“You refuse?” Justin finally managed to get out, disbelief taking over his entire face. If he kept on, she knew she’d kiss him. He was simply the most adorable man she’d ever seen.
She had to get away from him. “Yes, I refuse,” she said with annoyance. “Now please leave.”
Justin did the opposite and moved closer. Rain, mixed with linen and his cologne, filled her nostrils. The scent was intoxicating. “Why do you refuse? I’m offering you what any other woman in London would fall on their knees for.”
“Alex, maybe you should think about this,” Rose whispered, loud enough for Justin to hear.
Alex didn’t need to think about this. She needed to get away. “I’m only ever on my knees for two reasons.” She held up her fist, so he could follow. His eyes went to her hands. “To clean.” She popped one finger up. “And to pray.”
His eyes returned to her and she went on. “And since you are neither my employer nor my God, I think I’ll stand. Good day, Lord Chantenny.” Then she spun and started for the door.
* * *
5
CHAPTER
FIVE
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It took Justin two seconds to understand that Alex was getting away and then another two for him to realize what a mistake that would be… and not entirely for the reason he’d come.
She’d moved first, but he still managed to reach the door before she did.
This had been accomplished by all but jumping the table and sprinting across the room to cut in front of her path.
She stilled just inches from colliding with him, and Justin found himself wishing she’d not caught herself before she did.
That acknowledgment hit him just as much as the fact that he’d almost been tempted to touch the hand she’d offered—a first for him.
He didn’t touch women. Only Mrs. Shaw. Only ever Mrs. Shaw. Everyone else…
That was the reason he didn’t dance and had stopped attending balls. Too many introductions. Too many hands and bodies to avoid. The ton thought him cold, but truly that wasn’t it. They could never know the things that went on in his mind, the thoughts that had been embedded in him since he was a boy.
He was dirty. His mother had told him so.
Not even Lady Chantenny had touched him again after he’d been born. He’d heard the servants whisper it in the house. His nursemaid had been the only woman to touch him, feed him, and even then she’d been forbidden.
Only after years of isolation had he found Mrs. Shaw, and he’d only ever given in to her because his body had urges that he couldn’t control. Mrs. Shaw had been his first and only lover, and never before had Justin been tempted to touch another woman.
Until now.
He looked at the creature before him.
Alexandra’s beauty was the sort that men fell on their swords for, the kind that started and ended wars. She had a face that belonged on canvas in the British Museum or carved from bronze into one of those foreign deities. Surely, she couldn’t be real.
And yet, just by looking at her, there was no denying she was Lord Upton’s daughter. Her father, with his gray eyes and black hair, had also been called a pretty fellow.
Alex was his spitting image, only feminine and something else.
It was the mark of playfulness in her features and in her words that drew Justin in. He was used to people becoming irritated with him. He’d learned to ignore it unless the anger was coming from the duke.
Still, Alex had an energy that he found he liked very much.
Too much.
There was no other way to describe how he felt around her except to say that he felt alive, as though his blood had been running slow until she'd come along. She had a strong mind and played with words like no one else he knew. And what was more, there was none of the classic disinterest in her eyes as they’d spoken—a look that many of the ladies of Society wore just as faithfully as they wore their gloves.
The disinterest was a look his mother had mastered. That and horror whenever he’d reached out to her.
Justin couldn’t touch her. His hands were always dirty, no matter how much he scrubbed at them, causing them to bleed at times. He was never good enough. The filth would never go away.
It was still there, and though Justin had wanted to take Alex’s hand, he’d known better. He couldn’t get her dirty.
Especially her.
In the few minutes that Justin had come to know Alex, he could feel the brightness that shined from her, as though a million spirits were ready to burst from the seams of her ghostly eyes.
She was fascinating, and it wasn’t because she wasn’t a lady; he knew plenty of women who had neither wealth nor fame. No, it was simply her. Alexandra.
He wanted to be around her, to watch her experience life and see it reflected on her face.
He almost craved it.
But she obviously didn’t want anything from him, and he didn’t understand that.
Every woman, no matter their station, wanted something from him. Even the men, except for Gerard.
She might not get on her knees to do more than pray, but Justin was willing to beg for her assistance. He needed her. She was the key to everything.
“Let me help you,” he implored.
“No. Move.” She waved at him as though he were a gnat, and he stilled himself against running from it. Her nose creased slightly, and he was amazed at how tempted he was to touch that nose, to slide his finger down its dainty curve and unwrinkle it.
“I must help you,” he said. “I owe your father.” It was fortunate he was able to remember why he’d come. Her eyes arrested his mind and made him lose his focus.
In a blink, he watched her eyes flash cold and nearly felt the very life drain from his own bones. “If you feel you owe my father something then place flowers at his grave, but don’t involve me.”
When warmth returned to him, it came in the form of anger. Justin was offended by her attitude but knew she had a right to be upset. She’d never known her father and didn’t know the sort of man he was. She’d never know if she didn’t let him tell her.
“Your father didn’t know you existed,” he said.
Alex gave him a new expression. Her eyes seemed to open to him. Fascinating. “How do you know?”
“Because I know the man he was, and I’ll share that man with you if you let me.”
She looked away just as a knock came to the door.
“Rose? Alex?” a man shouted from the other side.
“We’re in here,” Alex responded quickly.
Justin moved as the door opened and the man he’d seen shouting at the back of the alley emerged. He glanced around the room, took one look at Justin and Gerard, and said, “Who are you?”
He was followed into the room by two other men.
Justin recognized the guard, and the guard recognized him as well.
“Lord Chantenny,” the man with the dark green eyes said.
“Is he bothering you?” a man with brown-reddish hair and light blue eyes asked. He gazed at Justin in a way that made it clear the man was calculating who would win in a fight.
And then he thought better of that look. Not a fight. This man would simply go for the kill.
Justin would probably have feared him if the fear of losing Alexandra wasn’t so great, surpassing everything else. He turned to her with nothing more to say and waited for her response.
* * *
Alex thought about what Justin had said about her father. Though she truly wished to believe him, she knew better. She’d grown up in Best Home, had watched children come and go, coming much more than they went. More than that though, she knew the Beau Monde.
She knew them quite well.
They lived life in a dream state of endless pleasure. They knew nothing about heartache or despair. They didn’t know what it was like to go to bed hungry after a meal of nothing mo
re than broth and bread or to have cold snapping at their limbs when the orphanage was out of blankets, bodies huddled together the only way to make life bearable.
She couldn’t imagine who she’d have become had Chris not accepted her into his fold with Reuben and Nash. Then later, Rose had been born and had completed their circle.
She was a Smith, and she wanted nothing to do with the man who’d fathered and then abandoned her.
“Yes,” she told Nash, to answer the question of whether or not she was being bothered.
Justin moved toward her, but Reuben blocked him from getting more than a step closer. Still, he spoke around him. “Ms. Alexandra, you must hear what I have to say. Your father was a great man.”
Alex turned away, not wanting to hear any more and trying hard not to react to her name on his lips.
This did not stop Justin from speaking. “He’s a part of you. You can’t deny it.” She could hear feet shuffling as the men began to take him away. “You look just like him. I could show you.”
Alex turned at that, realizing that there was a small part of her that did wonder. She shook her head and looked up as Justin was pushed through the door by Reuben, Justin’s eyes on her as he attempted to stay.
“Let me show you,” he said again.
She knew she’d regret it but said, “Wait.”
All motion stopped.
Chris and Nash, who’d moved to stand by Rose and were glaring at Obenshire, turned to her just as Reuben did.
Alex’s eyes remained on Justin as she calculated the risk of going anywhere with this man.
Well, the one thing she could count on was that he wouldn’t touch her since she was unbefitting to his touch and probably even his notice had these circumstances not arrived. It made him far safer to be around than many of the other men who’d approached her over the years, which should have made Alex happy.
So why didn’t it?
“Show me,” she said.
Reuben released him and Justin nearly fell to the ground, but he righted himself before approaching her, still keeping nearly two feet of distance between them.
He was smiling down at her, and Alex wondered why she’d let him stay. Did she truly want to know about her father or did she simply want to know more about the man before her?
She was being foolish by wishing to continue on in his presence. She decided then and there that she’d hear what he had to say and then they’d part ways.
“You won’t regret this,” he promised.
She was sure she would, but he wouldn’t be her first regret.
* * *
6
CHAPTER
SIX
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“The ton says he’s haughty, but I didn’t get that impression in the least.”
Alex turned to Rose and glared at her bright, upturned face.
They were in Rose’s room at Chris’ townhouse. The walls, as one could imagine, had been done with pale rose wallpaper. Softer pinks flowed throughout the room, matching not only Rose’s name but also her nature. She was sweet and dainty, which were two words no one associated with Alexandra.
But what truly set them apart was Rose’s unwavering optimism. If one had only just met her, it was easy to assume that Rose had grown up not in an orphanage, but in a lovely cottage in the country where her parents were happy and in love and every day had been sunny and bright.
Yet in reality, Rose had never known her family at all. She’d been settled into Mary Francis’ arms as a babe, and the older woman had been more than happy to hand her over to Chris, who’d only been a teenager at the time. Rose had grown up under the Smith protection, which was better than most of the other children had it. Alex had been a large part of the wall that had sheltered Rose from the truth of the world.
They were seven years apart in age. Alex was twenty and five and knew better than to hope for more than what she’d been given, especially when it came to men. That Justin Padmore was a lord only made him further from her reach.
“Did you see when he all but ran away from my hand?” Alex asked. “And he’s quite arrogant, assuming we share a mother and that I wish for his help.” She settled into the chair across from Rose that was closest to the open window. The rain had stopped for the time being, leaving behind a cool breeze, though the breeze wasn’t the reason she sat there. Rose’s window overlooked the street, and she was watching to see when Justin’s carriage arrived.
She was anxious to get the day over with, she told herself. That was the only reason she was anticipating seeing him again.
“Any woman in our situation would want a handsome lord’s help.” Rose leaned toward the table that held an old gossip rag; her blue eyes danced as she looked over the months-old article that had been about Lord Chantenny. Then those eyes found hers again and Alex knew Rose’s imagination had taken flight from her senses. “He’s an earl and he wants to make you his ward. One could not ask for a better fairytale.”
“I’ll not accept it,” she told her. “Ward simply means I’ll have to do whatever he says, and I’m not inclined to listen to anyone’s instruction.”
Rose leaned back in her chair and shook her head. “That is true. It’s the reason Chris made you a manager at the store. You don’t take direction very well.”
That was putting it mildly.
“Can you imagine me married to a lord?” Alex asked. “He’d die from apoplexy after we shared vows.”
“You’d make a fine wife,” Rose told her. “Everyone loves your cooking.”
“Wives of peers don’t cook,” Alex reminded her. “My talents would go to waste.” She stood. “It’s settled. I won’t marry. Now, tell me what else you read about the earl.” She needed to distract her mind from where it had gone.
To thoughts of a wedding that didn’t just take place with any lord, but Lord Chantenny himself.
As though he’d marry her. He’d have to take her hand in order to exchange vows and he couldn’t even do that.
“He doesn’t mingle with many peers, and they say he never flirts with women.”
Alex grunted. “Maybe he doesn’t like women.” Maybe that was the reason he hadn’t taken her hand. That thought frustrated her for some reason.
“He has a mistress,” Rose went on. Her head was down so she missed the surprised look that filled Alex’s eyes. “Her name is Mrs. Lydia Shaw. Her husband owned a silk company that she partly owns now.” Rose looked up. “So I think it’s clear that he likes women.”
So, it was just Alex he didn’t like. At least not in that way.
He had smiled at her though, and the memory of it made her…
The sound of horses’ hooves coming to a halt made her look out the window.
He was here.
Alex licked her lips and tried to settle her heart.
Then she remembered why he’d found her and why she was allowing him to take her away from the world she knew. She was going to learn about her father. What she would gain from it, she wasn’t sure, but Justin and Rose had both seemed sure that she should do it.
She smiled at her sister. They couldn’t have been closer if they’d actually been blood. “I love you.”
Rose stood and pulled her into a hug. “I’d go with you if I didn’t have to return to the library.” She’d taken the day off to help at Chris’ store but would spend half the evening at the library categorizing returned books, an activity that Rose didn’t mind doing at all.
Alex kissed her hair and turned to the door. “I’ll tell you all about it when I return.”
Rose waved her away, and Alex took another step toward what could change her life forever.
* * *
7
CHAPTER
SEVEN
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Dread poured into Alex’s ve
ins as she stepped into Lord Wint’s townhouse. Coming through the man’s front door, even knowing he was dead, seemed forbidden. She was a bastard and had no right to be here, but her hand on Reuben’s arm prevented her from doing much more than following Justin inside.
After leaving the library, Justin had returned home to dress. Alex couldn’t help but notice how well he looked. The dark jacket outlined his wide shoulders and back before falling to the silk breeches that clung to his narrow waist.
She’d noticed all of it as he’d arrived at the townhouse and pointed with his hands for her to enter the carriage, leaving his footman to actually assist her.
And now they were here.
The house was well-decorated with the walls painted a soft green and family portraits hanging in gold frames. White curtains lined the windows. The floors were geometric shapes of black and yellow with a rug by the side stairs that pulled all the colors together.
It was lovely, and Alex couldn’t help but imagine what her life would have been like had she been recognized as his daughter. She knew it was a silly thought, but she could almost picture herself in a darling dress, walking down the staircase with a grace close to Alicia’s.
“Watch your step,” Justin told her in a low voice. “The floors were always slippery. I hit my head over there once.” He pointed to the end of the staircase and the sideboard that lined the wall across from him.
Alex pulled in a breath and imagined such a thing. “How old were you?”
Justin rubbed his head as though recalling the pain. “Ten, I believe.”
The Legend of the Earl_Heirs of High Society Page 5
