by Jane Ashford
Alicia was stunned. The innocent kisses she had exchanged with men she had known from childhood had been nothing like this. Her whole body seemed to turn to jelly, and a physical thrill sparked from her throat to her knees. She brought her arms up and around his neck, giving herself totally to the embrace. Cairnyllan responded by pushing her back until they were lying side by side on the rough grass, his hands roaming over her back and around to cup her breasts. She relaxed beneath him, knowing suddenly that this was what her life had been lacking until now. She had had everything she could desire, except an equal to fire her passions and share them, as Ian was unquestionably doing. He drew back a little, and she murmured his name, fastening her lips on his again.
At this, he threw off all pretense of reluctance. He had had a moment of doubt, wondering if he were taking advantage of an inexperienced girl, but it was clear that Lady Alicia Alston knew what she wanted. He caressed her breast again, and she sighed with pleasure. With eager fingers, he reached for the fastenings of her habit.
At that moment, they both heard the sound of hooves. Then Marianne MacClain’s voice called, “Come on! We are poking along so slowly we will never catch them.”
Cairnyllan straightened as if stung and pulled away, struggling to his feet and beginning to brush the dust and leaves from his coat. Alicia followed more slowly, regretful, but realizing that they must preserve the proprieties until they could formalize their relationship. She rose and shook out her skirts, retrieving her hat from the bush where it had fallen.
“Hallo,” shouted Cairnyllan, ignoring her. “Marianne, here.”
There was a pause, then his sister appeared, gazing down into the ravine with astonishment. “Ian! And Lady Alicia! What happened?”
“We took the jump too fast and were thrown,” he replied. Alicia eyed him with indignant amusement. She hadn’t, she wanted to say, but it was probably best not to go into details. “Get the others to help us up,” Cairnyllan was adding, and Marianne nodded, eyes large, before turning away.
There was no time for talk; the whole group arrived in a moment, and they were immediately involved in the rescue. By the time Alicia had struggled out of the defile and remounted, she was hot and scratched and very annoyed, and wanted only to get home and have a bath. There would be plenty of time to talk to Ian, she thought, and the idea was so attractive that she smiled despite herself.
But there was, she found, no opportunity at all. She went immediately to her room on their return and rang for her maid. Though the mishap had kept them much later than they meant, and it was just past time for luncheon, Alicia refused to hurry. She ordered a bath and a tray and spent a leisurely two hours setting herself to rights, frequently falling into fits of smiling abstraction that quite puzzled her maid, who had known her nearly all her life.
When she went downstairs again at midafternoon, no one was about. Ian had probably looked for her, she thought, and given up when she did not come for such a time. She walked through the lower rooms, hoping to encounter him, but she found only Roddy, taking desultory shots at the billiard table and looking bored. He welcomed her eagerly and suggested a game.
“Not just now. Where is everyone?”
“The girls are still in their rooms. I think Perdy is too, actually.” He grinned. “Hiding from you and the chance of more exertion.”
“And our Scotsman?” Alicia tried to sound casual, but she wasn’t certain she succeeded.
“With his mother. Said he was going to sit with her till dinner.”
For a moment, Alicia was annoyed. Then she realized that Ian probably wished to talk with Lady Cairnyllan about his plans for marriage. She smiled to herself. “Perhaps I will beat you at billiards then, Roddy.”
He snorted. “I should like to see that.”
“Very well.” She held out her hand for a cue.
The whole party gathered in the drawing room before dinner. Alicia had put on a gown of clinging sea-green muslin and was conscious that she looked very well. She expected Ian to approach her at once, but he did not, staying beside his mother and watching the others with a curious hostility. She was puzzled, and had started to walk toward them when dinner was announced and Perdy offered his arm.
Throughout the meal, which Alicia found very long, she continued to observe Ian MacClain. He didn’t look at her, and for a while she could not imagine why. Then, she suddenly realized that he was probably embarrassed. He had behaved in a most unconventional way this morning—some would say scandalous. Perhaps he was afraid she was offended. Alicia’s lips curved; she would have to enlighten him at once.
But MacClain was feeling disgust—with himself for having been lured into responding to Alicia today and, more particularly, with this group of Londoners surrounding him. He had been perfectly right about them; they were libertines and wantons. He was very worried about Marianne, who did not seem to have the strength of character he would have expected in his own sister. What would she do in such society? He shuddered to think, and he had spent most of the afternoon convincing his mother that they should return home at once. But just as he had succeeded, Marianne had come in and nearly had a fit of the vapors when she discovered it. Characteristically, Lady Cairnyllan had swung around to her point of view. How was he to control Marianne without her help?
He felt somewhat better when the ladies left them, though he was still concerned about the others’ influence over Marianne. He decided to risk leaving her alone for one evening in order to make a last effort at swaying his mother.
Alicia was astonished when Cairnyllan did not appear with the other gentlemen. And when informed that he had gone up to his mother, who had retired early, she almost gave public vent to her annoyance. Though she stopped herself in time, she was by no means a pleasant companion during the rest of the evening. After a while, even Roddy avoided her, unwilling to endure another sharp set-down or curt rejoinder. And Alicia went to bed in a foul mood, feeling thwarted as she never had in her life. Only her determination to rise early and catch Ian at breakfast prevented her from breaking in on his tête-à-tête with Lady Cairnyllan.
She was washed, dressed, and downstairs by eight, an hour when she knew she should meet Ian and no one else. There had been some remarks about his early rising. But when she asked one of the servants whether he had yet come down, she received the astonishing news that the entire MacClain party had departed for London at first light. “Did he leave a note for me?” she was surprised into asking.
“No, Lady Alicia. They all bade us say their farewells.” Seeing her thunderous expression, the butler added, “They apologized for going so early. I understood it was some sort of family business.”
“Indeed?” Alicia’s voice was icy. She turned away and strode out of the house, automatically taking the path that led to the stables. What was the man doing, she wondered? Why had he gone without a word? Mere embarrassment would hardly urge flight. Or would it? She shook her head. There was something inexplicable here, and she meant to find out what. She would stay until tomorrow, as she had promised Perdy, but then she would see Ian MacClain if she had to go to his hotel. Whatever ridiculous scruples were keeping him from declaring himself would soon dissolve when she told him her own feelings. And then they could startle society with the announcement of their engagement. How the ton would stare! The thought improved her temper, and she smiled as she told the groom to have her mare ready for a ride after breakfast.
Three
Alicia arrived at her father’s London townhouse five days later, having been delayed by a broken axle. As always, when first entering it, she was reminded of her mother, who had died when Alicia was only nine. No other place evoked those flashes of a figure very like the one she saw in the mirror and a voice with an enchanting, exotic lilt. The country place was wholly Alston, but in town, her mother had refurbished and added some objects from her own native land. It was an interesting house, both unconventiona
l and charming.
But Alicia had little time to spare for memories just now. Hardly a moment had passed on her journey when she was not thinking of Ian MacClain. Since she could not conceive of rejection, she remained sorely puzzled about his actions, and more and more eager to meet him and discover his motives. Thus, her first act after changing out of her traveling clothes was to riffle through the stack of invitations that had arrived in her absence. Though she had returned to London two weeks earlier than usual and the Season was not yet in full swing, it had begun, and there were a number of entertainments planned. Alicia scanned the gilt cards with an expert eye, then, after a moment’s frowning consideration, chose one and strode to her escritoire. As she dashed off a note of acceptance to a musical evening, her mind was already busy with the question of dress. If the MacClains attended any party tonight, and Lady Corwin had no doubt seen to their entrée, this was the most likely, and Alicia intended to be in her best looks when she faced them.
Her judgment turned out to be accurate. The first person she saw after she had greeted her deferential hostess was Ian. He was difficult to miss. He towered over most of the crowd by half a head, and the stiff, disapproving expression on his face was in marked contrast to the smiles and simpers of the others.
Alicia paid no attention to it. Using all her social skills, she made her way directly to him while seeming to chat without any particular aim. In five minutes, she was there. And since Ian’s dour looks and curt replies had driven off the few people who had tried to strike up a conversation with him, she did not have to separate him from a group. “I wish to talk to you,” she said. “Shall we step into that alcove?” There was a curtained recess close by, the draperies partially drawn.
Cairnyllan looked as if he might object, then bowed his head and followed her.
When they were alone, Alicia eyed him. He didn’t look embarrassed to see her. What was the matter with the man? “You left Perdon Abbey very abruptly,” she began.
“It was time to go.”
His ruddy brows shadowed his eyes, but she could see that he wasn’t looking at her. She frowned. “I expected you to speak to me before you went.”
Now, he surveyed her, examining her rose-pink silk gown trimmed with silver ribbons, her silver-gilt hair piled on top of her head, her rubies. The gown was cut too low for any respectable girl, he thought, and the challenging stare of those pale blue eyes was far too confident. The corners of his mouth turned down, and he started to make a contemptuous rejoinder, but a sudden idea stopped him. There might be one valid reason for her manner. “You thought I should apologize?” he ventured.
Alicia cocked her head. Was this then the problem?
That was easy enough to remedy. “You needn’t apologize to me for what happened between us. Surely you could see that I enjoyed it as much as you. We are suited to each other…Ian.” She waited for him to take up this thought and ask for her hand.
Lord Cairnyllan merely shook his head, as if his worst fears had been confirmed.
The silence lengthened. Alicia frowned at him, waiting. Didn’t the man understand that the most eligible woman in London had practically proposed to him? He had not been so tongue-tied when they were in one another’s arms. Why didn’t he speak? Finally, unable to keep silent, she said, “Don’t you see that I am suggesting we marry?” Her tone implied he was an idiot not to; she waited for his amazement and gratification.
But Cairnyllan’s face did not shift; if anything, his expression became even more forbidding. “Marry?” he exclaimed. “Are you daft? I shan’t marry a shameless London wanton who lies down in the bushes with any stranger she meets. I shall find a virtuous girl from my own country, who would die sooner than behave so.”
For a moment, Alicia did not even comprehend his words. Her smile remained, gradually becoming fixed and strained. Then, the full enormity of it burst upon her, and she began trembling with shock and rage. Did this…provincial numbskull actually believe that she had ever behaved in that way with any other man? Could he be so stupid and insensitive as not to recognize the very special feeling she had for him? Had, she emphasized to herself, for now she hated him with all her heart and soul.
“How dare you say such things to me?” she cried.
“Why not speak the truth? Because you are at the very peak of London society? Oh yes, we have heard a great deal about your consequence since we arrived in town. But I care nothing for the ton. In fact, I despise it. And now, if you will excuse me.” He inclined his head, turned, and left her standing there.
Alicia was so angry that she saw and heard nothing of the party surrounding her. A mist of rage seemed to rise before her eyes, and her breast rose and fell rapidly as her hands clenched and unclenched. All her life, she had been given whatever she asked for, and most times she had not even had to ask. Servants, friends, suitors did their utmost to anticipate her desires and be the first to fill them. In the rare cases when she had wanted the impossible, some substitute had always been found, and she had become wholly accustomed to having her own way. Not that she had been tyrannical or capricious; it had never been necessary to abuse her power, for others catered to her out of genuine love or admiration. Thus, Lady Alicia Alston had never before experienced the deep frustration and chagrin she now felt. And this painful experience was compounded by Cairnyllan’s misunderstanding of her, and his contempt. The emotions that washed through her in response were almost too strong to bear.
Alicia remained alone in the alcove for some time, drawing further back so that no one should see her and come in. Gradually, she regained control. Her anger grew colder, though by no means less intense. Any hurt she might be feeling was completely swallowed up in it. She called Ian MacClain every name she knew, and vowed over and over again that she would make him regret what he had said.
When she came to this point, she felt steady enough to emerge from the recess and stand just beyond the draperies scanning the crowd. There he was, talking to Maria Osbourne as if nothing out of the common way had occurred. He was really the most odiously self-satisfied, arrogant man she could imagine. He obviously had no doubt he was right about her, and about everything else in the world as well. Alicia’s eyelids dropped slightly. She would show him his mistake, so thoroughly that he would cringe with shame. And then when he tried to apologize, she would simply turn her back and walk away. The picture pleased her so much that she managed a thin smile.
If she could have heard what Ian MacClain was thinking at that very moment, her smile might have widened, for he was by no means content. By right, he knew, he ought to be congratulating himself on administering a much deserved setdown to a woman whose manners and morals were deplorable. But each time he began to do so, the image of Alicia’s shocked and incredulous face rose before him and filled him with unease. Moreover, he felt an increasing disappointment at the knowledge that she was unlikely to speak to him ever again. The memory of their encounter in the ravine recurred, accompanied by an overwhelming rush of loss. Though he sternly tried to shake it off, repeating to himself all his objections to her character and style of living, it would not recede. Indeed, with each passing minute it was stronger. And he had to fight the impulse to go back to her and beg her forgiveness. She might have been his wife, a part of his mind would not stop repeating, and that disreputable part could imagine no happier fate.
But Alicia knew nothing of this, and she watched him through narrowed eyes and plotted revenge. At first, she could not think of a suitably terrible retribution. Then a lovely figure in pale green satin caught her eye, and she turned to find Marianne MacClain in animated converse with Teddy Monroe. At once, she saw what to do. And, this time, he would not best her. Turning, she looked about until she found the man she wanted, then walked across to him with head held high.
“Alicia, my dear,” said Lord Robert Devere when she greeted him. “I never thought to see you tonight.”
“Nor I
you. This is not your sort of party.”
“One does many foolish things out of boredom, alas.”
They exchanged a smile, and Alicia looked over her old friend with great satisfaction. Robert was just what she wanted for this scheme. One of the most polished Corinthians of the day, he was tall with an admirable shoulder and leg, extremely handsome, and unfailingly elegant. His black hair was brushed into a fashionable Brutus; his coat was from Weston and fit him flawlessly, and his hazel eyes sparkled with wit and intelligence.
“Why have you come back to town so early?” he inquired.
“For the same reasons as you, I suppose,” she lied.
“Do not say you are as weary of society as I, dear Alicia. I can give you ten years, or almost.”
Though she knew it was actually twelve, Alicia smiled up at him. Robert was a close friend of one of her older cousins, and had been teasing her since she was able to toddle after them and make a nuisance of herself. But to the rest of the haut ton, he was a nonpareil, “I want you to do something for me, Robert.”
The twinkle in her companion’s hazel eyes disappeared, though he continued to smile. “Really? What?”
“Don’t be difficult this time. It’s important.”
He spread his hands. “Have I refused?”
“No, but you usually do. You are the most selfish person, Robert.”
“And you, of course, are the soul of generosity.”
“I often do things for my friends!”
“For example?”
“Well…” Alicia searched her mind and, appallingly, could not think of one instance. She frowned. “You have driven them right out of my head.”
