It happened so quickly—she was ever so unprepared for the intimacy—that she hadn’t any time to react more than that, and she wondered if she had imagined it. But no, her lips still tingled from the heat of his mouth against hers, much like the warmth she’d felt through her cloak when his knee had rested against hers in the carriage.
Her hand flew to her lips, pressing against the spot his lips had touched.
“My lady,” he said, stepping back and issuing a quick bow before turning to untie his horse from the hack. The driver spurred his horses into action as soon as Mr. Price had untied his reins and started back toward Piccadilly Street to find his next fare.
Theo kept her eyes on the hack as it disappeared, scared to look back at Alistair—afraid of what she’d find there.
“Good day, Lady Theodora,” he called, forcing her gaze back to him. “I certainly hope to never meet you again on an archery field.”
She had no notion what the proper farewell greeting was for a man who’d just stolen her first kiss. Righteous indignation should flare, and she should chastise him for taking such liberties—especially in her drive where anyone could witness the intimacy. But…
She quite enjoyed the kiss—more than enjoyed it truth be told. A tingle flooded her body at the mere thought of his lips pressed to hers.
Instead, she stood silent as he mounted his horse, gave her a final farewell wave, and rode off in the same direction the hack had gone, leaving Lady Theo frozen in front of her townhouse, wondering what was to come next. Would she act as if he hadn’t kissed her? Should she inform Adeline immediately about what had transpired?
Theo was unsure she wanted to share this with anyone, least of all Mr. Price’s sister.
Chapter 11
Alistair should make his way home—confirm Adeline had arrived safely, but he found himself navigating his horse in the opposite direction towards White’s Gentlemen’s Club. He needed a drink…and time to clear his mind before going home to handle his wayward sibling.
He was in no mood to deal with Adeline and her foolhardy ways. His anger would no doubt get the best of him. After mounting his horse, his only focus was Theodora—and her advice. He was not fool enough to think his sister was a horse in need of whipping and reins.
Had he actually planned to arrive home and address her behaviors with punishment similar to a horse needing a firmer hand?
It was imperative he handle his sibling’s rebellious streak—curb her inappropriate behavior—but not while he still seethed at her calculated actions to outmaneuver him.
The time may not arrive until the morrow. By then, he hoped to have a clear handle on what he would say to her, what her punishment would be—should be…for certainly a riding crop to her hind quarters was not justified.
No amount of calming breaths or counting to ten was helping Alistair as his horse moved through the congested evening London streets. His mind was heavy with thoughts, though he was uncertain what caused him greater pause…his sister or…
What in all that’s holy had he been thinking?
Kissing Lady Theodora.
His sister’s dear friend—and sibling to a very influential earl, Lord Cartwright.
He was no better than that scoundrel, Gladstone, who he’d attempted to steer Theo away from. Possibly more of a rogue, for he’d accompanied her home under false pretenses—not that Alistair had planned to kiss her. No…he’d only meant to warn against accompanying Adeline into any further perilous activities; however, he hadn’t gotten the chance to fully broach the subject or issue his warning. She’d distracted him with talk of Gladstone and her plans for the future—or had it been he who’d led them to the more intimate nature of their discussion?
He had no right to offer unsolicited advice regarding her association with Gladstone, nor lecture her on her future prospects, especially when he’d failed so completely with Adeline since her return from school.
Was Lady Theo correct, were he and Adeline more similar than he recognized?
Certainly, she’d posed a thought-provoking inquiry when she’d questioned his ability to listen and surrender to the demands of another.
Alistair pulled sharply on his reins to lead his horse around a cart that had stopped in the middle of the street after its crates of fruit had fallen.
It had never happened before—anyone questioning his demands, besides his own siblings. His father had already been of an advanced age when Alistair was born—past his prime, and already starting to decline when Alistair was old enough to start his education in preparation for taking over the Melton estate and Viscountship. Alistair had received no formal training from his ailing father. Everything he’d learned had been imparted during his short time at university, gained from his steward, imparted by his solicitor, or learned from many hard hours poring over the account ledgers and meeting with his servants. Even his mother had found herself too busy tending to her aging husband to take much interest in Alistair’s—and her other children’s—upbringing.
He spurred his horse to a faster pace as the road before him cleared. The hour was close to mealtime, and the more fashionable members of the ton were safely at home, preparing for their evening entertainments.
Maybe Alistair was not so different from Gladstone—obvious from the liberties he’d taken with Lady Theodora. And then he’d ridden off without further thought to his actions. He hadn’t seen her to her door nor looked about to see if anyone had witnessed their kiss.
Truly, it wasn’t their kiss.
Alistair had set his lips to hers and taken something he hadn’t realized he wanted—all the while, Theo had stood frozen and unmoving.
He’d realized his mistake and withdrawn, not giving her time to push him away—or react.
Would she have kissed him back if given a moment to move past her shock? Certainly, it was dismay at his unwelcome action that had kept her frozen and not repulsion. If it were the latter, it would wound his pride far more than losing to her at the tourney.
Alistair shook his head to push the thought from his mind, and the wind caught his hair, moving it into his eyes.
He had no right to ponder what her reaction might have been if he’d announced his intention to kiss her—maybe even begged for her permission—before setting his lips to hers.
He would expect their paths to cross during the coming season in a crowded ballroom or at the opera, though the opportunity for a few moments alone would not present itself, nor would Alistair seek her out.
He would keep his distance. If she hadn’t been recognized at the tourney, he would not be the cause of scandal for her. He’d made no attempt to hide his face from the crowd, and there must certainly have been someone in attendance who sighted him.
Alistair pulled his horse to a stop outside of White’s and dismounted, a livery rushing to take his reins.
“Good day, sir,” the stable boy called. “I will have your horse brought round to the stables.”
“Thank you.” Alistair didn’t pause further, needing to seek solace within the club and find clarity at the bottom of a glass. A drink—or two—would serve him well and push any remaining thoughts of Lady Theodora from his mind.
Her thick, dark hair…her brown eyes with flakes of gold about the edges…her confident demeanor…her proficiency with a bow…her ability to assess where Alistair lacked in his own duties…
It would all fade away with enough quiet—and bourbon.
Pushing through the doors, it took a moment for Alistair’s eyes to adjust to the dim interior as the warmth of the room surrounded him. It was one of the only places in London—besides his father’s study—where Alistair felt completely at ease. The main room was sparsely inhabited, many men not venturing to their club until later in the evening. It was exactly as Alistair had anticipated. And precisely what he needed.
No one to invade on his quiet moment. No siblings arguing. No one demanding his attention for a situation he was embarrassed to admit he didn’t know how to ha
ndle. Adeline’s behavior and Theo’s words of caution faded as the familiar scent of cigars swirled about him.
He’d reassured his mother that he and his siblings could undertake a season alone, leaving Lady Melton free to tend to her ailing husband, Adeline and Alistair’s father—but he had been wrong.
Though, how wrong was not entirely apparent as yet.
He’d known Lady Theodora for less than two days, and already, his priorities were shifting. Spiraling out of control was a more fitting phrase. Alistair had charged himself with securing his siblings’ futures, but since meeting Lady Theo his focus and duty had gone awry. The importance of his responsibilities dulled, overshadowed by images and feelings of a woman he had no right to long for.
He took a seat in a vacant armchair, tucked into a corner, out of sight from the main entrance. A drink appeared at his elbow within moments, the servant departing without a sound.
Maybe Alistair should pack up his brothers and sisters and return to the country—or send word, begging his mother to journey to London.
“Do allow me entrance,” a male voice demanded across the room, close to the front doorway. The hair on the back of Alistair’s neck stood on end. “I am meeting someone here.”
“Sir.” The doorman remained calm, likely dealing with arrogant men of the ton on a regular basis. “You do not have membership and Lord Cartwright is not here. You may wait outside for him to arrive.”
At the mention of Lady Theo’s brother, Alistair suspected his unease was correct—Gladstone had arrived. It seemed he could not journey anywhere and escape the woman…thoughts of her, thoughts of them, together.
A simple evening enjoying a tumbler of exquisite spirits was obviously far too much to ask for.
“You expect me to await Cartwright at the curb…as if I am a livery servant waiting to take his mount?” Gladstone blustered.
“My sincere apologies, Sir,” the servant continued. “Rules are rules, and you must be a member in good standing or be accompanied by a member to gain entrance.”
Alistair chanced a glance over his shoulder. Gladstone was fuming—his face scarlet red and his eyes wide. His paunch thrust forward as if his rotund frame spoke to his right to enter White’s without accompaniment or membership.
Turning back to his drink, and the fire roaring before him, Alistair felt a tick of satisfaction. He would not put it past Gladstone to be so obtuse as to demand Alistair vouch for his entrance.
There was not a chance of that occurring; however, there was a high likelihood Alistair would drink enough for the pair of them.
“I will have you without a position before the night is over,” Gladstone yelled, disrupting the quiet of the inner sanctum White’s provided its members. “You will allow me to pass—immediately—and fetch me a drink while I wait.”
Alistair rubbed the back of his neck, his head beginning to pound at the mere sound of Gladstone’s whining. If Alistair didn’t intervene, no member would have the respite they’d come for. Their evening would be ruined, though not everyone in attendance need have a horrid night when Alistair could return the relaxing atmosphere with only a quick conversation.
Standing, Alistair pasted a smile on his face, despite his feelings of disgust and dislike for Gladstone.
“Oliver,” Alistair said, making sure his voice was in line with that dictated by White’s rules. Gladstone’s fury transferred from the servant and landed on Alistair as he placed his tumbler on a table and strode toward the main entrance. “What is the problem?”
Gladstone narrowed his eyes, leery of Alistair’s intent—as he rightly should be. “I am meeting Lord Cartwright here this evening and this…” He paused, giving offending servant an indignant once over. “…servant is denying me entrance.” His voice grew more intense, louder, as he spoke, catching the attention of several other members.
Reaching the man, Alistair set his hand on his shoulder, gently turning him toward the door. “Allow us to go outside and await Lord Cartwright’s arrival. I am certain he will rectify the situation with all haste.” He glanced over his shoulder at the bewildered servant. “Sorry about the disturbance, Edgar. I will remain with Gladstone until Cartwright arrives.”
The doorman sighed in relief as the door quietly closed behind them.
The evening air pushed against Alistair, chilling him through due to his lack of overcoat.
“Price.” Gladstone rounded on Alistair, pulling away from his hand that still rested on the man’s shoulder. “I can handle my own affairs.”
“The disturbance you were causing speaks to the contrary,” Alistair said, pinning Gladstone with a stare that told the man any argument was unnecessary. “I think you should be on your way. Do not return again and keep your vexation far from me, or I will—“
“You will what?” Gladstone taunted, his lip rising in a sneer. “Are you threatening me?”
“Just looking out for your best interests, old boy.” Without another word, Alistair turned and walked back into White’s. Edgar held the door wide for him and shut it before Gladstone could issue another protest.
Returning to his seat, Alistair grabbed his drink from the table before sitting. A servant appeared at his side, a crystal decanter of bourbon at the ready.
“Thank you, Mr. Price,” the servant muttered.
“Not a problem, my man. I only wish he would have attempted a swing at me. It would have been extremely satisfying to knock the man off his high horse.”
Alistair stumbled ungracefully to his townhouse doorstep. No light shone from any window, and he hoped everyone was abed, deep in slumber…and that the door was left unlocked. Either luck was on his side, or someone waited up for him. It was too much to think it was his butler.
Pushing the door open slowly, he slipped in and removed his jacket to reveal his rumpled shirt beneath. Hours spent in his chair at White’s had made the linen appear the worse for wear. Alistair glanced down, noting the evidence of his evening meal—consumed in the same chair—clinging to the white fabric. The shirt was likely now rubbish—useless, similar to how Alistair felt about himself. With each tumbler of bourbon, his sense of inadequacy grew until he pondered ordering his servants to pack up all their belongings and prepare the family to journey back to the country.
His mother would certainly be available next year; Adeline was young, could wait one more season to be presented to society without causing undue speculation.
There was no doubt they’d all make a fuss about his decision; however, his parents had given him control while they were in London. If he chose to ship the lot of them back home, then it was his prerogative to do so.
Alistair had even spent a spell daydreaming of his remaining in London, unencumbered by his horde of siblings. Free to travel about town without worry for what commotion and trouble were going on at home. It was only that, though. A moment of woolgathering that had come quickly to an end when he noticed the decanter at his elbow had been emptied.
Just as quickly, his obligations and responsibilities crushed down on him once more.
He must seek his bed, gain a deep night’s sleep; the morning would dawn clear and on a positive note—he was determined to see it so.
“Brother.” A candle floated down the main staircase held aloft by Adeline, gowned in a nightshift of the purest white—certainly costing the Melton estate a fine price. “You are home.”
“And you should be in bed.” Alistair straightened his shoulders, infusing his words with the authority bestowed on him by the viscount and viscountess. “Now, return to your room—we will speak in the morning.”
She continued down the last several stairs, stepping into the foyer in her slippered feet. “I most certainly will not.”
“Unfortunately, I have no intention of participating in any discussion this night.” He made to move toward the stairs, but she stepped before him, her eyes glaring daggers. “Move aside at once.”
“Not until I have said my piece.”
�
�I am uninterested in your piece, Adeline.” Again, Alistair tried to push past his sister, but she grabbed his wrist with her free hand, the candle swinging precariously in her other as he attempted to pull from her grip. “You are a selfish, petty girl, unconcerned with the damage and scandal you are causing this family.”
She glanced at the floor between them. “Competing was not my idea; it was Lady Theodora’s. I agreed because I suspected you would not find out.”
However, Alistair had long ago learned not to fall into his sister’s coy traps; her attempts as remorse were always ungrounded in actual contrition. It normally only lasted until she’d gleaned Alistair—or his parents—weakening to her ploy.
“You think to blame Lady Theodora for your part in this scheme?”
“It is true, brother,” she insisted once more. “When I arrived in London, Lady Theo and Lady Georgie already had their plan set in action. I did not seek to upset them.”
“If you keep this foolishness up, you will not only ruin this family, you will also lose the few friends you have.”
Her eyes hardened as she realized he would not be buying into her ruse to place all the blame on another’s doorstep, leaving her to play the victim in it all.
“You stole my bow from our country estate. Before we journeyed to London,” he said, taking a step toward her, challenging her to not back down, to continue with her lies and deceit. “Do you know what my limited studies in law tell me?”
She shook her head, wisely remaining silent.
“It shows intent. You intended to participate in tournaments once you arrived in London, or there would have been no reason to secret away with my bow. There is no denying that fact.”
“Alistair—“
“Enough, Adeline,” he shouted, slicing his hand through the air to quiet her protest. “I am done here. I will seek my bed, just as I recommend you do. And do not attempt to push this blame on your friends. You are just as culpable as they.” He moved past her as she finally stepped aside. “Good night, Adeline. Sleep well.”
Theodora Page 11
