by Louise Allen
‘Don’t be foolish.’ Alex looked at the spines. ‘Cookery books and notebooks are essential housekeeping equipment.’ He waved aside the assistant waiting to carry the parcel out to the carriage. ‘Now we are going to Bond Street and Madame Francine’s.’
‘Madame—a modiste?’ Tess stopped dead on the pavement. ‘I am not going to help you choose garments for your light of love, my lord!’
‘Foolish,’ he repeated, marching her firmly towards the carriage. ‘Garments for you. Hannah gave me a list, said that she had not finished outfitting you.’
‘She had. I have everything I need.’ She was beholden to him enough.
‘What do you know about it, little nun?’ He waved a folded sheet of paper under her nose.
‘But—’
‘But nothing. Here we are.’ He helped her down, swept her into the shop, deposited her firmly in a chair and proceeded to charm the pantalettes off Madame Francine, as Tess said bitterly to Dorcas later.
She was taken off to a fitting room, measured, clucked over and finally allowed back to where Alex was waiting, perfectly at his ease on a spindly gilt chair, his nose in a copy of La Belle Assemblée.
‘All will be ordered as you desire, my lord.’ Madame Francine glanced at the list. ‘We have taken foot tracings so the shoes will be delivered at the same time.’
Tess knew better than to make a scene in the shop, but she began to protest as soon as they reached the carriage. ‘Alex—my lord—I cannot have you buying me more clothes. It is not at all proper, beside any consideration of the cost.’
‘Do I appear to be poverty stricken? Unable to afford a modest wardrobe for a lady housekeeper?’
‘No, but that is not the point.’
‘Those old crows sent you out into the world dressed like a skivvy. Do you expect me to leave you like that?’
‘You outfitted me as you would have a footman with his livery. That is understandable. And what you gave me was quite sufficient.’
‘Sufficient is a mean, tight, word. You are a pretty young woman, Tess, not a footman. It gives me pleasure to see you dressed nicely. You bring colour to the house.’
She felt the blush burn upwards and with it the anger. ‘Pretty. I see. You expect me to show my gratitude, I suppose? Madame Francine knows you very well, doesn’t she? I suppose that is where you take all your mistresses.’ As soon as she said it she knew she had misjudged him.
‘Yes, I have taken mistresses there before. You think that is how I regard you? You think that of me?’ Alex’s face was an expressionless mask.
‘No. No, I do not. I am sorry, I reacted without thinking. I hate the idea of some sort of financial transaction, but… You want me. I may be inexperienced, but when we fell on the floor of the carriage…’ Her vocabulary failed her.
‘You noticed I was aroused?’
It was possible that a thunderbolt might strike, or the carriage horses bolt or the king pass by in procession. No miracle occurred to save her. Tess jerked up her chin and made herself look Alex in the eye. ‘Yes.’ Yes, I did notice that hard ridge of flesh pressed into my stomach. Yes, I do know what it means and, no, I was not shocked. I was excited. Shamefully, achingly, excited.
‘You may also have noticed that I did nothing about it.’ Now his voice was as colourless as his expression. ‘I would have to be…a completely different kind of man not to be aroused by you. I can ignore this, just as any gentleman can. We are not all the victims of our animal natures like Dorcas’s previous employer.’
‘I know.’ She kept her chin up, even though she wanted to bury her face in the carriage rug. ‘It is on my mind because…’ Because I wish you were not such a gentleman. Impossible to say it. Tess closed her eyes and swallowed. ‘I wonder why you are not married.’
‘I do not intend to marry,’ Alex said, as calmly as if he was stating that he had no intention of visiting Germany.
That snapped her eyes open. ‘You don’t intend to marry? But that’s ridiculous!’
‘So is being quizzed on the subject by a convent-reared gentlewoman in my own carriage.’ There was a definite edge to his voice now and colour up over his cheekbones. If he resembled any of the mythical creatures of Sister Moira’s fairy tales, it was no longer a benevolent one. ‘Why is it ridiculous that I do not intend to marry? Are you of the opinion that everyone should?’
‘Of course not. In my case, for example, it should be obvious that I will not wed.’ One dark brow lifted, but she pressed on. ‘I am a penniless nobody with a living to earn. You are an aristocrat, heir to a title. Surely marriage is expected of you?’
‘Exactly. I do not choose to do the expected.’ There was an unfamiliar, bitter twist to his mouth now.
‘Then, it is simply a self-indulgent whim?’
Alex turned those slanting hazel eyes on her. ‘Throwing brickbats now I have made you uncomfortable, Tess? It is not a whim, it is a deliberate act by someone who is otherwise powerless to avenge a crime.’
His father. Hannah said someone died that Christmas ten years ago. ‘You are depriving your father of the hope of the succession, aren’t you? But you have a brother.’
His lips curved into a smile that sent cold chills down her spine. ‘Indeed I have. Let us just say that if I were a stockbreeder I could not hope for a more willing stallion nor fear having one who has proved so unproductive so far. According to gossip Matthew has spent his wild oats over three counties without so much as one bastard to his name.’
‘I do not think I like you very much in this mood, Alex Tempest.’ Tess dragged the carriage rug close around her legs.
‘Nor do I,’ he said, the dangerous smile vanishing. ‘I do not think I have ever come across a lady who is prepared to speak as frankly as you, Tess.’
‘Perhaps I just see the future more clearly. I will not marry and I am unlikely ever to find myself in a situation where I can discuss such subjects so openly with a man. I will be gone soon after all. Hannah will return after Christmas and I will have to take myself off to the employment agencies.
‘Are you not cutting off your nose to spite your face? After all, you are not a virgin, are you, my lord?’ There was a woman in the carriage who looked like her, sounded like her. The Tess Ellery who was listening to what this other Tess was saying, who seemed to be able to see her through Alex’s eyes, shrivelled inwardly with shock.
A sudden, surprised gasp of laughter escaped him. ‘No.’
‘I thought not, not after the mention of mistresses. Nor a monk, either, I imagine?’
‘No, not a monk, either.’
‘So you are not proposing a life of sacrificial celibacy. You will punish your father and wallow in sin at the same time.’
‘Wallow in sin? Tess, what have you been reading?’
‘No doubt I am very naive, but I do not think you are happy.’
‘And marriage would make me happy? I very much doubt it. I haven’t the models for doing it right, besides anything else. If I’ve inherited anything from my father, it is probably an ability to make an appalling husband and father. Don’t look at me with those great innocent eyes, full of righteous indignation, Tess.’ He studied her face for a moment, then smiled, a smile free from the bitterness and mockery. ‘Are you by any chance attempting to seduce me into happiness by using sweet reason?’
She thought about it for a moment. ‘Yes, I believe I am.’
‘I have to tell you it is not very erotic.’
‘It is not intended to be erotic!’ Infuriating man, to be able to make me blush even more deeply than I already am. ‘I am not talking about that kind of seduction.’
‘Your arguments have their merits, but for other men, I think. And I have to tell you that successful seduction requires passion and recklessness and surprise.’ His lips were twitching now. It was not laughter directed at her, she guessed. Hoped.
‘I would need to catch you unawares?’ Tess suggested. There was a flicker of something inside her, a warm, fidgety glow. ‘Be
more passionate with my arguments?’
‘Indeed you would. And I am not easily caught with my guard down.’
*
Tess pondered on seduction over the next week in the intervals between ordering supplies, puzzling over whether one goose, one turkey and a ham would be enough for the Christmas meals and negotiating the use of the boiler in between wash days in order to dangle the cannonballs of plum pudding in the cavernous pot.
Alex had been amusing himself by teasing her and, perhaps, flirting a little, she guessed, although she had no experience of such a thing. According to the nuns seduction applied to sin, to devils luring souls into doing wicked things. In Minerva Press novels seduction was all to do with love and lust. Between the pages wicked women dressed in trailing silks lured the hero into their toils and then…the chamber door closed with a resounding thud, even in the most daring tale. Tess very much doubted she’d know a toil if she fell over it; she possessed no trailing silks and Alex would probably laugh himself sick at the sight of her slinking about in her very sensible flannel wrapper.
I am thinking about seducing him into bed, not into happiness, she thought. But that would be sin, not because she truly believed that making love was wrong, but because his conscience would hurt him if he took her virginity.
But if he was convinced it would do no harm… It was a delicious daydream, one that brought back the heat and the tingling feelings and the ache to be held, very close, very tight.
How would one go about seducing Alex Tempest? It was safe enough to weave fantasies, surely? Laughter seemed to lower his guard. Laughter and being close enough to touch might work. Catching the man at home and alone, though, that would the first step, and Alex was very, very good at being elusive.
‘What I want for Christmas is an earl,’ she informed Noel, who was in her room helping her to wrap Christmas presents by tangling the ribbons and hiding in boxes. ‘Just the once. I know I’d have to give him back. I only want to borrow him. I suppose I would be quite hopeless at making love, but all the gossip says that men enjoy being with virgins. Which seems strange. But then men are strange, I’m beginning to find.
‘I suppose I shouldn’t be telling you this. You are much too young for such wicked conversation.’ Tess scooped up the kitten, who was trying to eat silver paper, and tickled him until he was a limp, purring handful of fur. ‘But I wish I could make Alex happy. He isn’t, you know, not deep down. He’s angry and hurting. I wish I could give him his family for Christmas, then he might settle down and find a wife and have children of his own.’
Noel made an ambiguous noise somewhere between a mew and a yowl. Tess lifted him up so his pink nose was inches from hers and his eyes crossed as he looked at her. ‘You think we need a fairy godmother? They are in short supply in London, I fear.’
‘What is in short supply?’ Alex’s voice said from behind her.
Chapter Twelve
Tess spun round on her knees and ended up on her bottom in a tangle of ribbons. ‘You made me jump.’ How long had Alex been standing there, one shoulder against the door frame of her room, listening to her? ‘If you have been eavesdropping, then you’ll know.’
‘I have just arrived, was about to knock and the door swung open onto you complaining about shortages. What do you need?’
Unless he was an actor good enough for Covent Garden Theatre then he had only heard those few words. Tess offered up several prayers of thanks, one in Latin. ‘Fairy godmothers. They are scarce, you must agree.’
‘Why do you need one of those?’ Alex pushed the door right open with his foot, but stayed where he was, pleasingly framed in the space. ‘Just ask and I’ll sort out your Christmas wishes.’
He was flirting, she was almost certain. There was certainly a wicked gleam in his eyes.
Tess got to her feet with as much grace as was possible, given that she had a kitten clinging to her skirts, and assumed her best housekeeper’s expression. ‘You wanted me?’ she enquired.
Alex’s gaze seemed somehow heavier, warmer as his eyes rested on her. It must be the different angle she was seeing him from now she was on her feet.
It was a moment before he replied. ‘Only to tell you that I am dining at Brooks’s tonight and I will be out to dinner at Lord Hawthorne’s tomorrow night.’ He flashed her his rapid, wicked smile. ‘My last fling of dissipation and sociability before Christmas descends like a pall on London.’
‘It is still only the thirteenth.’ What is he going to say when he sees what I have planned for Christmas?
‘I know, but everyone will start leaving for the country by the fifteenth, if they have not already gone.’ He turned to leave, then glanced back over his shoulder. ‘I’ve got a carpenter to make a proper cradle for Daisy. He’ll deliver it tomorrow.’
‘Oh, thank you.’ Tess started forward, to touch his hand, kiss his cheek, then stopped as the realisation of what she was doing hit her. No, it isn’t fair, don’t make it harder for him to behave like a gentleman. She turned the movement into a clap of her hands. ‘That’s wonderful—an old drawer isn’t really deep enough to keep out the draughts.’
He smiled and turned to leave. ‘Thank you,’ Tess whispered again as the sound of his footsteps across the hall faded away. It had taken thoughtfulness to notice the makeshift crib and to do something about it. It had involved him making an effort, personal effort, when he could have easily ignored a servant’s child as something that was not his concern. ‘There’s hope for you yet, Lord Weybourn.’
*
The sound of the key in the latch froze Tess on top of the ladder. Around her in the hall both footmen and Dorcas stopped dead, their arms full of evergreens.
‘Oh, my God, it’s only seven o’clock, he’s not due back for hours.’ Phipps clutched the foot of the ladder, making it sway and Tess yelp and clutch the hanging lantern with both hands. The bunch of mistletoe she had been attempting to fix fell on to MacDonald’s head, Phipps burst into laughter and Dorcas gave a small shriek.
The front door swung open slowly to reveal Lord Weybourn standing on his own front step, fog swirling around him as he held his latch key in one hand and a large wreath tied with scarlet ribbons in the other. ‘This just fell off,’ he said. ‘I caught it. It appears to consist entirely of holly. Exceedingly prickly holly.’
‘I knew I should have used wire, not string, to hold it to the knocker. Sorry, my lord.’ MacDonald tossed the mistletoe to Phipps and strode forward to take the wreath. ‘Ow. Oh, bug—I mean, ouch.’
‘Oh, bug—ouch, indeed.’ Alex came in and closed the door behind him. ‘Phipps, do you intend to kiss me under that mistletoe or to take my hat and coat?’
‘Take your hat, my lord.’ Phipps threw the mistletoe to Dorcas and reached for Alex’s cane. From her perch Tess could see the tops of Phipps’s ears were bright red.
‘And what, exactly, is this?’ Alex enquired as he shrugged out of his caped greatcoat.
‘Christmas evergreens. It is the twentieth after all.’ Tess looked down into Alex’s upturned face and tried to read his mood. Obviously arms full of prickly holly and his hallway in chaos was not how he expected to be welcomed home, but was he annoyed beyond that? ‘We were not expecting you to return yet.’
‘That much is obvious. Why are you up a stepladder, Mrs Ellery, when there are two able-bodied males here and three more in the stables?’
Because Phipps is scared of heights and MacDonald is clumsy was the truth, but she couldn’t betray the footmen. ‘A woman’s artistic touch?’ she ventured.
‘I see.’ Alex retrieved the now somewhat battered bunch of mistletoe from Dorcas and held it up to her, took a firm hold on the ladder, waited until she had tied the angular fronds in place and then said, ‘Now come down, please.’
‘Yes, my lord.’ Tess attempted her best meek and obedient voice.
‘Did I order Christmas evergreens?’ he enquired when she was standing in front of him.
‘You didn’t forbid them, my
lord.’
‘A major oversight. I did not forbid massed carol singers, handbell ringers and a full-size yule log in the front room either. Are those to be expected?’
‘No, my lord. At least, there will be carols downstairs. But no handbells, I promise, and the fireplaces are too small for yule logs.’
‘And are any other rooms infested with fir cones?’ Were his lips twitching? Just a little, perhaps.
‘No, my lord. Just the hallway and below stairs.’
‘I think I could tolerate a sprig or two of holly in the study. And fix that wreath back on the front door, MacDonald. We don’t want the neighbours to think we are lacking in Christmas spirit, now do we?’ Yes, there is a definite twitch. Almost a smile. ‘You, Mrs Ellery, are a very bad influence on my household.’ His gaze flickered up to the mistletoe immediately over her head. ‘And on me,’ he added softly.
Tess took three very deliberate steps backwards. ‘Shall I have tea brought up, my lord?’
‘Tea? No, brandy to the study, MacDonald. Is my post there?’
‘Yes, my lord.’ The footman doubled away; Alex vanished into the study.
Tess looked round at her remaining helpers. ‘We are almost done, I think. Phipps, just let me have that remaining holly, the pieces with lots of berries, and I’ll arrange it in a vase for the study. Dorcas, if you could tidy up and, Phipps, you remove the stepladder—’ From the study there was the clatter of something metallic falling, then rolling. Then silence. ‘What was that?’
‘Sounded like the silver salver, Mrs Ellery.’ Phipps hesitated, his arms full of stepladder. ‘Should I go and see?’
‘No, it is all right, carry on tidying up, I’ll go.’
*
One of the few advantages of the Christmas season was a definite reduction in the amount of correspondence, Alex mused as he hitched one hip on to the corner of the desk and spun the salver round to pick up the bundle of post that had arrived since Bland had left after lunch.
He began to shuffle though the pile. Invitation, bill, bill, circular, tickets from the Opera House, letter from Rivers, a journal… And a letter on thick cream paper with a heavy seal. He turned it in his hands, saw the impression in the blue wax, a jagged line of lightning against a stylised cloud. Tempest.
