The words screamed through Alec’s mind as he and Miss Markham entered Hyde Park—the same mantra that had pounded in his brain from the moment he’d first seen her. But for some reason he didn’t understand, he couldn’t force the words from his lips. Why couldn’t he say it? Just four bloody words: I killed your brother.
Was it because that by uttering that sentence he’d then be forced to explain what had happened? To relive the horror of that day? Perhaps, although that couldn’t be the only reason, as the horrific events of Waterloo played through his mind every night like a discordant melody. Still, he’d never actually spoken of them. To anyone. God knows he didn’t want to now, but damn it, he felt an honor-bound duty to tell her the truth about Edward’s death and his role in it. Yet when the moment to tell her had arrived in the carriage, he’d failed. Sweat had coated his skin, the words had jammed in his throat, and just as he had on that illfated day last June, he’d hesitated. He well knew the disastrous results of hesitation. So why had he done so?
You are indeed as kind and fine a man as Edward said. Those words she’d spoken in the carriage had tightened the noose of guilt around his neck until he could barely breathe. And then she’d laid her hand on his. And for the space of several heartbeats everything inside him had simply … stopped. His blood, his heart, his breath.
The gesture had caught him completely off guard. It had been so long since anyone had touched him. His choice—he lived alone and didn’t encourage familiarity—and clearly over the ten months of his self-imposed exile he’d forgotten how powerful a gentle touch could be. In spite of the two layers of gloves separating their skin, warmth had suffused him, filling him with an overwhelming urge to clasp her hands tightly in his to soak up all the kindness and compassion and admiration glowing in her eyes. He didn’t deserve it, but God help him, it had felt so incredibly good.
The way that single touch had made him feel now forced him to admit why he’d hesitated—because her opinion of him would change once she knew the truth. Admit the truth, you selfish bastard, his inner voice sneered. You don’t want to see the admiration and warmth glowing in her eyes turn to disgust and loathing.
Bloody hell, he couldn’t deny that. During the three years Edward had been under his command, Alec had come to admire Miss Markham through her brother’s stories of her and the letters she sent. Even without benefit of meeting her, Alec knew her to be witty and intelligent. Kind, generous, and caring. Talented. And more than a little mischievous. Ridiculous as it was to like someone he’d never met, to view a stranger as a friend, there was no refuting that’s how he felt. Surely if she was completely unfamiliar to him his task would prove easier.
But she wasn’t unfamiliar to him. And he knew as soon as he told her she’d turn away in disgust. And he’d never see her again. And that prospect filled him with a confounding, profound sense of loss he couldn’t put a name to.
So he’d wait—just for a little while. He’d waited all these months she was traveling on the Continent, so what were a few more minutes? Besides, there were other things he needed to discuss with her first, before she banished him as he knew she would. No matter how much she might come to loathe him, he still felt a responsibility toward her, and that wasn’t something his battered conscience would allow him to dismiss.
“This is my very favorite sort of day,” she said.
Her statement jolted him from his brown study and he realized to his chagrin that they’d walked in silence for quite a distance along the path meandering through the park’s verdant lawns. He glanced at her and was struck by the way the bright sunshine coaxed reddish highlights from the curls that had escaped her bonnet to brush her cheeks … cheeks that once again bore a becoming blush.
“Your favorite in what way?” he asked.
“I adore it when the sky is so vividly blue it almost hurts your eyes to look at it, and the clouds are so fluffy they resemble stuffed pillows, and the air bears just enough coolness to offset the heat of the sun.” She smiled. “It’s the perfect sort of day to spend outdoors.”
Unlike some people whose smiles were nothing more than a slight curving of their lips, Miss Markham’s smile engaged her entire face, completely transforming her—lighting up her eyes, showcasing perfectly straight, pearly white teeth, and denting a pair of shallow, beguiling dimples in her cheeks that hinted at the deviltry sparkling behind her spectacles. It was, Alec decided, the most enchanting smile he’d ever seen, and he found himself unable to look away from her. Edward had said other children in their village where they’d grown up had referred to her as Plain Penelope, and that she’d never had a suitor. But surely he was mistaken about the latter, or that was by her own choice. For while Miss Markham might not be beautiful in the classic sense, her smile was surely enough to grab any man’s attention.
Indeed, now that he looked closely, he realized her eyes were quite remarkable—like fine brandy sprinkled with flecks of gold. And her lips … yes, they were quite remarkable as well. Certainly much fuller than was fashionable, but then he’d never particularly cared about the latest rage.
She tilted her face toward the sun, let out a deep breath, then dazzled him with another smile. “A lovely day, is it not?”
“Lovely,” Alec agreed, although he realized he wasn’t speaking of only the pleasant weather.
“The sort of day that inspires me to sketch.” She tapped her pad. “Would you mind if we sat for a moment? I’d like to commit some of what I’m seeing to paper.”
“Of course.” He indicated a bench set beneath a trio of soaring elms. “Will that do?”
“Perfectly.” They moved to the bench and he watched, transfixed, as she pulled off her gloves, then opened her pad to a clean page. Heat suffused him at the sight of her bare hands, a reaction he was at a loss to explain, especially as they were merely capable and sturdy-looking, her fingers bearing several faint ink stains. Certainly they weren’t pale, slim, elegant hands, yet he couldn’t tear his gaze from them. She pulled a length of charcoal from her pocket and slowly circled her finger around the tip, a gesture that made his cravat suddenly feel too tight.
He cleared his throat and pulled his gaze away from her hands. “What are you going to sketch?”
“That couple.” She nodded down the path, her eyes glowing with amusement. “The pair with the trio of misbehaving dogs.”
Alec spotted the couple she indicated—a tangle of people, dog leads, and boisterous canines, one of which was no larger than a teapot, another that looked like a small, fluffy bear, while the third was the size of a small horse. “Quite the interesting assortment of pets they have,” he remarked.
“Indeed.” Her hand flew over the page and he barely managed to refrain from craning his neck to see her progress. “Do you have any pets, Captain?” she asked as her gaze flicked back and forth between the scene and her sketch pad.
“A horse,” he replied, although he considered Apollo more of an old friend than a pet. “You?”
She shook her head. “No. Lord Bentley owned a mastiff I adored. His name was Hugo. He looked very much like that couple’s largest dog.”
“The one that should be saddled?”
She laughed. “Yes. Hugo possessed the sweetest disposition and infinite patience with the children, even when the boys dressed him as a pirate or little Lady Annabelle turned him into a princess.”
“A princess?”
“Yes. Definitely not his favorite outfit, but he loved Lady Annabelle so he bore the indignity with stoic resignation. He much preferred the pirate costume.” She grinned. “He enjoyed chewing on the sword.”
“No sword for the princess?”
“Sadly, no. That came with a tiara and feather boa. Hugo learned from experience that feathers don’t make a good chew toy. Would you like to see a picture of him?”
“Very much.”
She stopped drawing and flipped back several pages, then turned the tablet toward him. The illustration showed a tremendous dog with a tiar
a perched on its head lying across the entire length of a sofa, his huge paws resting on a young girl’s lap. A feather boa adorned the dog’s neck. And were those … ear bobs dangling from the beast’s ears? A chuckle rumbled in Alec’s throat. By God they were.
“The child nearly buried beneath Hugo’s paws is Lord Bentley’s youngest, Lady Annabelle,” Miss Markham said. “Hugo didn’t quite understand that he wasn’t a lap dog.”
“A very substantial lap would be required for that beast.”
She laughed, then turned the tablet back to herself. She stared at the picture for several seconds and he watched all the amusement seep from her eyes, replaced by unmistakable sadness. “I miss the children—and Hugo—very much. Indeed, I would love to have a Hugo of my own some day.” She gave a decisive nod, then said, “I shall add ‘get a Hugo’ to my list.”
“Your list?”
“Yes. It’s filled with things I wish to do, places I’d like to visit—that sort of thing.”
“You keep an actual, written list?”
“Oh, yes. Otherwise I’d forget. In fact, I’d best write down my latest wish while I’m thinking of it.” She once again flipped pages in her book, this time to the last page and made a notation. “ ‘Get a Hugo,’ ” she read when she’d finished.
He caught a brief glimpse of what appeared to be a long inventory of items, several of which had lines drawn through them, before she turned back to her sketch in progress and continued working.
Unable to curb his curiosity, Alec asked, “What else is on your wish list?”
She kept her gaze on her sketch pad and shrugged. “Lots of things. Some of them simple, some of them silly, some of them impossible.”
“If it’s impossible, why wish for it?”
“Spoken like a pragmatic military man.” She lifted her gaze and stared at him through very serious eyes. “But I believe it’s important to wish for, hope for your heart’s desire, even if it seems unattainable. Miracles do happen, Captain Trentwell. And if we give up hope … well, then there is nothing left. ‘Hope springs eternal in the human breast,’ ” she quoted softly.
“Alexander Pope,” he murmured.
She smiled and nodded. “Yes. You’re familiar with his work?”
“Very. He is my favorite poet.” When her brows shot upward, he said, “You look surprised. Even pragmatic military men enjoy reading.”
Color washed over her cheeks. “I’m certain they do. I’m merely surprised because Mr. Pope is my favorite poet as well.”
“And you’ve taken his words about hope to heart.”
“Yes. Therefore, although it is highly unlikely that the Prince Regent will commission me to paint his portrait, that remains on my wish list. Right along with riding a horse, having my own garden, and finding the perfect skipping rock.”
Now it was Alec’s turn to raise his brows. “You’ve never ridden a horse?”
“Not yet. But, as Mr. Pope said—”
“Hope springs eternal,” they said in unison.
She flashed him a quick grin, then returned her attention to her sketch. Alec watched her, fascinated by the way her hand lightly moved across the page while a furrow of concentration creased between her brows. Her glasses slowly slid down her nose, something she ignored until they balanced perilously close the tip. Then, without missing a stroke, she gave them a quick push upward, the movement leaving a small streak of charcoal on her chin. He was about to tell her, but the words died in his throat when she pursed her full lips and gently blew on her sketch. His gaze riveted on her lush mouth as she blew several more times, her lips puckered in a perfect imitation of a kiss. A perfect kiss from those lovely, moist lips…
Heat shot through him—but this time of a far different sort than the cozy warmth he’d experienced when she’d rested her hand on his. No, this heat, fierce and unexpected in its intensity, all but incinerated him. While he hadn’t felt such a strong rush in a long time, it was unmistakable and there was no denying what it was.
Desire.
She glanced up. Her lips remained pursed for several seconds, then she pressed them together, jerking him from the heated stupor into which he’d fallen.
“The dust … it gets in my way,” she said.
He bludgeoned back the shocking carnal images crowding his mind … of those plush lips crushed beneath his own. Of them kissing their way down his naked torso. Of them surrounding his—
He shook his head and forced his gaze away from her distracting mouth. Bloody hell, what was wrong with him? Clearly he desperately needed sexual relief, although he hadn’t realized just how desperate that need was until several seconds ago, when the sight of her pursed lips had set him on fire and robbed him of his wits.
He felt the need to say something, but damned if he knew what. He knew she’d said something to him, but damned if he remembered what. He tugged on his suddenly tight cravat and cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon?”
“I just said that the charcoal dust gets in my way. So I was blowing it away.” She flashed a grin and her dimples winked at him. “Based on your somewhat stunned expression, I thought perhaps you feared I’d taken leave of my senses and was kissing my work.”
Kissing … kissing … Bloody hell, the word was imbedded in his brain. Thank God his expression hadn’t given away what he’d really been thinking. “A, um, hazard of using charcoals, I gather.”
“Yes. I’m finished with the preliminaries. Would you care to see?”
“Absolutely.”
She handed him the sketch pad and another bolt of heat shot up his arm when her fingers brushed his. He snatched his hand back as if she’d burned him, which it bloody well felt as if she had. Thoroughly disgusted with himself, he lowered his gaze to the sketch.
And was instantly charmed by the depiction of the laughing couple entangled with their zany dogs. “You perfectly captured the moment.”
“Thank you. I’ll put the finishing touches to it when I return to Exeter House.”
Alec handed her back the tablet. The mention of her lodgings reminded him of the other topic he needed to discuss with her. “Surely after what happened this afternoon you’re not planning to remain there.”
“Actually I am.”
Alec shook his head. “No. The area isn’t safe.”
“Perhaps not completely, but it is safer than many parts of London. There’s no need for you to worry on my behalf, Captain Trentwell. I own a pistol and I’ll be careful.”
“Are you carrying your pistol now?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Have you ever shot anyone, Miss Markham?”
“No, but—”
“Have you ever fired your pistol?”
“Once.”
“Did you hit your target?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Then I feel it is my duty to inform you that the only way a pistol can serve as effective protection is if you carry it on your person and are able to hit that at which you’re aiming.”
“Obviously. However, it hadn’t occurred to me that I’d require protection during the day. Now I know, and I shall act accordingly.”
“Miss Markham, a pistol won’t help you if it’s not used properly. In fact, it’s more likely that you’ll either shoot yourself or be disarmed and shot with your own weapon.”
Before she could argue, he rushed on, “For your own safety, I insist you lodge elsewhere.”
Twin flags of color stained her cheeks. “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
There was no reason to ask why—the only possible explanation would be a lack of funds to lodge anywhere better. As he had during his years in the military, Alec quickly assessed the problem from every possible angle—including the fact that he still needed to discuss Edward with her—and arrived at a resolution.
“Miss Markham, I have a solution.”
She raised a brow. “I wasn’t aware there was a problem.”
“Regarding your lodgings.”
&n
bsp; “As I said, Captain, there isn’t a problem.”
“I disagree. You shall stay at my family’s townhouse in Mayfair. My brother, his wife, and his children are in residence, so you will be well chaperoned.”
Her complexion now resembled the setting sun. “Captain Trentwell. While I appreciate your concern, I cannot accept.”
“Of course you can.” He consulted his pocket watch and inwardly groaned. Damn it, where had the time gone? If he wasn’t home in a half hour’s time, William would have his head, and given that he planned to bring Miss Markham home with him, this wasn’t a good time to risk vexing his brother. He stood and tugged his coat into place. “Come. We’ll get you settled and I’ll send a footman to the Exeter to gather your things.”
She remained seated and stared up at him for several seconds, then huffed out a laugh. “I’m not certain if I’m more amused or aggravated.”
“I cannot imagine why you’d be either.”
Clearly amusement won out, because her eyes twinkled behind her lenses. “Captain, clearly it’s necessary to remind you that I am not a soldier and therefore barking orders at me will not win the day.”
Alec’s brow collapsed into a scowl. “I wasn’t barking orders. I was merely—”
“Telling me what to do. In a very commanding way.”
“Because I’m concerned for your safety. If I seem abrupt, it’s because time is of the essence. My brother and his wife are hosting a party in my honor and it begins in precisely twenty-seven minutes. I gave my word I wouldn’t be late.”
“Then by all means you must go without further delay. I appreciate your concern. While I do need to carefully watch my finances, I am not destitute and cannot accept charity.”
Bloody hell, he should have known she’d react this way. He again quickly assessed the situation, then said, “I’m not offering you charity. I’m offering you employment.”
“Employment? What do you mean?”
“I mean an exchange of your talent for payment. I realize I’m far from the Prince Regent and we’re not the royal family, but I’d like to commission you to paint my portrait, and a family portrait as well.”
It Happened One Season Page 23
