“What kind of expression?”
“Possessive,” Caroline said.
Alex laughed. “No one is going to possess me. Least of all Miranda Locke. I almost told her as much at Lady Caldwell’s soiree.”
“I doubt she got the message,” Caroline said.
“If not, then I will have to be more blunt,” Alex replied, “but I did not ask you to meet me to discuss the ton.”
“I did not think you had.” Caroline looked over at him. “Are you having doubts about going through with your plan?”
“No. After watching Inis handle that group, I am convinced she will do just fine at the ball.”
“What is it then?” Caroline asked.
“Puck.”
She furrowed her brows. “Puck?”
“Well, faeries in general.”
“Alexander. You are not making sense. Did you fall off that stallion earlier and bump your head?”
“It is not my head I am worried about,” Alex said and proceeded to tell Caroline how Inis had talked of the Fae last night. “It is almost as though she thinks they’re real,” he concluded.
Caroline smiled when he finished. “At least she did not speak of leprechauns and pots of gold at the end of rainbows.”
“What are you saying? That Inis did not suffer a head injury when she fell down the stairs?”
“I do not know about that,” Caroline said, “but one of my nannies was Irish. She loved telling stories about the ‘wee people.’ Irish folklore is full of such tales. I would not worry about it.” She looked over as a trio of riders approached the Ladies’ Mile from Grosvenor Gate. “But you might be wishing for a bit of faerie dust right now.”
Alex followed her gaze and groaned. Amelia rode toward them, accompanied by Miranda and Vanessa. There was no way he could avoid meeting them, but he didn’t want to field questions about Inis, especially not in front of Amelia. The less his damn brother found out about Inis before the ball the better. Alex had deliberately chosen the theatre last night because he knew Amelia and George had been invited to Brighton earlier in the week. Obviously, they’d returned earlier than he thought. And from the interested look on Amelia’s face, the other two women had obviously already filled her in on what had transpired last night.
The trio reined in their horses as Caroline and Alex approached.
Miranda cast a slanted look at Caroline and gave Alex a brittle smile. “I am surprised your guest is not accompanying you this morning.”
Caroline returned the fake smile. “Why should you be surprised? I am sure Vanessa has filled you in that Miss O’Brien is still feeling the after-effects of ague.”
“She looked quite healthy last night,” Miranda answered.
“Looks can be deceiving.” Caroline’s smile looked more genuine. “For example, Lord Ashley and I are good friends, but who knows what someone might interpret seeing us riding together?”
Vanessa frowned. “Have you gotten a…gift?”
Amelia gave her a curious look and then turned her attention to Alex. “From what I have been told, you seemed to have developed a tendency to distribute a rather unusual…gift.”
Alex felt a muscle twitch in his jaw at Amelia’s condescending tone. Not only was she using the haughty voice of a “duchess,” she was also passing judgment on him. Again. Something inside his head snapped.
“Perhaps you would like one, Your Grace?” he asked.
She blinked at him, deep pink flushing her cheeks as Vanessa gasped and Miranda narrowed her eyes. Alex regretted the words as soon as they’d come out, but he couldn’t take them back now. Better to act the rake they all thought he was. He tipped his hat. “Do let me know,” he said and tapped the stallion’s flanks to move past the three.
Caroline followed him, holding her laughter in until they were far enough away not to be heard. “I think you finally accomplished the impossible,” she said. “You have left the ton speechless.”
Alex glanced over. “What is making you look like the Cheshire cat?”
She didn’t try to hide her grin. “Amelia got exactly what she deserved. I do not think I have ever seen her face turn red before.”
“I should not have said it.”
“Why not? Oh, I know it is considered quite rude, but considering how uppity Amelia always acts, it was refreshing to see her on-the-spot. It is just too bad Jeannette was not along to witness it.”
“Vanessa and Miranda were enough.” Alex grimaced. “I am sure the gossip will be flying.”
“I am sure it already is,” Caroline answered. “Your R Club will be salivating.”
Alex groaned. “I hate that name.”
Caroline grinned again. “You have only yourself to blame for those women all being enamored of you.”
“Can we talk about something else?”
“Certainly. We were discussing Amelia anyway,” Caroline answered. “I want to relive and enjoy the moment that you put her in her place. Finally. Her Grace was completely flummoxed.”
“Can we drop that subject?”
“You should bask in the glory of what you just did.” Caroline tilted her head and studied Alex. “You know as well as I do—probably better than me—what a snob she can be. And how self serving.”
“Hmph,” Alex muttered. “She got what she wanted. A title.”
“You evened the score a little today,” Caroline answered. “I wish I could.”
Alex gave her a sharp look. “George did both of us a favor by marrying Amelia. You are not still pining for him, are you?”
Caroline shook her head. “I am fully aware what George’s motivations were. I was a fool to fall for him. That does not mean I would not like my own revenge.”
“Well, I cannot fault you for that,” Alex answered and then grinned. “It was rather amusing to see Amelia’s veneer crack, though.”
“Exactly.” Carolinelooked thoughtful and then smiled. “I have an idea for a little revenge-getting.”
“You’re looking like the Cheshire cat again. What are you planning to do?”
She shook her head. “My secret, at least for now.”
Chapter Eighteen
As Alex entered White’s early that evening, he felt like an idiot lad at Eton trying to sneak a serving girl into his dormitory. Only he was sneaking out—out of his house no less. When he’d come home after his ride, he’d seen Inis exercising Goldie in the paddock. He felt guilty since the filly really did need to run, but since he still wasn’t sure how to approach Inis and her faerie talk, he was the one doing the running.
He was an idiot. No other woman had ever made him so edgy. When he was with Inis, he knew he needed to put distance between them, but when he successfully made an escape, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Instead of considering the next conquest he could check off his list, Inis occupied his mind.
He was an idiot, no question.
Instead of the secluded table Brice usually chose, tonight he was seated at a larger one along with Viscount Linford, Baron Compton, and John Caldwell, the Earl of Lockwood, gentlemen as interested in gossip as their wives. At the hint of a scandal, their noses practically twitched like hounds scenting rabbits. Alex wondered why Brice had allowed himself to be encircled. Just then, another man whose profile had been obscured by the earl shifted in his chair, and Alex was surprised to see Stephan, the Marquis of Kendrick. He hardly ever frequented White’s.
“I had no idea you’d stayed in London,” Alex said as he joined the group and a waiter brought him a brandy.
“I returned to Kent after Lady Caldwell’s soiree,” Stephan answered, “but one of my fishing boats foundered, and I am in need of a replacement vessel.”
Unlike many of his contemporaries who were content to languish on their country estates and dabble in the commodities market, Stephan was a hands-on type. After he’d inherited his title, he’d bought a small fleet of fishing vessels and sometimes captained them. Alex had first met him at Eton, although Stephan was ahead of him b
y a term or two. He’d not lasted long at the school due to frequent brawls stemming from the fact he was a bastard son being educated among the English elite. Alex had felt an affinity, given his own contemptuous relationship with George.
Henry Linford eyed Stephan. “Yours was not the only boat in trouble recently.”
“Oh my. That’s correct,” Joshua Compton said. “The Times had an article three days ago about a schooner accosted by pirates on its passage from France.”
“Perhaps you heard something about it?” Henry asked.
Alex exchanged a look with Brice. The hounds’ noses were twitching again. Since the wars with both France and America were over, open trade had resumed, but at a cost. French, Spanish, and Portuguese sailors were known to follow loaded ships leaving Continental ports and try to board or detain them. Barbary corsairs had even been spotted in the Channel waters from time to time, but whenever a ship limped into a London port with tales of being attacked close to England, rumors flourished over local piracy. The favorite speculation of the ton focused on the Marquis of Kendrick who, despite his title, didn’t have the correct amount of blue blood flowing through his veins.
Alex clenched his hands into fists, but Stephan just shrugged, his dark eyes fixed steadily on Linford. “What would I have heard that you did not?”
Linford’s gaze faltered, and Alex almost smiled. He remembered Stephan using that penetrating stare at Eton as he sized up opponents. Linford took a quick slug of his whiskey.
“Maybe…one of your crew saw something?” Compton asked.
Stephan shifted his attention to Compton, one black brow lifting slightly. Alex thought the other man shuddered slightly. Perhaps Caroline was right—Stephan did have a somewhat primitive look despite the finely tailored clothes he wore. Alex almost hoped Stephan would put a fist to the man and knock him on his skinny arse for implying, none too subtly, that Stephan might have something to do with it.
Unfortunately, the Earl of Lockwood intervened. “It is plausible since you live so close to the sea. I think that is all that was meant.”
“Yes,” Linford said quickly. “We hate to see goods bound for London stolen.”
“Or having crews murdered,” Compton added.
“Murdered?” A corner of Stephan’s mouth lifted. “Are ghost ships sailing into London then?”
“I have not heard of a single sailor being murdered when a ship is boarded,” Brice said. “Or did I miss something in the latest article?”
Linford frowned. “I do not recall any lives lost, but still—”
“Bloodthirsty, are you?” Stephan asked, his brow quirking again.
“No, of course not,” Linford replied. “I want to put a stop to piracy.”
Stephan gave him a laconic look, picked up his brandy snifter, and smiled. “I wish you luck with that.”
…
Alex woke the next morning feeling as unsettled as he had the night before. He hadn’t had a chance to speak with Brice privately, although in hindsight, it was probably just as well. God only knew what kind of ribbing Brice would give him if he started discussing faeries. The space of twenty-four hours since the theatre discussion made the whole conversation sound silly now. Inis would probably prickle if he brought the subject up…or she would launch into a defense of the Fae, which might be worse.
As Alex rose and got dressed, his thoughts drifted back to the past evening at White’s. In a way, Stephan and Inis shared a similarity. Neither of them truly fit into Society. Although Inis came from a working class, and Stephan had inherited the title of marquis, he also was a commoner. His mother had been a maid of the former marquis. Although to give the old man credit, he did claim Stephan as his son and saw to his education. Alex suspected Inis’s parents had been at least literate, since she seemed to absorb lessons quickly. Another similarity she shared with both Stephan and himself was that none of them cared for the snobbish attitude of the aristocracy.
Alex was beginning to feel guiltier about Inis’s role in his scheme to humiliate his brother. Not that George didn’t deserve it, but Inis didn’t. If the visit to the theatre box was any indication, those she-wolves would be out for blood if Inis made a social faux-pas.
Should he—could he—make Inis the possible subject of that kind of humiliation? She’d held her own at the theatre, but the interchange had been short, and he’d been there to intervene. A ball would be different. She’d be exposed to much more scrutiny and much sharper tongues. He ran a hand through hair he’d just combed. He had no right to force Inis to go through with his plan.
The decision would have to be hers.
…
Inis hesitated outside the library door later that morning. She would have liked to freshen up after working in the stables, but she didn’t want to keep Alex waiting. Yesterday, he’d said he needed to rethink her remaining as his hostler. She didn’t want to give him any fodder for being upset with her. At least her boots were clean of manure.
“Come in,” Alex called when she knocked.
Instead of sitting behind his desk, he was standing near the hearth that had a cheerful little fire going. Or, perhaps, Inis wanted to think the crackling flames were cheerful. “Ye asked to see me?”
“Yes.” Alex gestured to one of the two velvet-upholstered armchairs. “Please sit.”
“I…I have been working in the barn,” Inis replied. “I doona want to get the seats dirty.”
Alex raised a brow. “You do not look dirty to me. In any case, I am quite sure upholstery can be cleaned. Please, sit so I can, too.”
She took a chair, sitting gingerly on the edge, which made Alex smile.
“Are you assuming that pose because it is ladylike, or because you’re prepared to dash out of here like a hare with a fox on its tail?”
She did feel rather like a scared rabbit, not that she’d admit it. “I’m supposed to be practicing what Caroline has taught me.”
“Ah, yes. I wanted to talk to you about that.”
“My lessons?” Inis frowned. “I thought ye wanted to talk about my handling of your horses.”
“A little bit of both.”
“Both?”
“I’m having reservations about my original plan.”
Inis swallowed hard. “Ye are?”
Alex nodded. “I am not at all sure I should put you through such an ordeal.”
Not wanting to look directly at him, Inis watched the dancing yellow and orange flames tipped in blue. Was Alex reneging? Maybe she’d pretended to bungle the lessons a bit too much, and Alex didn’t think she’d ever be able to fool anyone. She looked at him. “Did I do something wrong at the theatre?”
“Not at all,” Alex said, “but I got word this morning that George’s ball has been moved to an earlier date this year because of the Prince Regent’s schedule. It will be held two weeks hence. That is not a lot of time to finish preparations. A brief conversation at an intermission is not the same as being exposed to open analysis and dissection at a ball.”
Inis managed to keep her expression impassive. Alex didn’t think she would be skilled enough to carry the charade off. Her temper stirred. For a second she was tempted to tell him who she was, and that she could more than hold her own with vicious, wagging tongues. But those words would only lead her down a disastrous road back to Ireland and a marriage she did not want. She reined in her irritation. “I will try harder to do better, my…Mr. Ashley.”
He drew his brows together. “Did I not ask you to call me Alex?”
Inis felt her face heat and looked down. Calling him by his first name would only intensify her feelings toward him. She certainly could not reveal how attractive she thought him. That would be suicide. “Since ye wanted to talk to me about my…lack of…I mean, my job, I thought ye would prefer I address ye as my employer.”
“I would prefer Alex.” He moved closer, his voice softer. “Or Alexander. And…I am not chastising you.”
She looked up, a little startled to realize he s
tood so near she caught the slight scent of the sandlewood soap he used. “Ye doona think I can do this.”
“I did not say that.”
“But it is true, nae?”
His gaze intensified. “I do not want you to be humiliated.”
She could hardly think when he looked at her like that. She swallowed hard. “Ye and I had an agreement. I will uphold my part.”
“But you do not have to. I have no right to use you for my revenge.” Alex paused. “I could find you a small house close by or in a country village, if you prefer—”
“I will nae take charity. I will earn my wages.” Inis set her mouth, partly hoping to keep her thoughts focused. “I want to do this. I can do this.”
Alex gave her a thoughtful look. “You really want to go to America that badly?”
Inis didn’t think of it as what she wanted. She had been in England nearly two months. Her uncle’s men would have scoured all of Northern Ireland by now, and he would have sent them farther out. The duke might even have hired Bow Street runners if he’d found out about her stowing away on a ship bound for London. As tempting as tucking herself away in a remote village sounded, she would not be beholden to Alex for food, clothing, and shelter unless she was doing something to earn it. And she certainly was not going to live her life as a mistress, waiting for him to come to her, pleasure her, make her feel like— Inis cut the thought off. Alex had not given any indication he was interested in such things. Irrationally, her temper stirred again. Sweet Mary. Why were her thoughts even straying in that direction? The man was a rake. Even he admitted that. And he had a group of married lovers who’d formed a club to reminisce about him. Lord have mercy.
“Inis?”
She refocused. “What?”
“I asked if you wanted to go to America so badly you’re willing to risk being insulted at a ball?”
She really had no choice. It was either flee the country or eventually end up back in Ireland, married to a man she could not abide. Inis nodded. “It is what I want.”
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