Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 02]

by Second Chances

  Max showed eminent good sense by rising and limping from the room without further argument, though he did give Allegra a surreptitious wink as he went by.

  She waited until the lad had shut the library door. "I'm sorry, my lord. I acted in haste without realizing that I might be putting you in an awkward position with Max. I should have discussed the matter with you in private." She sighed. "I know there really is no earthy reason for you to expose your family and yourself to further danger. I would only ask that you do not actively interfere if Lord Bingham agrees to help me put his plan into effect."

  "Bingham lacks a practical turn of mind. He's liable to forget some detail or another than could lead to serious trouble," growled the earl.

  Allegra regarded him gravely. "He may not be as capable as you, my lord, but please understand that I cannot let the matter rest. I will do whatever I must."

  Wrexham cleared his throat. "I have told you before I am quite immune to flattery."

  She looked a bit startled, then dropped her lashes. "Flattery? I am well aware of the fact that I have little of the wiles or the charms with which to attempt such a thing with a gentleman."

  He made no answer but began drumming his fingers on the desk once again. "Oh, bloody hell," he finally muttered. "I should no doubt be hauled off to Bedlam, but if I'm to keep all of you out of the suds, I suppose I shall have to take charge."

  Her eyes came alight with a certain glow. "Thank you, sir," she said simply.

  The earl nodded curtly and dismissed her with a brusque wave of his hand.

  As he watched her retreating form, the realization dawned on him that his son and his tutor had somehow contrived to have him take on the role of one of those ghastly heroes in Bingham's novels.

  He supposed he should feel ill-used, indeed, but somehow, the thought of it only brought a quirk of a smile to his lips.

  * * *

  Allegra surveyed the trunks and neatly corded boxes stacked in the corner of the entry hall which tomorrow morning at first light would be loaded into one of the carriages for the trip to London. The moment was finally here. During the past two weeks she had almost wondered if his grudging acquiescence to Lord Bingham's plan had been conveniently forgotten. He had never brought it up again since the initial discussion and deftly turned aside any of Max's efforts to broach the subject. Instead he had immersed himself in estate affairs, spending the days out with his bailiff in the fields and the evenings at his desk in the library, dealing with his ledgers and correspondence.

  For her own part, she refrained from raising any further questions on the few occasions she saw him, partly out of guilt for the rather underhanded way in which his promise of help had been secured. But that didn't dampen her curiosity as to what he was thinking about the matter, for she was sure one as sharp as the earl did not move into action without a plan of his own.

  Drat the man. Surely he knew he would have to tell her at some point. Why couldn't he share what—

  "Mrs. Proctor."

  Allegra started at the sound of his deep voice, causing her candle to flicker wildly in the shadows.

  "It's getting late. You should be in your bed. We leave at an early hour."

  "Yes, my lord. I... I just came down to fix some chamomile tea."

  He regarded the steaming cup in her hand, then fixed her with an questioning look. "Will you join me in the library?" It was worded more as a command than a request. Indeed, he didn't wait for a reply but turned on his heel and left her to follow in his wake.

  Allegra sat rather stiffly in one of the armchairs while he poured himself a brandy and came to stand in front of the crackling fire. She sipped at her herbal tea while he swirled the amber spirits in his glass. A taut silence reigned before Wrexham cleared his throat and spoke.

  "I am well aware that chamomile is used when one is experiencing agitated nerves and having trouble falling asleep. If you are having second thoughts, you needn't go through with this, you know."

  She put her cup down.

  "You would only be showing good sense, nothing else, should you decide to abandon this dangerous scheme."

  "You are quite mistaken if you think I mean to back away now. Why, I am more determined than ever to see this out, my lord."

  He muttered something incoherent under his breath, of which she caught the words "stubborn," and "mule."

  Ignoring the interruption, she continued. "If it is you who are regretting your involvement, you certainly may feel free to withdraw."

  His dark brows drew together. "I don't go back on my promises, Mrs. Proctor."

  "Well, neither do I," she shot back. She could see that her words took him by surprise. "I promised myself that I wouldn't let Sandhill get away with his crimes. I have no intention of stopping now."

  The earl muttered something else—this time it sounded suspiciously like an oath—then put his drink down on the mantel and stalked over to his desk.

  "Neither, it seems, do any of the other participants in this gothic melodrama!" He gestured to a sheet of paper lying on the blotter. "My sister writes that she is already on her way to take up residence in my townhouse so that she will be there when we arrive."

  Allegra blinked. "I most certainly understand, sir, your irritation at having any more members of your family involved in this."

  "I am not irritated, Mrs. Proctor. I am furious."

  "Surely you can explain to her that her presence is not at all necessary—"

  "Not necessary! My dear Mrs. Proctor, if you are so blithely unaware of the rules of Society that you think I could take up residence with an unattached, unchaperoned female under my roof, then this proposed charade of yours will not last more than a day," he exclaimed.

  "I am well aware of the rules," she said defensively. "I just meant, perhaps we could find someone else."

  "Oh? And who might that be?" he inquired, his voiced edged with sarcasm. "I assure you, Bingham will not do."

  Her lips pressed together in a tight line.

  "And as for knowledge of the rules—I hope I needn't remind you that to be caught alone in a room with a gentleman would have the direst of consequences," he couldn't help but add.

  A flush of color came to her cheeks. "You have made your point, sir. If your wish is to humiliate me, you may, of course, continue."

  He glared at her, but left off and went on to other matters. "Olivia has already begun to make arrangements for her modiste to be ready to make up a suitable wardrobe as soon as you arrive."

  "Wardrobe?" repeated Allegra, her brows coming together.

  "You can hardly appear in Society in those mousy governess things you insist on wearing here. Not if you wish to be taken for a rich widow."

  "I... I hadn't thought of that—"

  "I'm sure there is a great deal you have not thought of concerning this foolish plan," he said acidly.

  Allegra's face had gone quite pale but her chin came up a fraction. "Does your sister mention an amount that she considers sufficient to cover what is necessary. I shall have to inquire of my cousin—"

  Wrexham took in the unflinching dignity in her tone as well as the slight tremor of her jaw. "I have already arranged to take care of it," he said quietly.

  "No!" She shot to her feet and came towards the desk. "On no account will I accept a farthing of your... charity—"

  "Consider it a bonus for the outstanding work you have done with my son. It is a common practice for an employer to reward a job well done."

  Allegra bit her lip. She couldn't argue with the earl about the need for suitable gowns and such. Her cousin Lucy would no doubt be willing to come to her aid once again, but she had already been obliged to do so much....

  "Very well," she said in a tight voice, blinking back a tear of frustration. "We shall decide on an appropriate sum, but any amount over that I shall pay back to you at a... future date, if that is acceptable to you."

  Wrexham watched the war of emotions on her face and couldn't help but be reminded that s
he was alone in the world, with no wealth or position to protect her from harm—nothing but her own courage and determination.

  His tone softened considerably. "That is quite acceptable."

  She was standing close, close enough for him to see how the candlelight refracted off the smoky green of her eyes. He drew in an involuntary breath as she lifted her head and spoke again.

  "Perhaps you are right, sir," she said in a near whisper. "Perhaps I must give up this plan if it means I must become a burden to others. I—" Her voice caught as a single tear spilled down her cheek. She angrily brushed it away. "Oh, damnation."

  The muttered oath caused Wrexham to smile. He took a step closer to her and his long fingers came up to brush away another errant drop. "You cannot face every adversity in life alone, Mrs. Proctor. There is no shame in allowing friends to help you. I am only trying to point out to you how many pitfalls—and dangers—there are to this plan."

  Allegra made to speak again but as her mouth opened, the earl's lips came down upon hers.

  The initial shock caused her to go rigid, but as his kiss deepened, she made a soft sound and melted against his broad chest. As his arms tightened around her waist, her arms were suddenly, of their own accord, around his neck, her fingers reveling in the silky feel of his long, raven locks.

  "Allegra," he murmured against her throat, pressing a string of kisses along the line of her jaw before taken possession of her mouth once again. This time her lips parted wide for him and he tasted the lingering sweetness of herbs as his tongue slid deep inside. Hesitantly her own tongue came up to meet his and its gossamer touch caused the last shreds of the earl's rigid self-control to unravel.

  He hand came up to touch her breast. He felt the nipple harden through the thin fabric of her dress and the thought that she was responding to his touch fanned the flames of his desire even higher. He pulled her even closer, molding their bodies together.

  "Leo," she cried softly. "Oh, Leo." Her fingers twisted in his hair.

  Wrexham took two quick steps forward, pushing her right up against his massive oak desk. His hands lifted her onto the polished wood. Then he stepped between her legs, pressing up against her most intimately. The logs on the fire hissed and crackled, echoing the rising heat between them.

  As their mouths met in another deep embrace, he pulled at her skirts, hiking them up above her knees. The shapely legs in their demure stockings and garters nearly took his breath away.

  "Dear God," he murmured as his palm ran up the inside of her thigh.

  Allegra's nails dug into his muscled back. "Leo?" she whispered. "What is happening? I... I have never felt like this before."

  He gave a low groan. "I'm not sure I have either." Then his hand began to reach down for the fastenings of his breeches....

  "Father? Are you down there in the library?"

  Wrexham wrenched his lids open. "Dear God in Heaven."

  Max's footsteps sounded on the stairs.

  With desperate haste, he set Allegra on her feet and stepped away to straighten his coat and the disarray of his shirtfront and cravat. She shook out her skirts and sought to rearrange the front of her dress. His fingers raked through his disheveled hair. She sought to fix the worst of the slipped hairpins. As the door swung open, the earl managed to take up a position by the fireplace while Allegra made a show of studying one of the books around on the other side of the desk.

  "Father," said Max. "I was wondering if—oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were here, Mrs. Proctor." He looked back at his father's rigid face. "Am I interrupting something?"

  "Of course not," snapped Wrexham. "That is, we were merely discussing... upcoming strategy. "

  "Oh." Max frowned slightly. "It's rather warm in here, don't you think? Perhaps you should bank the fire a bit."

  Taking up a poker, the earl jabbed at the logs with a tad more force than necessary.

  "Have you decided on any course of action?" demanded Max. "It's not fair if you keep anything hidden from me."

  "Nothing has been resolved," said the earl in a tight voice.

  Allegra took up a slim leatherbound volume, then cleared her throat. "If you will excuse me, my lord, I believe there is nothing further for us to discuss tonight. As you said, we must be off at dawn so I think I shall leave you two and retire."

  Wrexham's head jerked around but her face was in shadow and he couldn't discern her expression.

  "Good night, Max." There was the barest of hesitations. "Good night, my lord."

  "Good night, Mrs. Proctor." The earl managed to choke out the words, hoping his voice had some semblance of its normal tone.

  The door closed quietly behind her.

  "Are you sure the two of you haven't quarreled?" asked Max with some concern as he approached the fire.

  "We have not quarreled." Wrexham retreated to the sideboard. He poured himself a fresh brandy and was shocked to see the decanter shook ever so slightly in his hand.

  Bloody Hell.

  "What sort of strategy were you discussing? Maybe I could—what happened to your neck?"

  His hand flew to cover a red mark just above the collar of his shirt. "Nothing—I must have scraped myself shaving." Then he threw back the contents of the glass in one swallow and turned to refill it. "Damnation, Max." He was perilously close to shouting. "I simply am in no mood for further questions tonight. Tomorrow is going to be a long and tiring day. If you don't mind, I'm going to bed as well. I suggest you do the same."

  He took up the decanter along with the glass and stalked from the room, leaving his son feeling both puzzled and just a bit miffed.

  * * *

  After the fourth glass, the brandy at last began to take effect, finally loosing the knot in his stomach—not to speak of his groin. With a ragged sigh, Wrexham sat on the edge of his bed and took his head in his hands. Good lord, how things had come about as they had was still a shock to him. Never in his entire life had he lost control of his emotions like that.

  He hadn't meant to kiss her. And he certainly hadn't meant to...

  A wave of nausea passed over him as he realized that in another few minutes his breeches would have been down around his knees and Max would have walked in on the sight of his father merrily breaking every code of gentlemanly behavior that he had so rigidly drummed into his son's head. He couldn't begin to imagine what Max might have thought.

  Wrexham raked his hands through his hair.

  And what must Allegra—Mrs. Proctor—be thinking? She had been upset, vulnerable. He had only meant to comfort her, but somehow the light of the candle playing off her quixotic eyes, the glitter of the tear on her cheek, the curve of those full, sensuous lips had, in an instant, transformed his warm words into fiery deeds.

  Though there was precious little left, he poured another glass of brandy, hoping to wash away the sweet taste of her mouth on his.

  It was no use. It lingered even when his fingers came up to brush over his lips, still bruised with the passion of their embraces.

  With a groan he sank back against the pillows. Sleep would be impossible. The best he could hope for was oblivion.

  Chapter 10

  The next day dawned grey and chilly, which mirrored the mood surrounding the departure. Max was still wore an injured expression over his father's sharp words from the night before, while the earl and Allegra both had the drawn faces and dark smudges under their eyes that bespoke of a sleepless night. Neither of them uttered so much as a word during the loading of the baggage carriage. And when the time came to set off, Wrexham signaled for his stallion to be brought around instead of climbing into the traveling carriage along with the others.

  Allegra settled herself across from Max, studiously avoiding his questioning look, and let her eyes fall shut. At least for a time she could put off any demand for conversation by pretending to doze off. Though her exhaustion was all too real, she had little hope that sleep would bring a welcome escape from her thoughts, given her agitated state of mind.
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br />   What must the earl be thinking of her shocking behavior? Her throat constricted as she recalled the grim expression on his face as he had stalked down the stairs to oversee the preparation of the carriages. Why, he had looked positively sick at the sight of her. She could hardly blame him. When she considered what had taken place last night in the library, she was as appalled with herself as he must be. That a man was subject to certain urges was understood, but that she should have responded with equal abandon was beyond the pale.

  She had been aware of what he had been about to do and she knew she would have allowed him to take what liberties he desired—nay, if she were brutally honest with herself, she had to admit she would have welcomed them. Surely he must have sensed that. There could be no question that he now thought of her as no better than Haymarket ware.

  She felt the sting of tears against her lids. It hurt to have lost his good opinion of her character. Despite their frequent differences of opinion, the earl had always shown her a certain respect. Why, for a time it even appeared that they had become—friends. But now, there was nothing to do for it but muster up the courage to comport herself with dignity for the rest of the journey. After that, it hardly mattered. She couldn't imagine she would be around a moment longer than it took the servants to toss down her trunk from the carriage carrying the baggage.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Max closing his book with a decided thump in the hopes of gaining her attention. A fresh wave of guilt washed over her. Dear God, how could she look Max in the eye? If he had any inkling of what had taken place, he would no doubt be filled with disgust, too. It took all of her considerable resolve to keep from turning into a veritable watering pot. She couldn't, however, stave off the beginnings of a splitting headache that threatened to make the journey even more uncomfortable.

  To make matters worse, a spitting rain began to fall, forcing the earl to abandon his mount and take refuge inside the carriage. Muttering a few choice words, he shook the drops of water from the brim of his hat, then flung himself back against the squabs with a grunt and drew a slim book from the pocket of his coat. Ignoring the others, he snapped it open and focused his gaze on the printed pages.