Jacquie D'Alessandro - [Regency Historical 04]

by Never A Lady

  “Your brother doesn’t know?”

  He shook his head. “The only person who knows the true circumstances of Richard’s death other than me is Wexhall. And now you.”

  “You have my word I won’t betray your trust.”

  “I know,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips to press a kiss against her fingers. For the space of several heartbeats, she appeared as if she meant to say something, but she remained silent, and they resumed their walk.

  Someday, his inner voice assured him. She’ll tell you someday.

  Perhaps. But to what end? Even if they both walked away from Wexhall’s upcoming party unscathed, he couldn’t stay in London indefinitely. He needed to return to Cornwall.

  With a wife.

  A woman he needed to choose very soon. A woman he very likely could find tonight at the Ralstrom soiree if he put any effort into the task.

  A woman who was not Alexandra.

  Eighteen

  Alex sat at her card-reading table, just below the balcony of the upstairs gallery in Lord and Lady Ralstrom’s very crowded, very elegant drawing room. While conducting her readings, she listened to the voices around her, hoping to hear the raspy whisper she’d overheard in Lord Malloran’s study, but so far had heard nothing resembling the sound. The location afforded her an excellent view of the room, and she spent a great deal of time looking at the guests.

  Unfortunately, she hadn’t liked what she’d seen.

  Every time she’d looked, Colin, who’d situated himself by a nearby grouping of potted palms in case she gave him their prearranged signal that she’d heard the voice, had been conversing with a different woman, each one more beautiful than the next. Each one wearing an expensive gown in the latest fashion, their hair and throats and wrists adorned with glittering precious gems. Although she was not close enough to hear their conversations, she occasionally caught the sound of his laughter. When she’d invariably look his way, she’d see him smiling at some wealthy peer’s marriage-age daughter, who gazed at him with stars—in most cases flirtatious stars—in her eyes.

  And who could blame any woman for doing so? With his dark good looks, his powerful, lean frame enhanced by his elegant black formal wear and snowy white shirt, he was, without question, the most attractive man in the room. He would have garnered more than his fair share of female attention even without benefit of his exalted social position. Given his wealth, title, and the fact that he was actively seeking a wife, it seemed as if, like colorful hummingbirds waiting their turn to sample his nectar, every woman in the room hovered near him.

  And damnation, she wanted to slap every one of them to the parquet floor. Right now he was speaking to the lovely Lady Margaret. As if she didn’t provide enough beauty, they were joined by Lady Malloran’s cousin, Lady Miranda. Looking at the two gorgeous women, one a delicate pale blond and the other a dark, rich brunette, she wondered if one of them might be the writer of the rose-scented note signed only “M” that she’d read in Colin’s drawing room. The “M” who looked forward to seeing him again. Well, both women were seeing him again now, and viewing him with the sort of calculated speculation a cat would bestow upon a cream-drenched mouse.

  Lady Miranda smiled at him, then extended her hand. Alex watched in an agony of unwanted jealousy as he lifted the woman’s hand—one she knew was lily white and perfect and bore no calluses or marks of labor—to his mouth and brushed his lips over her fingertips. Even though the gesture appeared perfectly respectable and he released her immediately, Alex had to force herself to remain in her chair and not dash over brandishing a handkerchief to scrub the imprint of his mouth from her damn perfect hand, and the feel of her damn perfect hand from his lips.

  Dear God, this was not good. None of these women had done anything wrong. They all had the perfect right to speak to him and flirt with him. Just as he did with them. She was the one who needed to recall that he wasn’t hers. Would never, could never be hers, except in the most superficial and fleeting of ways. Pulling in a long, slow breath, she pressed her lips together and closed her eyes to banish the painful sight—of two beautiful women who already had everything vying for the one thing Alex wanted but could never have.

  Colin.

  She had no claim on him. Her mind, her common sense knew it. But, oh, God, her heart felt heavy and as if it had sprung a leak. And he hadn’t even chosen a wife yet. If she ached this badly now, how would she bear it when he told her he’d chosen the woman he would spend the rest of his life with, whom he would make love to and who would give birth to his children? How would she bear it when he told her good-bye?

  “Do I have the good fortune of finding you available for a reading, Madame?”

  At the deep-voiced question, Alex’s eyes sprang open, and she found herself looking up at Logan Jennsen. A lazy smile curved his lips, and an impudent gleam lit his dark eyes.

  Vastly relieved to see a friendly face and have someone else upon whom to concentrate, she offered him a smile. “Yes, I am available for a reading, Logan. Please join me.”

  “Thank you.” He eased into the chair opposite her, and she was relieved to note that his height and breadth effectively blocked her view of the room. Excellent. What she didn’t see wouldn’t hurt her. Or so she was determined.

  “Neither of them can compare to you,” he said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Lady Miranda and Lady Margaret. As far as I’m concerned, next to you they are beige spots on a beige wall.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. “Spoken like a true friend—but you’re a dreadful liar.”

  “Actually, I’m an accomplished liar, but in this case, I speak the truth.” His gaze skimmed over her. “You look lovely this evening.”

  “Thank you. So do you.”

  He smiled. “This is the best conversation I’ve had all evening.”

  Smiling in return, she reached for her cards, and said, “For me as well. Now tell me, what question would you like answered?”

  He spread his hands. “I would be delighted to hear anything you wished to tell me. Especially if it is good news.”

  “What would you consider good news?”

  “That a certain lady finds me as fascinating as I find her.”

  At her mock warning look, he held up his hands in surrender. “You did ask.”

  “How about that you’re destined to acquire another fleet of ships?”

  He flashed a very attractive smile, which creased two deep dimples in his cheeks. “Certainly I wouldn’t consider that bad news. Is that what’s in store for me?”

  Forcing herself not to crane her neck to see over his shoulder, she began to shuffle. “Let’s see what the cards predict.”

  Colin feigned interest at whatever Lady Margaret was saying, nodding politely, but the effort cost him. Bloody hell, that American Jennsen was sitting at Alexandra’s table. What the hell was he doing? He’d just had his fortune read at the Newtrebble fete and at a private sitting. Which meant that the attraction was clearly the card reader rather than the reading itself. If that bastard says or does anything untoward, I predict he’ll meet the bloody privet hedges. Headfirst.

  Of course, he’d felt precisely the same way about the other eleven—not that he was counting—men who’d visited Alexandra’s fortune-telling table this evening. She’d smiled at all of them, and he’d gritted his teeth, painfully aware of her while he listened with only half an ear to the women he should have been paying attention to.

  Bloody hell. This…whatever she’d done to him, whatever spell she’d cast upon him, was not good. How was he supposed to concentrate on finding a bride when the only woman he could think about was her? While he tossed in a comment here, a chuckle there, and nodded a great deal, his attention remained firmly focused on her. But now that big oaf Jennsen blocked most of his view—and damn it, had that bastard just kissed her hand?

  An unwelcome jolt of pure, undiluted jealousy shot through him, and his fingers clenched around his
crystal champagne flute.

  “If you ladies will excuse me,” he said to Lady Margaret and Lady Miranda, trying, for politeness’ sake, to keep the impatient edge from his voice. After offering them a curt bow, he turned and began weaving his way through the crowd, his gaze riveted on Alexandra while he shoved aside his jealousy and concentrated on his concern for her safety. Any of the men who’d visited her table tonight could be the raspy-voiced murderer. Jennsen included.

  He’d taken no more than half a dozen steps, however, when he was waylaid by his sister-in-law.

  “Finally, a chance to speak with you, Colin,” Victoria said, her eyes alight with…something. Something he was too distracted to try deciphering. “You’ve been surrounded all evening.”

  “Victoria,” he murmured. His gaze flicked past her, and he grimly noted that Alexandra and Jenssen were laughing together.

  “Might I have a moment of your time?” Victoria asked.

  He wanted to snap out NO, and continue walking, but common sense prevailed. It certainly wasn’t Victoria’s fault he felt so damnably frustrated and irritated. Dragging his attention back to her, he forced a smile. “Of course.”

  “Shall we step outside for privacy?”

  Leaning closer, he said in an undertone, “Is that necessary? I don’t want to be unavailable should Alexandra hear the voice.”

  “Nathan is watching her,” she said, nodding toward his brother, who stood within sight of Alexandra’s table. “He knows the signal. I’ll only keep you a moment.”

  He looked at Nathan, who gave him an imperceptible nod. “Very well,” he said, not pleased but unable to refuse her request without appearing churlish.

  He led the way through the French windows leading to the terrace. The moon gleamed, a shiny pearl against a diamond-studded velvet sky, casting a silver glow over the flagstones. A warm breeze, delicately scented with night-blooming flowers, rustled the leaves. Halting near a large potted yew topiary he turned toward Victoria and said, “What do you wish to speak to me about?”

  “Your bride search.”

  “What about it?”

  “I was wondering how it was progressing.”

  It’s not. “Fine.”

  Something flickered in her eyes. Doubt? He wasn’t sure, but quite frankly, neither was he interested.

  “I see. Fine as in ‘I’m meeting dozens of interesting, fascinating women I find attractive,’ or fine as in ‘I couldn’t name one woman I’ve spoken to this evening because my thoughts are completely engaged elsewhere’?”

  Damn it, a group of men paused near the French windows, blocking his view of Alexandra. “Fine as in…fine.”

  “Ah. Splendid. Have you made any decisions?”

  “Decisions?”

  “You know, ruled out anyone, decided anyone has potential, that sort of thing.”

  More gentlemen joined the group, further thwarting his view. Didn’t these blasted men have port to drink or cheroots to smoke—elsewhere? “Um, no.”

  “I rather thought not. Which is why I’m prepared to offer my assistance.”

  Bloody hell, how long were those men going to stand there? “Assistance? With what?”

  She made an exasperated sound. “Your bride search,” she said very slowly and very distinctly.

  Barely suppressing his own exasperated sound, he forced himself to look at her. “What about it?”

  She stared at him for several long seconds, her gaze unnervingly steady, her expression indecipherable. Damn it all, when had women become so frustratingly difficult to read?

  Finally, she cleared her throat. “I was prepared to offer you my assistance on your bride search, but it appears it’s not necessary.”

  “No, it’s not.” Something in her tone, in her eyes, set off a warning signal in his brain. “Why isn’t it necessary?”

  “Because it seems you’ve already narrowed down your choice.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the group of men moved, and his gaze shifted back to the drawing room. “I have?”

  “Clearly.” She hesitated, then said quietly, “I spoke to Nathan. I know she’s not married.”

  “Who?” Damn it, another group now blocked his view.

  “Your choice.”

  Again he dragged his attention back to his sister-in-law, who for some reason was speaking in riddles. “What about her?”

  “She’s not married.”

  He pressed his fingers to the throbbing at his temple. “Of course she—whoever she is—is not married. I can’t very well choose a woman who’s already married.” Ah, like a herd of slow-moving cows, finally the group moved on, clearing his view. And he froze.

  Alexandra and Jennsen stood next to her table, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm. She was smiling up at him, and his face bore the unmistakable expression of a man who very much liked what he saw. A man who wanted what he saw. He leaned down to say something to her, then they melted into the crowd. Anger, concern, and jealousy collided in him. For her own safety, she wasn’t supposed to leave the drawing room. Where the hell was she going?

  “Excuse me,” he said to Victoria, and without waiting for a reply, strode across the flagstones and reentered the drawing room. He scanned the room and saw them near the punch bowl. Jaw tight, he started forward. And nearly plowed into Nathan who stepped directly in his path.

  “She’s fine,” Nathan said in undertone, blocking his way. “You, however, look as if you require a brandy.” He held a cut-crystal snifter aloft.

  “What I require,” he said through clenched teeth, ignoring the proffered drink, “is to find out what the bloody hell she thinks she’s doing.”

  “It’s obvious what she’s doing. She’s having a glass of punch.”

  “With that bloody American who, for all we know, could be the person we’re looking for.”

  “Which is why Wexhall is standing near her, ready to intercept if he tries to get her off alone. She is perfectly safe. It’s you I’m concerned about.”

  Nathan’s words penetrated the haze of fear and anger and jealousy engulfing him, and he dragged his hands down his face. “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re upset at Jenssen for looking at her like he’s dying of thirst and she’s a long, cool drink. I don’t blame you. I’d feel the same way in your position and probably would have planted him a facer by now. I’ll do so if he makes the mistake of looking at Victoria that way.”

  Colin drew a deep breath, and guilt slapped him. “Victoria…I left her standing alone on the terrace.”

  “She found her way back inside. She’s quite resourceful that way. She’s chatting with Lady Margaret and Lady Miranda, two other women you abruptly abandoned.” Nathan handed him the brandy snifter, and Colin took a hefty sip, savoring the burn down his throat.

  “They’re both beautiful,” Nathan said.

  “I suppose.”

  “Do either of them appeal to you?”

  Not in the least. “They were pleasant to talk to.”

  “Indeed? What were you discussing?”

  Damned if he knew. And based on Nathan’s overly innocent expression, he was well aware of that. “The weather.” Most likely.

  “Ah, yes, fascinating stuff. But I meant did either of them appeal to you as a wife candidate.”

  Before answering, Colin tossed back another swallow of the potent liquor in a useless attempt to drown the emptiness brought on by the thought of marrying either of them. “From a practical standpoint, either would do.”

  “And from an impractical standpoint?”

  A sense of profound weariness washed through him. “Right now the thought of spending the rest of my life with either of them is…” Depressing. “Difficult to imagine.”

  “Why do you suppose that is?”

  Irritation pricked him. “Because right now I have other things on my mind. Finding a killer. Keeping a murder from happening. Wexhall’s party is next week. Hopefully by the time it’s over, all the
questions surrounding that puzzle will be answered, and I’ll be able to concentrate on my bride search.”

  “You think you’ll be better equipped to choose one of these Society diamonds after Wexhall’s party?”

  “Yes. Absolutely.”

  Nathan muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “idiotic dolt,” then clapped his hand on Colin’s shoulder. “I wish you luck with that. I truly do. But as someone who has recently gone through exactly what you’re now facing, I can only offer you my deepest sympathy and my best wishes that it works out as well for you as it did for me.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “The battle.”

  “What battle?”

  “Between your mind and your heart.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Nathan squeezed his shoulder. “You will. Good luck.”

  Alex sat alone at her fortune-telling table, enjoying the brief respite. Her gaze sought out Colin, and she noted he was once again in the company of a beautiful woman. He appeared to be listening to her, but just then his gaze swiveled toward her. Their gazes collided, and Alex felt the impact down to her feet. She tried to look away, but couldn’t.

  Yet clearly he suffered from no such affliction as his gaze suddenly shifted up, over her head. A frown puckered his brow and his eyes narrowed. Then widened. His gaze jumped back to her and he lunged forward, waving his arms in a shooing side motion.

  “Alexandra!” he yelled, running toward her. “Move! Move!”

  Startled, she jumped to her feet and dashed around the table. A heartbeat later a large stone urn smashed onto the chair where she’d sat only seconds before. The chair splintered beneath the weight, and the urn broke apart, raising a cloud of dust.

  Shocked immobile, she gaped at the destruction while shouts rose around her.

  “Alexandra,” Colin said, his voice low and tense. He gripped her shoulders and gently shook her. “Are you all right?”

  “I…I’m fine. Thanks to you.” She tore her gaze from the broken urn and chair to look at him. “What happened?”