by Dawn Ireland
Worthington was a snake to bring that up now. Alex held his gaze and kept her voice steady. “I honor my wagers.”
“Good, then you will go inside, get into some decent clothing, and start to plan what you’ll need for our trip. We’ll leave in a fortnight.”
Alex rose to her feet. She felt dwarfed by his size, but refused to be intimidated. “As you wish, my lord.” She turned on her heel, and strode back toward the manor. Once out of sight, she broke into a run.
A resounding thud filled the air as Alex threw the front door open with enough force to hit the wall. She headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time. Eleanor came out of her room, a startled expression on her face. Alex gave her a stiff smile, then headed for the sanctuary of her bedroom.
Her insufferable guardian dared to bring up the wager. She paced between the dressing table and bed, her arms crossed. Marriage was not the answer. What had given him that ridiculous notion?
The door opened, and Eleanor stuck her head in. “Are you all right?”
“No, I’m not all right. Nothing will ever be all right again.” She realized she was shouting and lowered her voice. “That, that man wants to marry me off.”
Eleanor entered the room and shut the door behind her. “We discussed this. You knew it was a possibility.” She settled in the window seat and smoothed her violet gown. “Stop pacing. Wearing out the rug won’t help.”
Alex sighed and curled up, feet under her, in the spot next to her cousin. “What am I going to do about him?” She turned her diamond bracelet around her wrist. The gems sparkled as they caught the light.
“It’s not so bad,” Eleanor sighed, her face pinched with worry in spite of her assurance. “You’ve always managed to come up with a solution. You will this time, too.”
“I hope so. Last time I crossed Lord Worthington, I lost everything, my home and the people I held dear. I thought I’d never be happy again, then I met Grandfather.” Her lips turned upward in a slight smile. “It took a while for me to realize how much he loved me. In spite of everything I did, he never gave up.” Alex clasped Eleanor’s hands in hers. “You both made me feel part of a family. I’ll not lose you as well!”
“Don’t be silly.” Eleanor grinned. “I’m not that easy to get rid of.”
Alex squeezed Eleanor’s hands. “I’m not going to let Lord Worthington do this to me. A husband would expect me to always behave like a lady. Can you imagine, never wearing breeches again?”
Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “If you recall—”
“Regardless. My guardian would be condemning me to a life of pretending. I could live with that, if I had to, but what would happen here?”
“We’d survive.” Eleanor gently broke their clasped hands and leaned back against the casing. “Stop worrying about us. Besides, it would be in your future husband’s best interest to take care of things here.”
Alex shook her head. “If a man doesn’t love his wife, he does what he thinks is right, regardless of her wishes. He might decide to send you away, or Edgar, or Berta. I wouldn’t have the power to stop him.”
“What makes you think your husband wouldn’t love you?”
Alex’s face grew warm. True, it wasn’t impossible. She might someday find a man to love her. “Who’s going to fall in love with me right away? Remember London? I spent a whole Season and didn’t find anyone.”
Of course, she hadn’t really tried. It had seemed pointless. Not one of them would have accepted her if they’d known she favored breeches and could run an estate. They wanted women with dowries who would produce heirs, nothing more. None of them would have been able to best her in fencing, let alone accept her challenge, the way Declan had. She stood up and resumed her pacing. “No. I can’t risk a hurried marriage, but how in the hell am I going to convince my guardian?”
Alex tugged at the uncooperative bodice of her green silk gown and sighed. I hope Eleanor’s right. She squirmed again, trying to tease the scanty material over her breasts. This whole idea was ridiculous, but she’d promised. Her cousin’s words still rang in her ears.
“You’ve let him see nothing but your temper. Of course he wants to be rid of you as soon as possible, wouldn't you? Try being nice to him for a change. If you’re friendlier, he might even relent and allow you to go your own way.”
“Being nice” in Eleanor’s mind implied doing exactly what Declan asked. Well, she was wearing a dress, at his request. Maybe now he’d stop acting like she was a problem to be solved.
She remembered the day Grandfather had given her the elegant gown. He’d winked at her and stated that if it didn’t bring the young bucks round, nothing could. What would Declan think of it? Not that it mattered. Right now, she wanted his cooperation, nothing more.
Smoothing the silk one last time, she squared her shoulders and left the room. As luck would have it, when she reached the stairs, Declan stood at the bottom, ready to ascend. Dressed for dinner, his impeccable appearance was marred only by the black lock of hair that tumbled over his forehead.
He brushed it back with a practiced motion, looked up, then froze. For an instant, Alex thought she read surprise and desire in his eyes. Just the possibility boosted her confidence.
Smiling, she descended the stairs and inclined her head in his direction. Before she passed him, Declan stopped her. His voice sounded deeper, somewhat uneven.
“I was coming to get you.” His gaze skimmed her figure. “You need to eat. I’ll not have you starve because of your dislike for me.”
Her smile faltered. He didn’t mention her appearance, and how dare he imply she was too thin. She wanted to tell him she didn’t find him attractive either, even though it was a lie, but Eleanor’s words echoed like a litany in her brain. Be nice. Be nice.
Alex forced what she hoped was a smile to her lips. “Whatever gave you the idea I dislike you?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps it’s because you keep trying to stick me with sharp objects.”
“Grandfather used to tell me I was impulsive. I’m afraid he was right. It’s not you, but the situation, I find abhorrent.” Alex extended her hand. “Shall we?”
He hesitated, then turned and offered her his arm.
They said nothing on the way to the dining room, but he glanced her way more than once with a puzzled frown. Declan seated her across from Eleanor before taking her grandfather’s place at the head of the table.
Alex couldn’t believe she actually enjoyed dinner. Declan did most of the talking, and underneath the arrogant male demeanor she found a sense of humor. He regaled them with several stories concerning things he’d done as a youth; most of his tales involved his unsuspecting governess, but a few concerned her grandfather’s butler.
She remembered Beal as a surly old man. He’d left her grandfather’s employ shortly after she arrived. She’d been glad to see him go.
A shiver of fear touched her as Declan described how he’d managed to climb the steep roof of the manor in the dead of night. Picturing the twelve-year-old dangling a makeshift ghost in front of Beal’s window, she couldn’t resist a smile.
He must have scared the staid butler half to death. It served Beal right for always being so unpleasant.
So, Declan had grown up in the area. If he’d truly been that close with her grandfather, then perhaps Berta knew him. The gentle old woman had been her grandfather’s friend ever since Alex could remember.
Shame and remorse washed over Alex. She’d briefly spoken to Berta at the funeral, but she should have gone to see her before now. She just hadn’t been able to face the older woman. A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed in an attempt to ease the tension. How much had changed since she’d last seen the twinkle in Berta’s watery blue eyes.
She’d visit her tomorrow. If her adopted grandmother knew Declan, she might know why her grandfather had made him her guardian. Somehow, Berta always seemed to find a solution to life’s problems; maybe she’d know what to do about Lord Worthington.
What was she up to? Pondering the question, Declan stretched his large form in the leather chair.
He’d been at the ledgers since six that morning. Thank God, Lord Lochsdale had been meticulous about all things pertaining to his estates. It wasn’t at all like the shambles his own estates had been in when his father died.
He rose and opened a set of the French doors along one wall, then leaned against the frame with his shoulder. The Lady Alexandra of last night was more of a mystery than his rapier-welding hoyden. What did she hope to gain? He preferred her frontal attack. Charming females were dangerous.
Cool air flowed through the doors, molding the shirt to his chest. He closed his eyes and heard the heartbeat of the estate in the rhythmic pounding of the blacksmith. The noise outside didn’t quite mask the rustle of material or click of high-heeled shoes as someone entered the library behind him.
Declan spun around and slipped his knife from its sheath. An unannounced guest didn’t bode well in this manor if yesterday was any measure. The intruder was a man, dressed in the peacock fashion and wig affected by the Macaronis. His powdered face and elaborate finery enhanced his almost feminine beauty. One moon-shaped patch graced the corner of his hard-set mouth.
His visitor couldn’t have expected Declan to have a weapon, yet no emotion glimmered in his cold, light-blue eyes. A man with that much control usually had something to hide. Declan tightened the grip on his weapon.
“Lord Worthington? I’m—”
“I’m sorry, my lord.” The butler burst into the room, giving the intruder a reproving look. “I tried to stop him. I told Lord Addington you were occupied with accounts, but he insisted on seeing you.”
“It’s all right, Edgar.” Declan lowered his blade and positioned himself behind the ornate mahogany desk. “I don’t mind the interruption. I’ll ring if I need you.”
The peacock gave the retreating butler a disdainful glance before he turned back to the conversation. “I’m sorry to disturb you, my lord. I’m Luther Fenton, Viscount Addington. Alex’s second cousin, perhaps she’s spoken of me?”
“Actually, she did mention you.” Even you’re preferable to him. Now he understood Alex’s comment. He laid the dagger on the desk between them. “She seems to have some rather strong feelings for you.”
Surprise flashed briefly in Addington’s eyes. “Alex and I have always been close, though she may try to deny it. She isn’t comfortable sharing her feelings with everyone.” He lowered his voice and moved closer to the desk. “I’ve come to set your mind at ease concerning her welfare.”
“Really.” The man lied well. If Alex hadn’t made that passing remark yesterday, Declan might have believed him. He took a seat and motioned for his guest to do the same. “I wasn’t aware of any concerns.”
“Perhaps I’ve been misinformed.” Addington turned his hands palm upward and shrugged. “My sources indicated you were reluctant to become her guardian.” He paused and gave Declan an inquiring look.
Declan merely met the man’s gaze. The silence grew until he could hear the wind whispering through the curtains.
Addington appeared disconcerted, but continued. “Her future has been taken care of. There was an agreement between Lord Lochsdale and myself. Alex and I are to marry.”
“It’s odd Lord Lochsdale didn’t make you guardian in my stead.”
“It was only recently decided on. I’m sure he would have changed the will had he not died suddenly.”
“Was she aware of the arrangement?”
“No, we felt it best if I won her over to the idea.” He rested his hands on the chair arms and leaned forward, his voice edged with contempt. “For a woman, she seems to have a mind of her own.”
That was the Alex he knew. She’d never agree to marry this popinjay.
“Do you have a written contract?”
“No, the agreement was verbal.” Addington’s lace cuff swayed as he extended one thin white hand. “We’re reasonable men, my lord. I’m sure you have pressing matters in London.”
With steepled fingers, he watched his guest, pursing his lips as if he were actually considering the man’s claim. Lord Lochsdale would never have agreed to this match. He’d loved his granddaughter too much to marry her off to someone like Addington.
His visitor brushed an imaginary speck of lint from his blue embroidered waistcoat. “If it’s agreeable, I’ll go over affairs here and send you a full report. I imagine the marriage will take place quickly, and you’ll be done with the whole affair.”
Declan sat back in the desk chair. “I appreciate the offer Lord Addington, but as it happens, I have a fortnight before I need to return to London. If I remember correctly, the hunting in this area is exceptional. I thought to avail myself of the sport. Would you care to accompany me?”
“I’d be delighted.” Addington produced an enameled snuffbox, then extended it toward Declan.
“No, thank you.” How the habit had become fashionable, he’d never understand. “Shall we meet here tomorrow morning?” If Declan wasn’t mistaken, he’d just made an enemy.
“That would be agreeable.” Addington took a pinch of snuff and returned the box to his pocket.
Declan stood and came around the desk. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” he said, folding his arms and leaning back against the desk edge, “I have a great many papers to go over.”
Addington looked as if he wanted to ask something, but instead, he rose and walked to the door.
Before he left, Declan spoke, “Just one more thing. Regarding the Countess of Lochsdale, I’m afraid I promised the poor girl a Season in London with the express purpose of finding a husband.” Declan would love to see Alex’s reaction if she found out he’d called her a poor girl. “Of course, as you’ve been developing a fondness between you, I’m sure you’ll be her choice.”
Addington no longer appeared quite as accommodating. He gave a curt nod. “As you wish. Until tomorrow, my lord.”
Luther Fenton, Viscount Addington, closed the door with care, although the urge to slam it almost overwhelmed him. The hall appeared empty, so he lovingly ran his hand over the smooth top of a Chippendale table, smearing the polished wood surface. This would be his, just as it should have been.
He glanced in the hall mirror and studied his reflection. He looked like the lord of the manor. A spot on his coat drew his attention. He brushed at the white patch with his fingertips, then adjusted his cravat. A Season in London would stretch his resources, but perhaps it wouldn’t be necessary.
Sad, how many hunting accidents occurred each year. The earl would just be one of many. Tomorrow morning didn’t leave him much time. It wasn’t going to be easy, not like the others.
The initial meeting hadn’t gone well, but the game wasn’t over yet. Luther felt like skipping down the front steps. He perused the well-tended estate and smiled at the black storm clouds gathering overhead. He truly did love a challenge.
Chapter 4
Alex lifted a sapphire-blue dress from the chest in her mother’s bedroom. The silk, as soft and elusive at the memories it evoked, slipped through her fingers. Her mind grasped at the hazy childhood remembrance.
Wracked with fever, her mother had worn the gown as she lay on the bunk in her cabin. Alex hadn’t been able to do anything but wait and watch as the forbidding shadows of evening threatened to steal her mother’s life.
A small candle burned, mixing the smell of tar with tallow. The flame, sputtering with the sway of the lantern, barely illuminated her mother’s sweat-sheened face. Her slight body thrashed in a way that had nothing to do with the storm beating at the ship.
Mother had called her name, over and over. Alex had tried to tell her she was there. She’d gripped her mother’s frail hand in her pudgy round one and held on until...
“Alex!” Declan knocked louder. He would not be ignored. In spite of the storm wailing outside, his knocking drew servants from all parts of the house, though they all pretended to be busy with duties.<
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“If you don’t answer this door, I’m coming in.” Declan waited for several moments, then threw himself against the wooden timbers. The fastening mechanism snapped and the door swung inward. He glared at the servants’ shocked faces, then crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him.
Even with the dimness of the room, he spotted her immediately, seated on the floor, surrounded by masses of colored silk gowns. She gripped the edge of a trunk, her head resting on her hands. He couldn’t see her face; her glorious hair shielded it from view. Why didn’t she acknowledge his presence?
He crossed the room in several long strides and bent down to take her shoulder. “Alex.”
She started, turned, then looked up at him. “Lord Worthington, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I knocked. Actually, I did more than that. If you check outside, I believe the entire staff came running.” He reached down and touched the wet trail of a tear as it made its way over her cheek. “Crying?”
Alex brushed at her face with the back of her hand. “Dust.” She stood, using the trunk for support, and squared her shoulders before looking at him. “We rarely use this room. I’ll have to speak with the maids.”
She bent and plucked a forest green gown from the pile, then crossed to the dressing table mirror. The garment slipped from her grasp several times before she managed to hold it up to check the fit.
The plain design of the gown didn’t hold with the current fashion, but the style suited Alex. The powder, frills, and patches of the day would only detract from her beauty. His ward’s vibrancy came from within. She didn’t need jewels or lace.
“It would look lovely on you, but I didn’t think you cared for gowns.” Declan waited for a sharp retort.
“This was my mother’s favorite.” Alex crossed to the bed and laid the gown across the end with care, the taffeta rustling as she smoothed the wrinkles. “I decided to see if I could make due with any of these in London.”
