by Candace Camp
Alexandra shook her head, but she could not keep her gaze from returning to Sebastian, who had almost reached them. The Countess came up beside Nicola, and Sebastian politely bowed and spoke to her first. He turned to Alexandra and Nicola, greeting Nicola almost perfunctorily.
“Miss Ward.” His gray eyes looked questioningly into Alexandra’s. “I trust you are well.”
“I am fine, thank you, my lord.” Alexandra hoped he did not see that her color was overly high or that her breathing came too quickly. Just the intent searching of his eyes was enough to turn her loins into hot wax.
“Come join us,” the Countess said to Sebastian, her eyes twinkling. “If you are not otherwise engaged, that is.”
“No.” He glanced at her and allowed a rueful smile. “I am quite free.”
“Excellent.” The Countess smiled beatifically, and Thorpe walked with them to the Countess’s box. It was, Alexandra saw, the door beside which Thorpe had been leaning when she saw him. Had he been waiting for them?
She told herself to stop thinking this way. Thorpe had made it abundantly clear that he was not interested in her—and now that he knew the truth about her mother, she had no doubt that he would shun her even more.
The Countess’s box was luxuriously done in red velvet, with dainty cushioned chairs and red velvet curtains tied back to reveal the stage and the rest of the opera house. It was readily apparent to Alexandra that the majority of the people attending had come not to view the opera, but to see and be seen. Most of the occupants of the boxes were engaged in looking about the theater, lorgnettes raised to their eyes.
Nicola, on one side of her, busied herself pointing out people to Alexandra and supplying her with brief, often pungently funny, stories about each one. Alexandra listened with only partial attention. Most of her awareness was focused on Sebastian, who sat on the other side of her. He was dressed impeccably in black evening clothes, a snow-white fall of white at his throat. A single discreet ruby winked in the cuff of each sleeve. Alexandra stole a sideways glance at him. They had barely spoken to each other, yet it was he who occupied her thoughts—although she could scarcely call them thoughts, Alexandra told herself. What Thorpe seemed to occupy, quite successfully, was every nerve ending in her body. She was intensely aware of his bulk beside her, of his long fingers brushed with black hairs that rested casually on his legs. She could not keep from remembering the touch of those fingers on her skin, the pressure of his warm body against hers. Her brain might tell her to forget about him, but her senses refused to listen.
“You see now, Sebastian, that I was right,” the Countess said, interrupting Alexandra’s thoughts. “Alexandra must be my granddaughter. It is clear to me that Mrs. Ward knows the truth about her birth, and that is the reason someone tried to harm her.”
“We don’t know that, my lady,” Alexandra reminded her softly. “It could have been a fluke, a coincidence.”
“I don’t believe in coincidence,” the Countess stated flatly. “There is always a reason for what happens. The world moves according to a purpose, even though we may not always know what it is.” She smiled at Alexandra. “Thank heaven you were not harmed. I was very frightened when Ursula told me that she had heard you had vanished. It was such a relief when Thorpe let me know that you were safe and sound at home.”
“Thank you.”
“I have been thinking,” the Countess went on. “You are not out of danger; nor is Mrs. Ward. This person could come back to finish the job. I am afraid that Mrs. Ward is not safe until she awakens and tells us what happened in Paris twenty-two years ago. So I have come up with a plan. We shall all go to the Dower House—my home on the Exmoor estate. Your aunt, Mrs. Ward, all of us. We shall be perfectly safe there. Everyone knows us, and any stranger who came to harm you would stand out. All the villagers and tenants would help look out for us. We shall take several of my strongest footmen, and I shall make you, Sebastian, come with us, too, for protection.”
Sebastian sketched her a bow. “At your service, my lady.”
The Countess smiled. “There. It will be ever so much safer.”
“Thank you,” Alexandra told her, “but that really is quite unnecessary. We will be all right. I don’t think it would be good for Mother to be moved, the condition she is in. Besides, I don’t believe in running. I prefer to stand and fight.”
The Countess frowned worriedly. “But, my dear…the danger! It’s all very well to be brave, but three women alone…”
Alexandra grinned. “I think you will find that my aunt and I are well able to take care of ourselves. We were not prepared before—we weren’t expecting attack. But now that we know, we shall be on guard. We have armed ourselves.”
“Armed yourselves!” Penelope exclaimed in astonishment.
“Why, yes. We have guns and know how to use them. I don’t think anyone will get past us now.”
“You’re not serious!” This was from the Countess, her blue eyes rounded. “You and your aunt have guns?”
Alexandra nodded. “I have one with me right now.” She reached into her reticule and pulled out a small pistol. “I have a large pistol at home on the table beside my bed. Unfortunately, I didn’t bring the rifle from America. I never thought that I might need it.”
Nicola smothered a giggle, and the Countess stared at Alexandra’s gun in horror. “My dear! I had no idea. I thought you lived where it was civilized!”
Alexandra chuckled. “We do. But you must remember that my aunt lived through a war, the only one there to guard the house while her father and brother went off to fight. She taught me how to load a gun and shoot. My mother had been terrified by the rioting she lived through in France, and she encouraged me to learn.”
The Countess turned toward Sebastian in amazement. He shrugged, his eyes dancing, and said, “I have found Miss Ward to be a most unusual woman, my lady.” He turned to Alexandra. “However, I do think, Miss Ward, that you don’t need the pistol here at the opera.”
“Oh.” Alexandra looked at the gun in her hand and stuck it into her reticule. “Sorry.” She turned toward the Countess. “I don’t mean to displease you. But we really are capable of protecting ourselves. And if need be, I shall hire extra men for protection.”
“I have a better idea,” Thorpe suggested. “I shall lend you my valet, Murdock. He’s worth five ordinary servants in a fight. He can stand guard outside your rooms.”
Alexandra looked at him coolly. “It is quite unnecessary, my lord.”
“But it will offer me peace of mind—as well as the Countess. Surely you cannot deny us that.”
Alexandra would have liked to argue. She did not want any help of any kind from Lord Thorpe. If nothing else, it would probably mean that she would have to see him again, and that was much too unsettling for her peace of mind. However, she could not think of any way that she could refuse without sounding churlish, especially since he had come to her rescue when she so desperately needed it.
“All right.” She gave in rather ungraciously.
Sebastian gave her an ironic little smile. “Thank you, Miss Ward.”
Alexandra turned to look at the stage, grateful that the opera was finally about to begin, so that she would have something to divert her attention from Sebastian. However, she found that no matter how much she might concentrate on the spectacle onstage, she could not help but be aware of Sebastian’s constant presence.
She thought about the Countess’s suggestion. The idea of spending the next few days or weeks with Sebastian in the Countess’s country home was dangerously appealing. It would be pure folly, of course, she reminded herself; the only good course was to turn it down, as she had done. And yet…She could not keep herself from indulging in a daydream about stolen kisses in the moonlight.
“Miss Ward?”
Alexandra started and turned, realizing that the intermission had arrived and the lights had come up. Lost in her daydream, she hadn’t even noticed. It was obvious from his quizzical expressio
n that this was not the first time Sebastian had said her name.
“What? Forgive me. I was…so lost in the story. What did you say?”
“I suggested that we take a stroll during the intermission, perhaps get some refreshment.”
“Oh. Yes, thank you.” She rose, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, telling herself that in all politeness she could scarcely refuse to walk about the opera house with him. She could feel Nicola’s speculative eye upon her, but she steadfastly refused to look at her, certain that she would blush if she met Nicola’s knowing gaze.
They walked along the wide hallway for a moment without speaking, Thorpe nodding toward acquaintances, but not pausing to speak to anyone.
Finally he said, “I spoke with Bertie Chesterfield today. He said that he would be happy to talk with us about Lord Chilton and his family and what happened in Paris. I suggested tomorrow afternoon, if that’s amenable to you.”
So he had gotten her alone only because he wanted to make practical arrangements about talking to Chesterfield! Alexandra tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest.
“Yes, of course, whenever you wish,” she returned politely.
They lapsed into silence. Sebastian guided her into a somewhat secluded space beside a large potted palm and stopped. “Alexandra…about what you told me about Mrs. Ward…”
Alexandra straightened, her cheeks suddenly flaming with color. “About her madness? Really, I don’t think there is anything to discuss.”
He looked at her, his eyes dark with frustration. “I did not know—”
“Of course not. How could you? Please, I’d rather not—”
“Ah, Thorpe, there you are.” A cultured male voice interrupted them, and Alexandra looked up to see the Earl of Exmoor standing only a few feet from them. “And Miss…Ward, is it not?”
Alexandra nodded, glad for any interruption to this talk. “Yes, that’s right. Good evening, my lord.”
“Exmoor.” Sebastian made no effort to conceal his irritation. “What do you want?”
“Thorpe, dear fellow, even you are usually not so crude in your manners. Can’t one stop to greet a…well, I guess one could not say friend…an acquaintance, then?”
“I’ve rarely seen you go out of your way to be friendly—unless you have some reason.”
The other man smiled faintly. Alexandra, watching him, wondered what it was about him that made her instinctively dislike him. He was an attractive man—tall, with well-molded features and a slash of silver at each temple that gave him a rather dashing look. Perhaps it was the thinness of his mouth or the way his smile never reached his eyes. Whatever it was, he reminded her of a predatory animal, the sort that she would never do business with, no matter how attractive the offer might seem.
“You wound me,” Exmoor said lightly. “But you are correct, of course. There was a matter I wished to broach with you. I have heard some rather, ah, alarming rumors about our mutual friend, the Countess.”
Sebastian said nothing, merely raised his brows.
“I have heard—well, there is no other way to say it, I suppose, except baldly—I have heard that the Countess believes Miss Ward is her long-lost granddaughter, returned from the dead.”
“I scarcely see how that is any of your business,” Sebastian retorted tightly.
“Not my business that my cousin’s child is said to have miraculously returned from the grave?” Exmoor asked in an amused tone.
“What the Countess thinks or does is not your concern.”
“I am the head of the family. I think it concerns me deeply if the Countess is suffering from senile delusions. She is a lovely old woman, of course, but if she is no longer right in the head, I should—”
“There is nothing wrong with the Countess’s mind,” Thorpe retorted coldly, his eyes level on the other man’s. “I would take it as a grievous insult if anyone were to suggest otherwise.”
“My dear Thorpe, don’t tell me you are hinting at calling me out?”
“I am hinting at nothing. I am telling you that no one says anything against the Countess in my presence. She has ample reason for suspecting that Miss Ward is Lord Chilton’s daughter. I can assure you that the Countess has a great deal more wit than many who are younger than she.”
Exmoor looked at him shrewdly. “Don’t tell me that you believe this fairy tale, as well.”
“I believe that the Countess is of perfectly sound mind,” Thorpe replied. “And I would dispute anyone who tried to claim otherwise.”
“I would never dream of it,” Exmoor said smoothly. He glanced from Sebastian to Alexandra, and Alexandra felt a little shiver run through her, as if a snake had slithered across her path. “However, as the head of the Montford family, I do have an interest in anything that touches on it, however true…or false. I will do whatever it takes to keep the family name from being tainted.”
“I am sure the Countess will be pleased that you are such a watchdog of the family honor,” Thorpe said dryly. “Now, if you will excuse us, I believe the opera is about to begin again.”
He whisked Alexandra away from Exmoor and strode down the hall toward the Countess’s box. Alexandra cast a glance at him. His face was taut and furious.
“The head of the Montford family!” he spluttered. “It’s a blow to the Countess every time she looks at him and knows that he occupies the place where her son should be.”
“I hope you don’t expect me to believe that there is no bad blood between the two of you,” Alexandra said.
“Nicola despises him,” he said obliquely. “Bucky doesn’t know the full story, only that Richard was responsible for breaking Nicola’s heart.”
“What?” Alexandra looked at him, astonished. “Nicola was in love with him?”
Sebastian shook his head. “No. Nicola and her mother were staying at the Buckminster estate in the country after her father’s death. They are cousins, you know. Buckminster is not far from Tidings, the Exmoor estate where Richard lived. Richard, apparently, was quite enamored of Nicola. He is older than she, but still, it would have been considered a good match. But Nicola did not love him. The rumor is that she loved another.”
“Who?”
Sebastian shrugged. “Bucky doesn’t know, and Nicola won’t talk about it. Apparently she didn’t tell even her sister. I assume it must have been someone unsuitable, for her to have kept it secret. Most of what Bucky knows is surmise on his mother’s part. Nicola seemed suspiciously happy, then, suddenly, she was grief-stricken. She wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t talk to anyone, went around looking like a wraith. And she refused to be around the Earl. If he came to call, she left. She would not accompany the family if they went to his house. After a week or two, she left to stay with her grandmother in London. Her mother and sister remained, and about a year later, Exmoor married her sister, Deborah. Nicola rarely sees her. She won’t step foot inside Tidings, Bucky says.”
“Poor Nicola.” She paused and looked at Sebastian. “Is it because of her that there is ill will between you and the Earl?”
Sebastian looked at her, and a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Persistent, aren’t you? No, that is not the reason for it, though it certainly does not endear him to me. However, my dislike for the Earl goes back farther. He was—let us say that he was part of an episode that destroyed my naïve illusions in a particularly painful way.” He grimaced. “Part of a past that I would as soon forget.”
“I see.” Alexandra thought she did. Somehow the Earl must have been tangled up in the scandal Nicola and Penelope had told her about, the affair that had driven Sebastian to leave the country when he was young. Impulsively she laid her other hand on Sebastian’s arm. “I’m sorry.”
He looked into her eyes, surprised, and smiled. “Don’t be. It was long ago and is no longer painful.”
“It’s not?”
He chuckled. “No. Looking back on it now, it seems merely the indiscretions of a callow youth. Hardly the tragedy it ap
peared to me at the time.”
Alexandra smiled, finding herself curiously pleased by his words.
SEBASTIAN CAME TO ALEXANDRA’S house the following afternoon to take her to call on the Honorable Bertram Chesterfield. Alexandra could not help but be a little on edge. She had not been alone with Sebastian since the morning he had brought her home. Of course, seeing him the night before at the opera had lessened some of the awkwardness inherent in the situation, but they had been surrounded by people there, even when they were walking together along the hall. Here she was enclosed in the small space of the carriage with him, an enforced intimacy. She could not help but think of the way she had acted the other night in this carriage, the passion she had felt and Sebastian’s rebuffing of her. She supposed that his actions had been those of a gentleman, but, frankly, she would rather that they had been those of a man in the throes of desire.
She could not meet his eyes.
“Miss Ward…Alexandra…”
“Do you think that we will discover anything useful today?” she asked brightly to forestall whatever he was going to say. His voice had a deadly serious tone that she sensed boded ill. She did not want to hear any sympathy from Sebastian about her mother’s mental state, nor any further rehashing of his reasons for rejecting her.
He paused, then sighed and followed her lead, “I dare say not. I have never known Bertie Chesterfield to say anything useful before.”
They continued to talk of trivial commonplaces until the carriage pulled up in front of Mr. Chesterfield’s narrow town house.
It was something of a shock to Alexandra to walk into Chesterfield’s drawing room. Because he was a contemporary of her parents, she had expected a man who dressed and looked like most men his age—sober, perhaps a little old-fashioned, maybe even sporting a wig or formal knee britches. Instead, the ginger-haired man who rose and came toward them was on the cutting edge of fashion—beyond it, one might even say.
His waistcoat was puce, his collar points so high and starched that he could barely turn his head, and his snowy cravat was an intricate tangle of cloth that must have taken his valet half an hour to achieve. Though his form was rather short and squat, he wore skintight breeches designed to show the muscular leg of a man like Sebastian. Unfortunately, what they showed of Chesterfield was every bulge and roll of fat. A large flower decorated the buttonhole of his lapel. His hair, an improbable shade of orange, was combed carefully over the balding front of his head.
