoulder, and with a nod at Alison’s startled parents, Felicia strolled toward the stairs.
Gaining the landing above the gallery, Aleck searched in all directions, then cursed openly. The profanity drew several stares, but Aleck cared not. While he and the Lady Alison had grappled near their seats, Chandra had made her way up the steps and again disappeared. Certain she was still with Whitfield, he pushed his way through the throng toward the steps. Halfway down, Aleck spied his ward and Whitfield at the doors leading from the Presence Room. Caught in the press, he could do naught but wait until his feet hit the level flooring. When they did, he was after the couple.
Under a darkening June sky, Chandra and Lord Whitfield strolled the palace gardens alongside at least two dozen other couples, conversing about nothing in particular. Then they came to a large oak. “Probably planted by some Norman prince,” Jason commented as he and Chandra left the path to walk under the huge sweeping branches.
“Do you think so?” she asked, knowing the tree was ancient. “Five hundred years is a very long time. I doubt it was planted by a Norman.”
“Well, perhaps by a descendant, several hundred years later.” He rested his hands at his waist and, with legs spread, gazed up at the tree. “’Tis three hundred if it’s a day.”
“Possibly.”
“Possibly? Look at its trunk. Its width would make a half dozen or more of you.”
Chandra walked to its base. Turning, she attempted to press her back against the rough bark, but found she couldn’t. “’Tis hard to tell by this silly-looking gown I wear, but I think it’s more like eight.”
By the time Chandra looked away from the tree, Jason was directly in front of her. His hand captured her chin and he looked into her eyes. “He’s a fool if he lets you escape.”
“Who?”
“Montbourne.”
Chandra’s gaze fell away from the viscount’s. “There is too much that stands between us, and all because of our king.”
“Would you care to tell me?”
“No. ’Tis best left unsaid.” She looked up again. “Besides, I’ll soon be returning to Scotland and to my home. Montbourne does not like the Highlands. He is an Englishman to the end.”
“A pity,” Jason whispered, a tender smile claiming his lips. “You would have been good for him. Still, if it is no
t to be, I wish you well and Godspeed, wherever your journey may take you.”
Chandra’s lashes fluttered closed as Jason leaned toward her. Just as his lips touched her cheek, she felt them being jerked away. Her eyes flew open to see her guardian standing over the viscount, who now sat in the grass.
“Damnation, cousin,” Jason said, pulling himself to his feet and brushing off his backside. “You don’t have to be so testy about it all.”
“Cousin?” Chandra questioned, moving forward.
“Aye,” Jason said, “though he doesn’t like to admit it. His father and mine were brothers. We share the same surname. That is about all.”
“Would you care to tell me?” she asked.
“By your own words: ’Tis best left unsaid.” Jason Hawke looked to Aleck. “For now, at least. Since I’m no longer welcome, I shall take my leave. Lady Lochlaigh.” He sketched a bow.
“Aleck,” he said with a nod. “Good night to you both.”
As Chandra watched the viscount saunter up the path, a hand caught hold of her arm, and she was thrust up the lane behind him. Looking up at her guardian, she noted a small tic jumped along his jaw. His attention straight ahead, he remained reticent, forbidding. Like a hunter in the sky, circling in silence, ready to attack. She wished he’d speak.
Not until they reached the upper levels of the wing where their apartments were situated did Chandra find the courage to utter a word herself. “Naught happened in the gardens. I don’t see why you’re so upset.” He didn’t answer. Spying the door to her room just ahead, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Where are you taking me?” she demanded as they traveled past it. Her heels dug into the floor. “Let loose of me.”
Aleck ignored her. In a dozen more strides, they stood outside his room. Opening the door, he shoved his ward inside, then slammed the panel shut. A lone candle burned in its holder on a table beside the bed. His gaze trained on her, he watched as Chandra backed away from him. “I told you I play a man’s game, and it is done by my rules. You disregarded those rules, Chandra, so it’s time to discover what the contest is all about.”
Lord of Legend Page 18
