Turning at that answer, he once again found himself face-to-face with the Earl of Aubry and his countess.
“I practice at Angelo's every week,” the earl continued. “If you’ve a fondness for the sport, perhaps we might test each other’s mettle? As my wife will tell you,” he added, drawing his wife more tightly to his side, “I have quite a passion for fencing.”
The gesture of husbandly possessiveness smashed through the barricade of indifference he'd spent the past few hours trying to build. When a waltz began, and Rathburn offered his arm to Melanie for a turn about the floor, Alexandre seized the opportunity and bowed to Tess. “Lady Aubry, would you honor me?”
Her pale face went even whiter, but he found only the barest hint of satisfaction of that before it turned again to concern on her behalf. What illness could leave her looking like such a wraith?
She hesitated a moment, then turned to her husband. “My lord?”
Aubry slid his arm from hers. “Of course, my dear. Enjoy yourself.”
Alexandre escorted her to the floor, and as they began the waltz, he noted Aubry observing them through his quizzing glass. Bon Dieu, did the man love her so much that he couldn’t bear to have her out of his sight long enough for a dance?
“So, you've become a countess, have you?” he asked, his teeth clenched in a smile. “And you didn't even invite me to the wedding.”
She refused to look at him. Instead, she kept her gaze fixed on the knot of his cravat. “I don't know what you mean.”
“Don't you? When were the happy nuptials?”
“My...my husband and I have been married for almost three years.”
“Three years?” Alexandre blinked, amazed that in all the thoughts he’d had of her during the past months, not once had it occurred to him that she was married. Perhaps that was because she’d failed to mention the fact when he’d asked her to marry him. “You were married when I asked you to be my wife? When I took you to my bed?”
He felt her draw back, and he tightened his grip on her hand to prevent her from pulling away. “You'd best be careful, Countess. Leaving me in the midst of a dance would be a serious breach of manners, would it not?”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked in a whisper. “Please, just return me to my husband and go.”
“Go? When I'm having such a marvelous time? Tell me, Lady Aubry, how does it feel to have your husband and your former lover at the same ball? Does it give you a glorious sense of power?”
She didn't answer, and her silence and her refusal to look at him only fueled his frustration. He glanced at her husband as they waltzed past him and noticed him still watching. “Look at me and smile and wipe that guilty look off your face or your husband will begin to suspect there is something between us.” He managed a laugh. “If he only knew how I truly feel about you, he’d have no cause to be jealous.”
Pain shimmered across her face, and he felt a hint of satisfaction, for he wanted that—he wanted her to feel something akin to what he was feeling at this moment. “But then,” he continued, relentless, “perhaps that's what you want. A duel at dawn. If I kill him, you become a rich widow and can have as many lovers as you please. If he kills me—”
“Don't!” she cried, still not looking at him. “Please don't do this.”
“I can see that subject of my demise displeases you. Shall we discuss something else? My daughter, perhaps?”
A sound escaped her, a sound that was too much like a sob, and his satisfaction faded to a bleak emptiness.
“How—” She stopped, and he could see her striving for control. “How is Suzanne?”
“Why should you care?” he muttered.
She lifted her chin. Her eyes were dark with anguish, and he almost stumbled. “I care,” she whispered.
He tore his gaze from hers before he could become lost in it, feeling like a fool. Despite everything, he was as much a slave to her expressive eyes as ever before. “Of course you care. Your actions over the past six months demonstrate that so very clearly.”
“Damn you!” The sudden savagery of her voice startled him, and when he looked at her, he found that her anguish had given way to anger. “I had my reasons.”
He had wanted her to feel the pain and anger he was feeling, and it seemed he had finally succeeded, but it seemed a hollow victory. When the music stopped, he led her back to her husband's side without another word.
He remained at the ball for another hour, careful to avoid any contact with Tess or her husband. He danced with several more beautiful women, made several more contacts, and hoped he wasn't wearing his heart on his sleeve. By the time he claimed his carriage and returned to his house, it was nearly four o'clock in the morning, but he had no desire for sleep. What he wanted was oblivion.
He went into the study, stripped off his evening coat and gloves, and tossed them carelessly into a corner. Not bothering to light a lamp, he poured himself a brandy in the dark and drank it in one draught. Then he poured himself another. Glass in hand, he sank into one of the leather chairs, questions swirling through his mind.
If she had been married, why had she run away to France? The obvious conclusion was that her popinjay of a husband would have known he wasn't the father of her child, that she had taken a lover behind Aubry’s back. That would also explain why she’d left Suzanne behind when she’d returned to England.
He took a swallow of brandy. The liquid burned his throat, and he remembered the way Tess's touch had burned his skin. Even now, months later, he could still recall every detail of their night together, try as he might to forget. He could still smell the fragrance of her skin. He could still taste her lips and feel the softness of her body beneath him.
He drank off the rest of his brandy in one draught and poured himself another glass. He didn’t want to think of her anymore. He wanted oblivion, and he drank until visions of her disappeared from his mind, his heart was numb again, and the bottle was empty.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The day was warm, the carriage top was down, and Hyde Park was crowded, but Tess was too preoccupied with her thoughts to take much notice.
Knowing Alexandre was in London sent a cold shudder of fear running through her every time she contemplated it, and each time she recalled their conversation of the night before replayed itself in her head, the pain of his cruel words only deepened.
“It's a lovely day.”
Felicia's words registered somewhere in her mind, but Tess paid no attention. “Mm-hmm,” she answered without turning her attention to the girl seated beside her in the carriage.
During her months in Provence, she'd seen many facets of Alexandre’s character, but she'd never have imagined he could be cruel. Last night, he had shown her that he could, but the fact that she was the recipient of it wasn't nearly as hard to bear as the knowledge that she was also the cause.
“I think everyone in London is in the park today.”
Tess continued to stare with unseeing eyes at the other carriages clogging Rotten Row. “Mm-hmm,” she said again. She’d known, of course, that her departure must have wounded him, but until now, she hadn’t appreciated how much. She’d hoped he would forget her—
“Lady Aubry?”
Felicia put a hand on her shoulder, and Tess came out of her reverie with a start. “Hmm? I beg your pardon?”
“I don't know why you invited me to come with you today.” Felicia said in a teasing voice. “Since I am spending our afternoon talking to myself.”
Tess flushed. “I’m so sorry. How rude of me.”
Felicia laughed good-naturedly, but before she could reply, another carriage holding four young ladies drew up alongside them and a cry of greeting interrupted their conversation.
“Felicia, darling, I thought that was you,” cried Lady Melanie from her place in the rear seat. She nodded to Tess. “Good afternoon, Lady Aubry.”
“Good afternoon. Stop the carriage, Dawson,” Tess added to her driver as Melanie’s carriage slowed t
o a halt.
“What a crush your papa's ball was last night.” Felicia said to Melanie once both carriages had stopped.
The other girl laughed. “Don't call it Papa's ball in front of him. He hates balls and parties and things. But Mama wanted you to have a proper debut.”
“It was lovely. Aunt Caroline went to a great deal of trouble for me.”
“Trouble? Rubbish! Mama simply lives for that sort of thing. Besides, you're her favorite niece.” Melanie also leaned a bit over the side of her carriage, and eager curiosity was in her voice as she asked, “How many gentlemen have asked to call on you, cousin? Do tell!”
Felicia began mentioning names, and as the girls discussed the possibilities for Felicia's matrimonial future, Tess listened with genuine interest and a hint of envy. These girls were all bosom bows and their camaraderie was something Tess had not experienced since her girlhood in Northumberland. She hadn't developed a close friendship with any woman since her marriage. Nigel didn’t like it, and life was much easier when she avoided doing what Nigel didn’t like.
“Speaking of gentlemen,” Felicia said in a teasing voice, “it's your turn to confess, Melanie. I demand to hear all about Dumond!”
Tess stiffened, all her senses alert.
Melanie fell back against her seat, a gloved hand to her bosom, and gave a sigh of exaggerated rapture. “Simply divine, isn't he? He's painting my portrait, you know.”
“I didn't know! How could I? I haven't seen you for days and days. If Mama had allowed me to stay with you for the Season, I would know these things.”
The look of pity the other girls exchanged was not lost on Tess. It was well known that Felicia's own parents didn't have the blunt to sponsor her for the Season, but they had plenty of pride and had scraped together the money for a rented town house of their own in one of London’s less fashionable squares.
“Yes,” Melanie continued, smoothly covering the sudden silence. “He's doing a portrait of me. I'm dying to take a peek at it, but he won't let me. He says he never lets anyone see a portrait until it's finished. Papa was quite upset about that.”
Tess smiled a little, remembering how she hadn’t been able to see her portrait either until it was done. Those summer days in the meadow with Alexandre seemed a lifetime ago.
“I was amazed when I saw him,” Felicia confessed. “He looks so dark and formidable. Handsome, too, in a dangerous, brooding sort of way.”
“He's very mysterious, too. Reveals nothing about himself. But I did hear that he owns a great deal of land. Vineyards, I believe, somewhere in France. Bordeaux, perhaps? Or Champagne? Anyway,” she added with a vague wave of her hand, “he’s quite wealthy, I hear.”
Tess thought of Alexandre's crumbling castle and deserted vineyards, and her smile widened a little as she wondered what the pampered Lady Melanie would think if she were forced to learn how to milk a goat or cook a chicken.
“So, if he's wealthy, why won't your father consider him as a match for you?” one of the other girls asked.
Melanie's eyes widened and she began to laugh. “Darling! A Frenchman? And an artist? Papa would never consent to such a match!”
“I heard his painting is only a hobby,” another girl commented. “But, still, he is French.”
“Isn't he though?” Melanie sighed again. “When he speaks to me with that lovely accent, I’m simply enraptured.”
“He's quite tall,” Felicia commented. “I noticed it when I danced with him. He waltzes divinely.”
“He does,” Melanie confirmed. “When he holds you in his arms and moves you across the floor, why, it feels as if you're floating on air.”
All of them, with the exception of Tess, sighed in unison at this poetic description.
“Is that really how it feels?” another girl asked.
“Definitely,” Melanie assured them, adding, “Wouldn't you agree, Lady Aubry?”
All eyes turned eagerly to Tess, but if Lady Melanie and her friends expected Tess to relay in detail exactly how it had felt to be held in Alexandre Dumond's arms, they were destined to be disappointed. “He dances quite well,” was all she said, a reply that made all five of the girls look at her in aggravation, as if her refusal to offer details was a thorough let down.
“But of course,” Melanie said, smoothly jumping into the breach, “you are married to one of the handsomest and wealthiest men in England, Lady Aubry. Of course you would be indifferent to the charms of a wild French artist.”
“Ooh, speak of the devil!” one of the girls squealed. “Dumond is right over there! And he’s coming this way.”
A collective set of girlish giggles ensued. Tess in no frame of mind to giggle, heartily wished she could duck down in her seat and hide from his sight, but she had the feeling it was already too late. Alexandre had probably seen her.
“What a splendid horse he's riding,” Felicia commented. “Oh, Melanie, I'm sure he's coming to speak with you!”
Melanie did not turn around to look. She merely smiled. “Is he? How lovely.”
“He doesn't have his daughter with him today,” one of the other girls commented. “I was out riding with my mother a few days ago and saw him in his carriage. He had his daughter with him then, sitting in his lap. Can you imagine?”
Tess could imagine it. She could imagine Alexandre taking Suzanne for rides, rocking her to sleep, telling her stories. The visions filled her with a mixture of emotions. Relief, knowing she had made the right decision. Jealousy, knowing she would never have such moments with her baby. Sadness, knowing she would never watch her daughter grow to womanhood.
“He adores that child,” Melanie informed them. “He takes her with him nearly everywhere. It's not quite the thing, you know, but it is rather quaint.”
Tess shoved aside the craven impulse to hide as she watched Alexandre approaching. Hatless, dressed in black riding costume, he looked magnificent astride his black horse, and no matter how she tried, Tess couldn’t tear her gaze away from him.
“Bonjour, mesdemoiselles.” He halted his horse on the opposite side of Melanie's carriage. One lock of his long black hair fell forward over his shoulder as he bowed his head to them in greeting, and he tossed it back with a careless shake of his head.
“Monsieur Dumond!” Melanie turned to greet him. “How delightful to see you again so soon.”
“The pleasure is mine, Lady Melanie.” He glanced toward Tess's carriage. “Good afternoon, Lady Felicia. Ah, and Lady Aubry.” His black eyes met hers for only a moment before he returned his attention to the blond girl in the other carriage.
“Have you come to eavesdrop on our gossip, Monsieur?” Melanie inquired with a coquettish laugh.
He wrapped the reins in one hand to lift the other in a gesture of regret. “A tempting idea, but alas, non.” He gave them a wicked grin and added, “Although, perhaps it is not so tempting. You might be talking of me, and eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves, n'est-ce pas?”
The girls laughed at that. Tess did not.
An irate male voice behind them suddenly overrode the laughter. “My dear ladies, can you please move forward? You are blocking the path!”
“Oh, what a bother!” Melanie exclaimed and half-rose in her seat to cast a glance at the carriage behind them.
“Ladies, my regrets,” Alexandre said, “but I must be on my way. Au revoir.” He gave them a final wave and turned his horse away without a single glance in Tess’s direction.
“Isn't he dashing?” Melanie sighed as she watched him lead the horse away at a rapid canter.
“What extraordinary hair!” one of the other girls exclaimed. “It's so out of fashion, but it suits him, does it not?”
All the girls agreed it suited him well indeed. Tess expressed no opinion, but the extraordinary feel of Alexandre's hair tangled within her grasp was a memory she feared would be with her all her days.
“Ladies, please!” the man behind them spoke again, causing both Tess and Melanie to give their dr
ivers instructions to move forward.
“You’re coming to dinner tomorrow, aren’t you, Felicia?” Melanie called to her cousin as both carriages continued down the Row.
“I believe we are.”
“Excellent. You can see my portrait. Dumond assured Mama it would be finished by then, and she’s having a little dinner party for him to celebrate.” She turned in her seat as her carriage began merging ahead of Tess’s into the line of traffic. “You too, Lady Aubry,” she added over her shoulder. “You are more than welcome to come if you like.”
She turned away, facing forward in her seat before Tess could think of an excuse to refuse her invitation, but that didn’t matter. Tess would simply send a note of refusal to Lady Grenville this evening. After all, she had no intention sitting across from Alexandre at dinner, for that would only make her life more hellish than it already was.
***
Although she managed to evade Lady Grenville’s little dinner party, Tess did see Alexandre again, more than once. In fact, during the fortnight that followed the Grenville ball, she seemed to encounter him at every social event she attended. Though they never spoke, it seemed as if every time she looked at him, he was watching her. From across a crowded drawing room, or separated by dancers on a ballroom floor, he seemed to be staring at her, and every time their eyes met, she saw questions in his eyes, questions he seemed waiting for the opportunity to ask her. She could only pray he never got that opportunity.
But Tess feared she could not possibly avoid him for the entire Season, and that fear was confirmed when an invitation arrived by post from Alexandre himself, requesting the honor of Lord and Lady Aubry's presence at a conversazione to be held at his home seven days hence. Nigel accepted the invitation on behalf of both of them, and though she tried to finagle her way out of going, her husband would have none of it. He insisted that she accompany him.
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