“I thought you said she was too young for you.”
“She is.”
“So…?”
“Nothing happened,” Alex muttered, settling back against the chair.
Nicholas cocked an eyebrow. “Nothing?”
Alex scowled. “Well it’s not as if I had my hands up her skirt,” he stated defensively. “It was one kiss. It won’t happen again.”
Nicholas looked skeptical. “Are you sure about that?”
Alex eyed him in irritation. “I’m sure.” He summoned his inner resolve. He couldn’t, no he wouldn’t allow it to happen again, no matter how much he might want it to.
“You do know that Tiffany Marlowe is Ashleigh’s closest friend.”
“I am well-aware of that, thank you.”
“It’s just that…well, I wouldn’t want to see her get hurt.”
“I assure you, neither do I,” he said, the defensiveness evaporating from his tone. Slouching in his chair, Alex ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Look, I made a mistake, one I have no intention of repeating.” His expression was contrite.
Nicholas hesitated a moment before speaking. “Clearly you’re attracted to one another,” he said a few seconds later, tilting his head as he studied Alex’s face.
Alex eyed him curiously before understanding dawned. “Blast it Nick, not you too,” he groaned, shaking his head.
“Well forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but you’re not getting any younger.”
“Regardless, I am not marrying Tiffany Marlowe, or anyone else for that matter.”
“Alex -”
He raised his hand in the air. “No! The time will come. Believe me, I know. But for now can we please change the subject?” Though he’d resigned himself to the inevitability of taking a wife, he wouldn’t be hastened to the altar until he was damn well good and ready.
“Fine,” Nicholas responded, resting his hip against the corner of his desk. “New subject.” Taking a long swallow from his glass, he then set it down beside him atop the smooth wooden surface, his lips curving into a wicked smile. “Did you enjoy your waltz with Olivia?”
“Oh hell,” Alex muttered. “I’m going to need another drink.”
Nicholas laughed aloud, then straightening he pushed himself away from the desk and moved toward Alex. Taking his empty glass, he walked over to the liquor cabinet and refreshed both of their drinks.
“And if you are truly my friend,” he muttered, “you’ll pick another topic. I’m bound to have nightmares as it is.”
Still grinning, Nick handed one of the crystal tumblers back to Alex, and then seated himself in the chair opposite his. “I saw you talking to Melborne earlier. Is that disagreeable old bugger finally ready to finalize the land deal?”
Alex snorted loudly and then pulled his timepiece from his vest pocket. “He indicated as much. I’m supposed to meet him in,” he glanced down at the pearl watch face, “twenty minutes to discuss the terms.”
“I thought you’d already agreed upon the terms.”
“So did I,” Alex replied derisively.
Approximately twenty minutes later, Alex was seated directly across from William Marlowe at one of several tables that had been set up in the card room, a much-appreciated diversion for those guests who’d chosen not to spend the entire evening in the ballroom. With the festivities concluded for the night, it was empty now, except for the two of them. Staring at the marquess from the opposite side of the table, Alex was momentarily at a loss for words. To say that he was stunned by Melborne’s proposal would be putting it mildly. When he finally found his voice, it reflected both anger and disbelief. “Are you out of your dammed mind?”
William’s expression remained coolly impassive. “I assure you that I am in possession of all of my faculties, Chesterfield.”
The two men stared at each other in silence for several seconds, the tension between them palpable. Leaning forward in his chair, Alex splayed his hands upon the tabletop and finally broke the deafening silence. “Let me make sure that I understand you correctly,” he began, his tone scathing. “You wish to wager the land, and your daughter, on the turn of a card?”
William dipped his head in acknowledgement while his expression remained the same.
“If I win, you agree to sell me the land for a fair price.” Alex momentarily clenched his jaw as the marquess continued to regard him unemotionally. “However, if I lose, you will sell me the land for double its worth, the day after my wedding to your daughter.”
“I believe you understand my terms perfectly, Chesterfield.”
Alex resisted the urge to tell Melborne to go to the devil, biting the words back with difficulty. He’d never been one to make rash decisions. “Just what in the hell makes you think that I would agree to something like that,” he asked in a contemptuous tone, astounded by the man’s audacity.
“Because I know how badly you want that land,” William answered, his own tone matter of fact.
Alex struggled to wrap his mind around this unexpected, not to mention completely outrageous, turn of events. What could have brought on this absurdity? Was it Tiffany’s doing? Had she put her father up to this? Was she capable of something so devious and underhanded? It was difficult to imagine. “And your daughter?” Alex queried, eyeing William steadily. “Was this sudden change in terms her idea?”
“Her idea?” William seemed puzzled by the question.
“Does she desire to become the next Countess of Chesterfield?”
William snorted, leaning back in his chair. “What my daughter wants or doesn’t want, has absolutely no bearing on how I choose to conduct my business affairs,” he scoffed, as if such a notion was preposterous.
His business affairs? Was that all his daughter was to him, a business affair? Was William merely using Tiffany as some type of pawn then? And if so, why? It made no sense. “Then why involve her in this?” Clearly he was missing something.
“I have my reasons.”
“And those reasons are?” he prompted.
William didn’t answer, rising from his chair instead. “I don’t need your answer now. Why don’t you sleep on it? You can let me know what you’ve decided tomorrow.”
“And tomorrow, if I choose not to agree to these ridiculous terms?” Alex questioned, rising from his own seat.
“Then we have nothing further to discuss.” With the hint of a smirk, William turned to leave. When he reached the door, he paused, turning to Alex once again. “I look forward to your decision, Chesterfield.” And with that parting comment, he exited the room.
Like a handful of other invited guests, Alex was spending the weekend at Sethe Manor. Now, alone within the guest chamber that he’d been assigned, his thoughts spun in a mad whirl. He’d been pacing for the past several minutes, padding back and forth across the room, his bare feet making no audible sound on the thick carpet while his shirt, pulled from his trousers, hung open, the soft fabric flapping gently at his sides as he moved. Once again he ran the fingers of his left hand through his hair, now rumpled beyond repair, as a half-empty glass of brandy dangled from his right. Unbelievable! Of all the possible terms of sale, he sure as hell hadn’t expected Melborne to come up with anything like that.
“Damn it to hell,” he muttered, shaking his head in frustration. The rotten son of a bitch had been toying with him for years, and now it had finally come to this. A wager of all things! And the terms? The entire situation defied all reasoning. Raising the glass, Alex drained it and then set it on a nearby side table. Moving to the set of doors that led out onto the upper terrace, he pulled them open, and then stood gazing up at the night sky. What was Melborne’s game, he wondered? What was his motivation for attaching such an outrageous stipulation to the land deal? If it wasn’t Tiffany’s doing, and he was fairly certain that it wasn’t, what was the reason?
As he continued to ponder it, there seemed only one logical conclusion. If he didn’t miss his guess, William Marlowe was broke. L
ong-aware of Melborne’s dwindling fortune, information he had obtained from the investigator he’d hired years earlier to look into the marquess’ business dealings, he could only assume that Melborne’s financial state of affairs had reached an even sorrier state. Was this his attempt to rectify the situation? It was plausible, he supposed, for it was commonly known that during the past century, the Chesterfield fortune had grown to one of the largest in the country. And, if he were to marry Tiffany Marlowe, William would secure a permanent attachment to the Warrene family. If Melborne’s creditors were nipping at his heels, a prominent connection to the Warrene’s might be exactly what he needed to stave them off, at least temporarily. It was a despicable tactic, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense.
Chapter 5
When Tiffany awoke the following morning she felt surprisingly refreshed, despite the fact that her slumber had been beset with recurrent dreams of Alexander Warrene. Gazing up at the ceiling, she couldn’t help wondering if he’d dreamt of her as well. Had their kiss affected him as much as it had affected her? Probably not, she acknowledged, for undoubtedly he’d kissed dozens of women before. But nonetheless, he had kissed her, and she was hardly the sort of woman he was rumored to pursue. That had to mean something. Didn’t it? Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she knew that there was only one way to find out.
As she stood and donned her slippers, a soft knock sounded upon her door. “Come in,” she called.
As the door opened, one of the upstairs maids entered the room with several articles of Tiffany’s clothing slung over her arm. “Good morning, my lady,” she greeted with a polite smile. “I’ve just had the wrinkles pressed from your riding clothes.”
“Thank you, Emily.”
“I can assist you, if you’re ready to get dressed,” she offered helpfully.
Tiffany glanced at the clock. It was already half-past nine. “Yes, I’d best not dawdle or I shall be late for the picnic,” she replied. For those who had been invited to stay the weekend, the family had planned numerous activities to keep their guests entertained. This morning there was to be a picnic at the small lake located on the Sethe property, several miles from the main house. Carriages were being provided to transport those guests who wished to partake, to the area, and mounts would be readied for those who preferred to make the journey on horseback.
As Emily helped her into her dark-blue riding habit, the young maid kept up an endless stream of chatter that Tiffany tried her best to follow. With her thoughts focused upon the day ahead and the anticipation of seeing Alex again, she didn’t do a very good job, but fortunately the friendly young maid didn’t seem to notice.
Once she was dressed in her high-necked white shirt, button-front jacket and matching riding skirt, Tiffany moved to the vanity so that Emily could style her hair.
After pinning Tiffany’s blond curls into a simple cascade, the young woman stood back, critically surveying her work from all sides, and then once she was satisfied, placed the jaunty little hat that matched Tiffany’s riding ensemble atop her head and secured it into place. “You’re a vision, my lady,” she stated, eyeing her handiwork proudly.
“Thank you, Emily,” Tiffany replied with genuine appreciation, smiling warmly as she rose from her seat at the vanity.
When Tiffany began her descent down the main staircase a few minutes later, she could see that a large group had already gathered in the front foyer. Scanning the crowd, she quickly noted that Alex wasn’t one of them. Unfortunately though, Baroness Langdon was among those present. And much to her chagrin, the older woman looked just as strikingly beautiful as she had the night before. Noting her attire, it was apparent that she would be riding in one of the carriages, rather than upon horseback, for she was wearing a daringly low-cut emerald green gown, which in Tiffany’s opinion, seemed far more suited to a lavish dinner party than a simple afternoon picnic. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help feeling that her own modestly-cut riding habit made her look rather drab in comparison. Drat, why did the woman have to be so damnably attractive, she silently bemoaned, her earlier good humor rapidly dissipating. If Lucinda Langdon was warming his bed, what interest could Alex possibly have in her? But he had kissed her, she reminded herself once again, stubbornly holding on to her tiny glimmer of hope, foolish as it might be.
Forcing her gaze from the lovely baroness, Tiffany looked for her father amongst the crowd, but fortunately he was nowhere to be seen. She hadn’t thought that he would be joining the picnickers and was relieved to see that her assumption appeared to have been correct.
“Good morning, Lady Tiffany.”
Hearing the deep male voice, Tiffany descended the final step and turned to see the Duke of Ravenfield standing just a few feet to her left.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” she replied, curtseying and smiling warmly at the attractive duke. He looked quite dashing, she noted, dressed in his tailored riding clothes and highly-polished Wellingtons.
Sweeping his gaze from the top of her head to the tips of her boots, the duke eyed her appreciatively. “How is it possible?” he asked in apparent disbelief, shaking his head slightly from side to side.
“How is what possible?” Tiffany asked, confused by both the question and the incredulous look upon the duke’s face.
He grinned. “How is it possible that you look more beautiful each and every time I see you?”
“Funny, but I was just wondering that very same thing,” Brendon Leighton said admiringly, coming to stand beside the duke, a roguish grin upon his handsome face.
Tiffany felt her cheeks grow warm, but they were both so utterly charming that she couldn’t help but smile in return. Having two such good-looking gentlemen pay her a compliment was exactly what she needed to boost her confidence. Perhaps, she didn’t look so drab after all.
“Good morning, everyone.”
Hearing the sound of Ashleigh’s voice, the trio, like everyone else in the foyer, turned toward the stairs.
“We are so sorry to have kept you all waiting,” Ashleigh stated, looking a bit flustered as she and Nicholas descended the stairs.
Tiffany didn’t miss the telltale blush that stained Ashleigh’s cheeks, and catching a glimpse of Brendon’s knowing smile out of the corner of her eye, she guessed that she wasn’t the only one who suspected what it was that had delayed the duke and duchess.
Turning his head, Brendon caught Tiffany’s eye. His grin widening, he nodded and gave her an audacious wink.
Embarrassed, Tiffany felt her cheeks go from warm to hot and feared that her face was even redder than Ashleigh’s. Of course, noting her discomfiture, Brendon promptly burst out laughing. He quickly disguised it as a bout of coughing however, when his brother sent him a quelling glance from his position on the stairs.
“Shall we go?” Ashleigh called in an overly enthusiastic tone as she reached the marble floor. She didn’t wait for a response and was already heading toward the front door a second later. Her husband, seeming perfectly at ease, followed leisurely behind her, a nearly indiscernible smile upon his lips.
Nearly two dozen horses were saddled and waiting on the wide, circular front drive as Tiffany walked from the house, sandwiched between Brendon and the duke. Moving toward the horses, she felt her excitement build. It was a lovely morning and she was looking forward not only to the picnic, but to being in the saddle once again as well. She loved to ride, and was a skilled horsewoman. It was one of the few pleasures her father allowed her and she rode whenever and wherever she could.
With the assistance of several grooms and footmen, the carriages were soon filled and those who had opted to ride were quickly mounted. From atop her horse, Tiffany once again scanned the crowd, looking for Alex. Just when she thought he might not be coming, she spotted him. He’d just emerged from the house and was walking in the direction of a large, gray stallion being led forward by one the grooms. She watched in admiration as he mounted the huge steed with the easy grace of a natural equestri
an. Looking up, he inadvertently caught her gaze. The look he gave her caused her a moment’s pause, however, for it could only be described as speculative and somewhat reserved. She had little time to ponder it though, for soon after the entire group was underway.
Although Tiffany rode between Brendon and the Duke of Ravenfield, she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes from straying in Alex’s direction. He rode near the front of the group next to Nicholas and Ashleigh, looking so handsome in his dark jacket and matching trousers, the sun highlighting the golden streaks in his short brown hair. Evidently she wasn’t the only one who thought so, for as she looked around she noticed several other women eyeing the earl with blatant admiration. Though she certainly had no claim upon him, she felt an annoying spark of jealousy nonetheless.
Fortunately she wasn’t allowed to dwell upon the matter overlong, for with Brendon and the duke continuously vying for her attention, she was forced to keep her mind on the conversation at hand. Surprisingly, responding to their flirtatious banter was easier than she’d thought it would be, and Tiffany found that she was truly enjoying herself as they made their way through the lush English countryside. Both men were natural born charmers and clearly knew how to put a lady at ease.
Up ahead, Alex was focused upon his own thoughts.
“You’re unusually quiet this morning, Alex,” Ashleigh said, eyeing him inquiringly. “Is something troubling you?”
“Didn’t sleep well?” Nick queried with an amused smirk.
“No, nothing is troubling me,” Alex lied. “And I slept just fine, thank you,” he continued, rolling his eyes. He had no doubt as to what they were both thinking, but he wasn’t in the mood to discuss Tiffany Marlowe. Damn it all anyhow, he cursed silently. Why the devil had he been so reckless? Kissing Tiffany had been a monumental lapse of good sense. Thankfully though, aside from a few needling remarks, he was confident that Nicholas and Ashleigh would keep quiet about the matter. Unfortunately however, what they didn’t know was that his previous evening’s indiscretion was the least of his worries at the moment; Melborne’s ridiculous proposition being his primary source of angst. Nonetheless, to keep Nick and Ashleigh from further bedeviling him, he decided to turn the tables on them. “Perhaps I should ask whether the two of you slept well,” he remarked, quirking his brow knowingly. “You were rather late to join the party this morning?”
You, and Only You Page 6
