Leigh Sparrow

by In Pursuit of the Black Swan

  “Bloody hell.”

  “How about you allow me to accompany you and I shan’t inform the duke.”

  Edward leered at him. “How about if you inform the duke, I’ll break your bony little arm?”

  Ian grinned and crossed one booted foot over his knee. “Can I at least persuade you to place a wager for me? You can use the ten shillings you still owe me from losing that last horse race three years ago.”

  Edward snorted. “No. Perhaps once you are eighteen, you can accompany me. Then Ashford cannot accuse me of corrupting a minor.” Edward eyed him up and down. “And eat something. You look like a bloody twelve-year-old.”

  Ian’s eyes flashed with hurt, and his face blustered red.

  Ironically, he realized Ian’s eyes were the same violet-blue as his sister’s, but he’d never really thought of them as pretty on Ian. Ian was just Ian.

  Rising to his feet, Ian lifted his chin. “And you, Edward Devon, are nothing but a clumsy overgrown ox and you fence like pigswill.” He hurled his sword to the floor. “I hope you lose your sodding shirt tonight!” He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Edward took a deep breath and scowled. Dressed down by a seventeen year-old runt. Deservedly so. Even in anger, he admired the brat’s spirit.

  Collecting his mask and sword, he rose to leave. A guilty knot twisted in his belly. He knew Ian looked up to him and had few other friends, if any. It was rather endearing how they could fall back into their old childhood games. He was loathe to tell Ian of his plans and hoped he didn’t resent him for what he was about to do.

  Chapter 3

  “So, my dear boy, His Grace mentioned you’ll be wanting a naval commission,” Lord Banks said to Edward. The dreary office was inhabited by the Assistant Director to the Secretary at War, a short stout man in his mid-fifties who wore a monocle over his left eye and smelled like cherry pipe tobacco. He wore a white powdered wig with rows of curls at the sides of his head.

  Edward eyed Lord Bank’s severely cluttered desk as he sat across from him. “Yes. Hopefully there is one available.”

  “Give me but a moment, my boy. My aide is at home with the ague.” His shaky hands rifled through the scattered papers while attempting not to slosh his tea.

  Sipping tepid tea from his own cup, Edward’s mind drifted back to the morning and his invigorating ride at Devonwood Hall. It was just past dawn and the heavy gray mist swirled about, giving the meadows an unworldly aura. He was anxious to exercise his favorite stallion, Midnight, before departing for London.

  Midnight had snorted his preference to follow the northern path, so Edward indulged him. At the top of the rise, he spotted Ian riding off in the distance, at full gallop like the devil on fire. The lad was riding Traveller, the prized bay gelding gifted to him by the Duke of Ashford.

  In a half-seat position, Ian rode straddled over the horse’s shoulders, racing like a jockey from Newmarket. Edward glowed with brotherly pride at seeing him ride so well. Apparently Ian had continued on with excellent riding instruction after Edward left. His form and balance were flawless, probably better than his own.

  Ian’s riding style reflected the fervor in which the lad faced the world. Despite losing his parents at such a young age, despite his lung affliction, Ian refused to be pitied. Instead he gripped the beast of life by the horns and held fast.

  Midnight seemed determined to catch up, but succeeded only when Ian slowed his horse down. Startled by Edward’s approach from behind, Ian peered back over his shoulder at the same time a claw-like tree branch caught the lad’s hair and pulled out his queue. Ian’s blonde hair was suddenly loosed and flying behind his shoulders. For an instant of horror, Edward envisioned Alexandra riding instead of Ian. Ian’s piercing blue eyes flashed at him, mirroring those of an irritating young lady at last week’s dinner.

  The twins were both thin like twigs…Did Alexandra also have the same intensity for life? He had barely controlled his temper with her at dinner Wednesday. Simply because he disliked her, it was no excuse to lose himself to his emotions. He was a grown man now.

  It was curious how Ian and Alexandra provoked him in such profound yet opposing ways. They were twins. Ian had such spirit and was everything he could ever want in a younger brother. Alexandra made him long to wrench her pretty little neck. How much were the twins really alike?

  Ian finally halted his horse. He quickly pulled his hair back into the queue while waiting for Edward to catch up. The rest of the ride was easy and magical with the misty fog swirling about them. Once again Edward had become a carefree lad on another adventure with his trusty sidekick. He had missed his Devonwood Hall…and the brat.

  Lord Banks’ filmy eyes peered at him. “You must be aware we’re a might short-handed these days, with the demmed French killing off some of our best troops. Our ships are sabotaged. Our arms and supplies disappear faster than we can replenish them. Our intelligence is often compromised with messengers shot right off their horses by snipers. These are wretched times, my boy, demmed wretched times indeed. Are you quite sure you’re up to the task?”

  Edward straightened his spine. “I am determined to go to sea, sir. I have dreamed of it since I was a lad. I want to fight for England and perhaps rectify some of the mishaps you mentioned. If you can’t procure a commission for me, I shall simply enlist.”

  Lord Banks sighed and shook his head. “Oh, to be so young and stupid again.” He opened a side drawer and pulled out a file. He glanced at it and his bushy brows rose.“By George, here it is. Very well. Hmmph. Your commission is already approved. Came through last week. Wish I had the pull around the War Office your father does. Helps to be the son of a duke.”

  Edward sat back in surprise. “My father pushed it through?” He had not even discussed these plans with him.

  Banks squinted through his monocle to further examine the document. “Appears that way. The signature does indeed say Harrison Devon, Duke of Ashford.”

  Edward exhaled a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Very well. Sign these papers and I’ll introduce you to some of the blokes around here.” Banks passed him a quill and cleared his throat. “Welcome to hell.”

  It was Wednesday. If Edward had realized it sooner, he’d have stayed in London. His jaw clenched when Alexandra strolled into the formal dining room. Then it hit him how beautiful she was and his breath caught. She moved with a grace all her own, alluring like a dancer yet more forceful like an athlete. How had he not noticed this about her before?

  Actually, her resemblance to her brother was uncanny. Except she smelled better. Like lilacs. Yet he had never considered Ian especially attractive. Ian was just Ian, the pale scrawny brat. He always had been.

  “Oh, I know, I know…” Alexandra said. She gave a gentle flick of her hand and slipped into her seat next to Ashford, across from Edward. “I fear I am late again. Don’t bother standing.”

  Ashford sank back in his chair and wiped his spectacles with a handkerchief. “Perhaps we should reschedule dinner on Wednesdays to half past the hour if you are finding seven o’clock such a hardship.”

  Alexandra rolled her eyes. “Dinner at Devonwood Hall is never a hardship, Uncle Ash. On the contrary, I quite look forward to it.”

  Ashford gave a derisive snort, but his eyes glowed with satisfaction. “And is your brother still not well?”

  “He is recovering. I just came from his bedchamber. He was fast asleep with an investor’s journal opened across his chest. I didn’t wish to wake him.” She looked at Edward. “I’ll know he’ll be disappointed missing you at dinner again tonight, but he really looked quite exhausted.”

  Edward chuckled, thinking of their morning ride in the mist. The brat must have worn himself out entirely.

  Ashford shot Alexandra a concerned look and placed his spectacles on his face. When he glanced again in her direction, he immediately choked on his wine. “Good God, Alexandra, what have you done to yourself?”

  H
er eyes widened in mock innocence. “Why, whatever do you mean, Uncle Ash?” she countered. Her face reddened slightly. She blurted a nervous laugh and shrugged.

  The neckline of her deep blue gown plunged lower than her usual demure ones. Her blond hair was pulled up on top of her head in artful curls with a matching ribbon.

  Ashford dabbed red droplets of wine off his chin with a napkin. “You look much too...grown up tonight. It must be the gown,” he mumbled.

  “Why thank you, Uncle Ash.” Smiling, she turned to Edward and raised a brow. Hell, she was expecting a favorable comment about her appearance.

  “Ahem…I say, you look quite tolerable, Alexandra,” Edward blurted. He hoped he sounded bored and unaffected as he drew in a slow, deep breath. Deuce take it, had he just given the termagant a compliment?

  Alexandra graced him with a brilliant smile. “Why, thank you, Edward.”

  His heart lurched and he could only stare at her a moment before looking away. Then his fist clenched at his own ridiculous reaction.

  While dinner was served, his gaze constantly flicked back to Alexandra. His father was right; she had done something to herself. She was different. She was already a beauty and yet she truly didn’t realize it. Her smile just a moment ago caused strange flutters in his belly similar to nausea. Interesting enough, she seemed rather uneasy in all her feminine garb. Her shoulders were pressed back and she sat more rigid, more unrelaxed.

  Upon closer examination, he realized her cheeks might be rouged. They seemed too pink. And actually, she reeked of lilacs. The heady scent was beginning to cause his head to throb. Apparently the reason for her tardiness was due to the overapplication of feminine cosmetics and scented waters.

  Then he noticed a handkerchief peeking out from her bodice. His jaw twitched. Good God, she has stuffed her bosom. Her breasts were already perfection. Now they were…larger. And rather lumpy. His lips pinched together to stifle a laugh.

  “How was your trip to London today, son?” his father asked. “Did you call on Lord Banks?”

  Edward cleared his throat. “I did indeed. Allow me to thank you for expediting my commission so promptly. I shall receive my uniforms on the fifteenth.”

  Ashford leveled his gaze at him. “The Royal Navy, eh? Are you quite sure?”

  Alexandra’s face paled, despite the rouge, making her appear like a painted porcelain doll. “Good God. Are you going to war?”

  “Indeed. While travelling abroad, I glimpsed first-hand the havoc of General Bonaparte in Italy. His poison is spreading throughout Europe. I could not simply return to England and do nothing, especially with the War Office so short-handed.” He leaned back and lifted the corner of his mouth. “At any rate, I always fancied chasing the pirates on the high seas.”

  Ashford snorted. “More like chasing the French these days. Apparently Europe is forming a Coalition against them.”

  Alexandra’s eyes became guarded. “But, Edward, you’ve just come home. Why must you leave again so soon?”

  For a moment, he would have thought she almost cared. He arched a brow. “Do watch yourself—one might think you shall actually miss me.”

  She bit her lip and raised her chin. “I daresay, Edward, don’t allow yourself to be fooled by your own conceit.” Her snide comment sounded more like the Alexandra he remembered. Yet her voice sounded tight and it made him feel like a clod. She was already a beauty, with…those lips. Even her scowl was enchanting and mysterious on her delicately sculpted face. Indeed, society’s young bucks would be clamoring at her door soon enough. Oddly, the notion repulsed him.

  But this was Alexandra—the terror, the devil’s spawn, the scourge of his life. How extremely peculiar it seemed, sitting across from her, attempting to conduct a civil conversation.

  “Your uniforms arrive the fifteenth of June?” Ashford asked. “That is merely two days hence. I hoped you would stay around for the summer.” He shook his head and scowled.

  “I thought so as well, but Lord Banks insists the troops are perilously undermanned. I leave for London tomorrow morning. My mate from school, Thomas McPhee has also obtained his commission as Lieunenant.”

  Ashford stroked his chin. “I don’t believe I know any McPhee’s.”

  “His father’s a Scottish Laird. His mother is a Pemberton.”

  “A bloody Scot, you say,” Ashford said.

  “Half Scot. And one, I must add, I assuredly would want covering my back.”

  “Humph.” Ashford raised his brows. “Did Lord Banks have much news about the war?”

  “Nothing specific except the usual mayhem. The French sabotaging ships. Missing couriers. He didn’t get more specific. Classified, I assume.”

  “Indeed. War is bloody messy business. Hopefully the Coalition will contain Bonaparte,” Ashford said.

  Edward noticed Alexandra’s eyes grew dewy and her face seemed at once stoic. Had he imagined a concerned look? Even if he had, he could say nothing. No false reassurances, even to jest about. This was his duty. He knew this was not the adventure he dreamed of as a lad. War did have a stark reality. But he could not stand idly by and allow other Englishmen to fight without him.

  “What will your rank be, Edward?” she asked demurely.

  “You may address me as Captain. Captain Edward Devon,” he replied soberly, feeling the sound of his new rank roll off his tongue.

  “Is Captain all my money bought you?” Ashford teased.

  “Don’t worry, Father,” he replied with a hint of sarcasm. “I’m sure I shall have my work well cut out for me as a mere Captain.”

  Alexandra cleared her throat. “So how was your morning ride, Edward? Did your horse happen to throw you?” She flashed a too-sweet smile.

  Edward took a large gulp of wine and peered at her. “I appreciate your concern. My ride this morning was quite excellent. I successfully remained secure in the saddle the entire time.” He arched a brow. “Disappointed?”

  Her faced colored from his jibe, making her appear even lovelier. She shifted in her chair and straightened her spine. She sat like a queen on her throne. “Why ever would I be disappointed?”

  She was too damn beautiful for her own good. Her haughty look irritated him for no particular reason, and his jaw twitched. Her lovely bosom was…well, drooping on one side. “I say, Alexandra, why is your chest protruding in such a peculiar manner? Did you stuff your bodice with handkerchiefs?”

  Ashford sputtered on his wine.

  Alexandra’s face grew scarlet and eyes widened. Her mouth fell slightly opened and she bit her lip.

  Edward held her gaze. “Well? Are you going to grace me with an answer or has the puss stole your tongue?”

  Then her lips pursed together and her eyes narrowed into violet daggers. She drew in a seething breath, causing her augmented bosom to rise. “Well, Edward, I see you have not changed at all. I knew the other slipper would drop and your true colors would eventually show. You’re as rude and despicable as ever. Didn’t they teach you not to insult ladies at Oxford?”

  His hand closed to a fist. So much for civility. “I daresay there are no ladies in this room at the moment. You look and smell like a French harlot.” His jaw twitched. “Come to think of it, I can’t fathom why I would ever care to remain at Devonwood Hall with a termagant such as you in residence next door. I’d rather go to battle.”

  Her delicate sculptured face tightened. “I hope you get shot and bleed to death!”

  “Hear, hear, enough of this talk!” Ashford exclaimed.

  Ignoring his father, Edward laughed bitterly. “Oh no, my little imp, you hope I survive—so you can shoot me down yourself.” He flung his napkin on the tables, preparing to depart. Lifting his glass, he took one more swallow of wine.

  Her gaze leveled across the table with violet-blue fury. “Leaving so soon, Edward? You haven’t given me an opportunity to answer your question.” She stood and braced her hands on the table, bending forward low in front of him. She pressed her upper arms togethe
r against her the outsides of her chest, forcing her cleavage to rise. “As to whether I put handkerchiefs down my bosom, how is this for my reply?” Her tone dared him to look down her gown.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “You disgust me.” But then his eyes dropped—down there. His throat constricted. Holy hell, she was exquisite.

  “How does it feel, Edward, to want me when you clearly loathe me?”

  A hot flush rose up the back of his neck.

  “Good God, Alexandra, sit back down and behave yourself!” Ashford demanded.

  Primly taking her seat again, she turned to Ashford with wide incredulous eyes. “Me, behave myself? What about him?” Her accusing finger pointed at Edward. Her glorious face flushed with righteousness. “So tell me, Edward. How do I compare to the doxies at Northlander’s last night? Are their bosoms ever so much larger than mine?”

  Edward coughed. How did the little vixen know where he’d been? Ian must have told her, the bloody traitor.

  Ashford set down his fork and looked at Edward. “You were at Northlander’s again? I thought I instructed you to avoid that damned fleshpot at all cost!”

  Edward leered at her. “Why you little—termagant.” His voice seethed.

  “Are you denying it?” she challenged.

  He swallowed. “No.”

  Ashford slammed his fist on the table. “I don’t ask much of you, Son, but that place is a bloody den of thieves. Even if you don’t get fleeced, God only knows what disease you’ll catch.”

  Alexandra arched her delicate brows and a cold smile stretched across her face. “Yes, Uncle Ash is correct, you know. You should stay away from those fleshpots, Edward. My heavens, but you could catch crabs —or the even the pox!”

  Edward gritted his teeth. His pulse pounded in his head.

  She tsked-tsked and wagged her finger at him like a prudish school marm issuing a condemning judgment. The contradiction unnerved him, given her own unvirtuous appearance.

  “I daresay, as Captain, you must cease your philandering ways and set a proper example,” she chided.