Given that he himself had been officially listed as missing, could she have actually gone searching for him?
How had she even gotten to Paris? Good Lord, it must have been the courier. Jacques Fritte retrieved the messages from her, but assumed she was a go-between. With the way she could ride, it was possible she had been the courier. He recalled the faint white line on her cheek. A tingle of horror crept through him.
Ashford escorted her to the dance floor. He glowed with pride as he gazed down at his beautiful ward. She was merely his ward, not his real daughter, thank the saints.
Then Wallingford appeared to be requesting a dance. A minuette. Wallingford was too bloody handsome with his floppy blond hair and his coxcomb attire. He was apparently the catch of the season, being heir to a dukedom and rich as Croesus. He was also the vain fop who sat by Alexandra at dinner last week at Bertha’s soiree. Wallingford would be a splendid match for her. She appeared rather taken with him as they chatted during their dance. What if she really liked the idiot?
Wallingford smiled at her like a love struck spaniel. She would have a great future with Wallingford. They would be an excellent match; they could produce handsome brats together. But in order to create offspring, they would need to—several times. The thought roiled his stomach. He really shouldn’t spoil it for her.
The dance ended. At last. Wallingford was finally getting his paws off her.
Strangely, an ominous chill slid down Edward’s spine and he suddenly wished he had brought his gun. He looked around the room. Nothing appeared different.
Then he saw Jonteau.
He looked at Banks. “What the deuce is he doing in England?”
“Ah, the devil himself decided to show. We heard a rumor from a highly placed source. We can’t arrest the bastard. We were hoping he would show and lead us to his contacts.” Bank’s face grew taut. “I fear things aren’t looking good for your young lady.”
Like a bee to a blossom, Jonteau made his way to Alexandra. She looked genuinely startled to see him.. He bowed over her hand and seemed to be asking her to dance. Damn it to sodding hell. The arrogant bastard had the bollocks to show up here on English soil at a debutante’s ball, completely implicating her in whatever traitorous scheme he was involved in.
Now the security made sense, but what the deuce was going on? Since Edward had been injured, he was out of the intelligence circle.
They were dancing a quadrille. If she was mixed up with the rotter, Edward was putting an end to it—tonight. If she was actually a spy, her espionage career was henceforth officially at an end.
Hopefully, she hadn’t already done something she could hang for. He closed his eyes; his gut wrenched at the thought of her in peril. She was his brat. But she was Alexandra, trouble incarnate, and it had been five years.
Chapter 28
Edward barged through the crowd to reach Alexandra. Grabbing her arm, he wrenched her away from Jonteau. Fortunately, the quadrille had just ended.
“Messieur, unhand her!” Jonteau exclaimed. His nostrils flared with indignation.
Alexandra looked up in confusion. When she saw it was him, a strange expression crossed her face. He hoped it was happiness, but at the moment he was more concerned with ending her espionage career.
“Edward. You’re here,” she murmured.
“I believe the next dance is mine,” Edward said, grabbing her arm and pulling her next to him.
Jonteau leveled his gaze at Edward. “Captain Devon. I see you are still alive. How regrettable.”
Alexandra gasped. “Francois, you knew?”
“Ah, my lovely Madmoiselle, the war can be a small place. I had heard rumors. You know how I love gossip.”
Edward eyed Jonteau. “Why are you here? Don’t you have a government to overthrow somewhere?”
Jonteau gave a hollow laugh. Sheer hatred flashed in his eyes. “Messieur, I am here for the same reason as you. To see our lovely Mademoiselle debut.”
“Stay away from her.”
Alexandra tore her arm away from Edward’s hold and curtsied to Jonteau. “Thank you for the dance, Monsieur. It was lovely to see you again.”
“Perhaps we shall dance another time soon.”
“Don’t depend on it,” Edward said with deadly calm.
“Au revoire, ma belle,” Jonteau said, blatantly using the more intimate address. He departed with an exaggerated bow and shot a final dagger glare at Edward.
A waltz started.
Edward gruffly placed his arm around Alexandra’s waist with aching possession and took her gloved hand. By God, she smelled good—and the same. Lilacs and something that was uniquely her, designed specifically to drive him to Bedlam. He led her into a turn as the music of the waltz echoed around them. He looked over her head, staring at nothing, trying to get a grip on his temper. “It appears Jonteau is quite taken with you, as is everyone tonight,” Edward grumbled through gritted teeth.
She watched the gold buttons on his jacket, apparently reluctant to look at his face. “Everyone is quite taken with themselves, it would seem. Why do men always find themselves their favorite topic of conversation, I wonder?”
“Do we?” The corner of his mouth twitched. “It’s because we’re all selfish swine.”
She finally glanced up at him, “At least you admit it.”
Pulling her closer, he whispered in her ear, “Only to you, sweetheart.” With that, she shivered in his arms.
She cleared her throat. “Thank you for coming tonight. I know this type of affair isn’t your usual cup of tea. Frankly, I didn’t expect to see you here, considering how poorly we usually get along.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, brat.” He stared down at her face. “By the bye, I love the dress.”
She studied his face warily. “It’s not a dress, Edward. It’s a gown.”
“My apologies. A gown. A blue gown—Parisian blue.”
“I have developed a partiality for this particular blue color.” She searched his face. “Do you really like it, Edward? You aren’t furious with me, are you?”
“As a matter of fact, I believe I am.” An anger-tinged smile crossed his face. “What game are you playing this time, Alexandra? Or should I say, Gabrielle?”
She tensed in his arms. “I stopped playing games when you left Devonwood Hall. You were the only one I ever wanted to play with.”
He was silent with this hint of a reprimand. He had neglected the brat when he left, and she must have felt abandoned. Still, he held her possessively through the rest of the waltz.
His mind raced back to the puzzle at hand as the pieces were slowly falling into place. Interestingly enough, they always pointed back to her.
When the music ended, she curtsied gracefully to him and said, “I feel fatigued. Would you escort me to the terrace?”
He made an abrupt bow. “I shouldn’t. I don’t want to tarnish your already precarious reputation. I’ve already risked doing so by merely dancing with you. As we both are aware, you take quite enough risks as it is.”
“Oh, posh,” she chided. “You’re a decorated war hero, and you’re practically like a brother, at least as far as the ton is concerned.”
“I wouldn’t announce the latter fact too loudly. At the moment I rather doubt I appear very brotherly.” Her face flushed and he couldn’t resist pulling her closer.
She laughed nervously. “At any rate, it’s not as if you’re the Black Swan or anything. Or perhaps you are. Rumors have it the notorious Black Swan is actually here in London. He may possibly be attending tonight, but nobody really knows what he looks like.”
“Then he could be anyone—even me.” His jaw tightened with suspicion.
“It is said that he’s extremely handsome and dashing.”
He gave a devilish grin. “Then he definitely is me.”
She crossed her arms. “So, Edward, since it is not deemed proper for me to dance with the same gentleman twice in a row, you may either escort me outside to
the terrace, or you must relinquish me back to the insufferable dance floor.”
He arched a brow. “You just spoke like it was a death sentence, and not very ladylike I might add. Should I be offended? Was my dancing so odious?”
Her blue eyes flared. “No. Dancing is only tolerable for me when it is with you.”
“Who am I to allow you to martyr yourself by dancing at your own debut?” Warmed by her begrudging confession, also out of his own selfishness, he relented and escorted her out to the torch-lit terrace. They strolled to a secluded section at the end where he cornered her between himself and the balustrade. Turning to face her, he gazed first at her perfect lips and then down her lovely bosom. Merely a slim thread of masculine pride prevented him from dropping to his knees and begging.
Alexandra looked at him with her own impish grin. “I know a way to determine whether you really are the Black Swan.”
He stepped closer. “Indeed.” Their bodies pressed together through her rustling petticoats.
“I have an acquaintance who knows him personally,” she said. Her beautiful eyes shifted in a conspiratorial manner.
She was toying with him again. But his curiosity was piqued. Looking over her head out at the garden, he wondered briefly if he should take the bait. He exhaled. “Very well. Out with it. What possible acquaintance could you know, who would be personally acquainted with a notorious pirate?”
“A sea captain I met recently. A Captain Melvin Drood.”
Immediately, Edward jerked back a full step and stared down at her. He mistakenly assumed nothing else she did could possibly shock him. “Surely you are jesting.”
Raising her chin, she looked him squarely in the eyes. “Not in the slightest. I never jest when it comes to my acquaintances.”
“My dear, I admit I am quite impressed. First Jonteau, and then a bloody pirate,” he remarked with cold precision as his monstrous jealousy reared its ugly face. “Oh, and need I mention the admirable performance of Gabrielle Demerre? You really do have us all fooled with this debutante act, my little whore.”
Alexandra paled and lunged at him. She punched him in the chest with one hand and struck him across the face with the other. “And what about your damnable reputation, my Black Swan?” she whispered scathingly.
Pain seared through Edward’s chest from his unhealed wounds, and his face stung, serving only to release the restraint on his rage. He grabbed her fists and shoved them behind her back as his arms encircled her.
She struggled to free herself. “Of course, one bloody pirate would certainly know another!” Her heel crunched on his boot.
He pulled her against him to subdue her thrashing. “Ah, yes,” he articulated under his breath. “If there was ever a doubt that Gabrielle Demerre was my little termagent, it was just removed.”
Her nearness filled his senses. Her struggling set him on fire. He shoved her away and peered blankly out over the garden. Breathing deep and forcefully exhaling, he fought to regain his sanity.
“Alexandra, this is nothing to trifle with. We should not even be discussing this. On my honor, you must trust me on this.”
She turned away with silence. Her back stiffened and her hands clenched into tight fists. Although she stood proud, he knew he had wounded her.
“I apologize for the wretched things I just said. If you must know, the truth is…I’m jealous.” His fingers raked through his hair. “I’m jealous as hell of every man you danced with tonight, of every man who has ever touched you. But it is obvious things will never change between us. Go back inside. Everyone will be wondering where you are. Enjoy the rest of your debut.”
Edward stepped back and turned to leave, but then he paused. “Stay away from Jonteau; he’s extremely dangerous and I know he’s up to something. Go find Wallingford, or someone like him you can lead around on a leash and who will spoil you rotten. Have a nice life.” He began to walk away.
Alexandra grabbed his elbow and held firmly. “My debut has become boresome, Edward. Take me home.”
He stopped, not turning to look at her. “Boresome? You’re a debutante. They do not find their debuts bloody boresome.” He tried to tug his arm away, but she held it fast.
“This one does. Being expected to be constantly polite and sweet natured all the time is so sodding tedious. It’s bloody taxing, actually.”
At her remark, Edward peeked down into her adorable face which at the moment was scowling like an imp. He heard he toe tapping in frustration against the terrace floor.
His anger dissolved. She was utterly and completely such a brat.
The corners of his mouth twitched and he struggled to contain a devilish urge to laugh. “If it will make you feel any better, you can frown and be rude to me. I daresay you and I have always had a talent for sinking well below the realms of polite decorum. Would you like to slap my face again? That was an impressive stomp you gave my foot. I daresay, it is still throbbing, but you are welcome to give it another go.”
Alexandra snorted. “I’ve already crushed countless toes tonight. I’m sure it is being remarked about my not-so-lightness of foot even as we speak. Any remaining gentlemen on my dance card are undoubtedly prepared to flee the moment I return to the ballroom.” Her eyes twinkled. “The broadsheets are rushing to print how many feet I trampled. Once word gets around London, my reputation will be in tatters. Even with you, I had to count as we danced or you would have been my next victim.”
“Need I remind you I was your next victim?”
She paled. “Oh, God. Your chest. I am so sorry. Are you alright?”
He shifted his shoulder. “The only thing injured at the moment is my pride, and that wound I fully deserved.”
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Now may we leave?”
“Not together, my sweet.”
“Why? Are you truly a rogue?”
“Worse.”
She growled, narrowing her eyes at him. “Edward Devon, I must insist you take me home. It’s a perfectly acceptable time for me to leave, finally. You said yourself we need to talk. Besides, Lady Bertha doesn’t want to leave yet. You saw her in there; she’s in full form, chatting away with all her old crones. Not that Lady Bertha is an old crone—I didn’t mean that!” Alexandra’s face pinkened.
“Indeed you did, and she is.” The last of his resolve crumbled as he watched her blush so adorably. “A sweet old cronie, but an old cronie all the same. I must say, that tiara she is wearing appears to be a slight bit lopsided, don’t you agree?”
“She isn’t wearing a tiara.”
“My mistake. It must be her hair.”
“Edward William Harrison Devon, you are worse than me!” She slapped his arm in mock reprimand.
Grabbing her wrist, he imprisoned it with his long fingers. His eyes bore into her. “I am much worse. Far, far worse.” He dropped her wrist and turned to look out over the gardens. “Go back inside and make sure you are seen with some highly respectable people, and then make your excuses. I’ll wait for you in my coach.”
God help them both. He was falling for her like a rock.
Chapter 29
“Good God, sorry I was so long!” Alexandra exclaimed, gasping as she climbed into the coach. “There seemed to be an eternity of goodbyes.”
Edward slumped pensively on the leather-tufted bench. She quickly tugged her petticoats inside and plopped beside him as the footman closed the door.
He glanced down at her and a rush of heat surged through him. “Alexandra, this is really not a good idea.”
“Too late. The carriage is already moving.”
Edward’s shoulders tensed. He was in no mood for small talk if she expected him to be polite. He stole a peek at her delicate profile in the dim light of the coach lanterns and remembered the dim light in Paris. His eyes closed as he breathed in her perfume. His head was filled with her own sultry scent. He sulked, tormented by her nearness when he wanted her so badly.
Normally he was considered to be co
ld and calculating. But around Alexandra, his emotions ran hot. She had this way of infuriating him over nothing at all, and then he would impulsively lash back at her.
Yet his mind raced. The pieces of the puzzle were coming together, but they also created more questions. She he had gone to Paris. Perhaps to search for him? But Gabrielle had arrived at the masque with Jonteau. Was it actually possible she could be a spy? It didn’t make sense.
Then he recalled Doctor Barclay mention a young lady nursed him when he was shot. The doctor did not call her by name, but he was new and not very familiar with their family.
The last person on earth Edward would credit nursing him would be Alexandra. Yet, if she was the brat, it made more sense that she would want to care for him.
Was it her pleading voice he still heard in his dreams? Come back to me Edward…I love you Edward…Please don’t die or I shall shoot you myself! Yes, that last part definitely sounded like the brat, although he was sure it was merely delirium from the fever.
…Did she love him? Or had he imagined those words?
He thought of Gabrielle. Edward closed his eyes, still tasting her lips, still feeling her in his arms. In his dreams, the two had somehow blurred together. There were so many missing pieces that his memory could not yet sort out.
Yet finally, she knew Shark—by his real name. Had she sailed home with McPhee and him on Shark’s ship? Where was the Dauntless?
He needed answers to so many questions, but he dared not ask her yet. There was still the remote possibility that she could be working for Jonteau. Damn that French traitor. What kind of hornet’s nest had she stumbled into?
Alexandra scooted closer to him and slid her arm through his. Her petticoats rustled in his ears, like a siren luring him into the rocks. Her scent tortured his senses and his hands shook with longing to touch her.
“Alexandra, I cannot bear this any longer. I must warn you, this is not a game. I have a very bad reputation for a very good reason. Even though you don’t seem to believe me, I truly am a rake and a cad of the worst sort. There will be consequences.”
Leigh Sparrow Page 16
