Lucy's face lighted with pleasure whenever Alaina spoke to her. Sitting at the opposite end of the sofa, she smiled shyly, then lowered her dark blonde head. “I do have a Christmas wish, and I—I hope, perhaps, that you have already granted it."
Alaina laughed a little nervously. Whatever was the girl talking about? She glanced at the Dowager but the Earl's mother obviously was also in the dark. “I'll bite, Lucy. What's your wish?"
Twisting a lock of hair around her finger, Lucy murmured, “I wish to have you as a friend."
Tears stung at Alaina's eyes. “Oh, Lucy!” She jumped up off the couch and gave the woman a hug. “Of all the sweetest things!"
The Dowager also had misty eyes. “What a wonderful holiday this is turning out to be. All because of you, Alicia. Tell us, what is your wish this Christmas?"
Alaina blinked rapidly to curb any tears that threatened to spill over. She released her new friend Lucy, then sat back against the plump couch cushions. There was no way she would divulge her true wish: to find Reena and return home, so she said the first thing on her mind. “Well, considering the pummeling I took at dinnertime between all three of your sons, I wish they would decide not to join us tonight."
As if on cue, the brothers entered the White Salon. Handsome, handsomer, and handsomest.
While Lucy giggled, Alaina sighed. “So much for my wish!"
Even Lady Wilhelmina had to laugh.
The Earl stopped to take in the obvious merriment, then strode over in front of Alaina. “At your convenience, Madam, I would speak with you in the Library.” Nodding at his mother and Lucy, he then left.
Alaina turned to the Dowager. “What is it now, I wonder?”
“Don't go yet, Alicia. Why, Charles and I just arrived.” Nigel tugged on her arm, reminding Alaina of Terry.
“I know, Nigel, but I really must see what the Earl wants.”
Excusing herself from the company, she made her way to his domain alone. That was how she viewed the Library: his domain. It was a heavily masculine room—decorated in dark, somber colors and heavy fabrics. The solitary brightness within those four walls was given off by the fireplace while flickering gas lamps on the desk and side tables seemed to plunge the room into further gloom.
Alaina sat, without invitation, in the comfortable tub-shaped chair in front of the Earl's desk. He was shifting through piles of paper on his desk and ignored her. After waiting patiently, Alaina cleared her throat. “I was under the impression you wanted to see me?”
Lord Saybrooke raised his head and looked dispassionately at her. “That is correct.” He reflected for a moment and arched his hands, fingertip to fingertip. “I spent the day with various people on the estate. It seems most of them have been alarmed by your persistent questions concerning a woman named Madame Reena."
Alaina jerked to attention in the chair. “Do you know her?"
“That is not the issue. You, as my wife, should not be causing a panic among the servants or the tenants."
She waved away his words and repeated, “Do you know her?"
He bent forward, the light accenting the harsh planes on his face. “Tell me why you are searching for this woman."
Man, oh man. He enraged her. He absolutely enraged her. “Listen, I need to find her. The reason, well, it has nothing to do with you."
Before she could even detect movement, he lunged forward and seized her by the wrists. “You will tell me, Madam. Make no mistake."
Her heart pounding, she looked down at his hands, now cruelly imprisoning her. “First it was my neck, then my shoulders, and now my wrists. I was beginning to wonder when you would revert to your true animalistic colors."
“Animalistic,” he growled only inches from her face. “A far cry from respectable."
Maybe his nearness temporarily rendered her daft, but she stared blankly at him. “What in the world are you talking about?"
His masculine scent drifted over to her. It was fresh, strong, and sexy.
For a long moment he didn't speak. His blue eyes actually mesmerized her. “As I recall,” he began, “regal, respectable, and...."
“And rude,” she finished for him. Even though he still held her with a death grip, she grinned. Imagine him remembering her words. “Hmmn, seems I was right about the rudeness, anyway."
He laughed, albeit reluctantly. The tension had been broken. Releasing her, he then sat back in his chair. “Will you tell me now, Alicia?"
She stalled for time. “Maybe. Do you know Reena?"
“Not personally."
Drat. Alaina got up and paced the room. “Do you know where she is?"
“No."
His response was slow and drawn out. She glanced over at him to find him staring at the rapid rise and fall of her chest—from exertions ... or something. And with the low neckline on this gown, he did have a lot to look at.
Flushing, she snapped her fingers in front of his eyes to get his attention up higher. “Yoo-hoo, Richard, this is important. I need to find Reena to ... help me undo something."
He wanted to laugh again. She could tell by the way he sucked in his cheeks. But he refrained. Stiff upper lip and all that. “Yoo-hoo. That is a curious term, is it not?” He raised that infernal eyebrow. “And what happened to calling me Rick, m'dear?"
“Oh, you're impossible!” She stamped her foot. “Only when you're regal and respectable, okay? But believe me, you have a long way to go."
“Do I?” He gestured for her to sit. “Enough of this nonsense. Back to the matter of Madame Reena. I only know of her. Her reputation, if you will. Something of an occult figure. Uses spells and whatnot. The woman inspires fear in simple hearts.”
Now serious in tone, he cautioned, “It does no good to upset the worthy people tilling our land, Alicia. I will not permit it."
She slumped down in the chair. What was she going to do now? Where was she going to get her information? “I understand."
“Had this woman performed a spell for you?"
“Something like that,” she muttered, chewing on her lower lip.
“And you wish to undo this ... charm?"
“It sounds crazy, but whatever Reena did, it worked. I need to have the spell ... undone."
He was curious. Every movement, from the drumming of his fingers to the rapid pulse in the cord of his neck gave him away. But to his credit, he didn't press her to explain.
“I see,” he said. But of course he did not. “If it will ease your mind, I will initiate a search for the woman."
“Will you?” Alaina clapped her hands together. “Oh, thank you, Richard!” Carried away by her enthusiasm, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.
The action was a mistake, or perhaps it was the most wonderful thing she had ever done. Her entire body vibrated with the feel of his roughened skin, with the scent of his after-shave.
She pulled back, embarrassed and confused. “I, um, I think I'll go now. It's been a long ... day."
Without looking back, she raced out the door to her bedroom upstairs.
After his wife left the room, Richard remained motionless, plagued by conflicting emotions. Then he buried his hands in his thick hair. Alicia had kissed him, of her own accord! Indeed, the act had startled her as much as it did him. Did he dare hope they could bury the differences separating them and once again live as man and wife?
Miracles sometimes did occur, however he was far too cynical to believe he might be the beneficiary of a heavenly blessing. His countess had been known to use her wiles to convert a misogynist into a Don Juan. If she so set her mind to it, she could falsely turn into a paragon of virtue—trying to turn him up sweet with her winsome ways.
Richard skimmed his fingertips over the spot that Alicia had kissed. His skin felt different—more alive.
Returning to Saybrooke Hall was becoming much more difficult than he ever imagined. Could he be strong enough to withstand Alicia's deception?
He had to be. For his own sake and for Terrence's, he
could not allow himself to be fooled by the aristocratic, appealing....and adulterous Aphrodite whose bedchamber adjoined his.
CHAPTER SEVEN
With only one week to go before Christmas, Alaina scheduled a trip into the town of Hambledon to buy presents for the Cransworth clan. For some reason, Richard—she could think of him as Richard now and not the Enraged Earl—didn't kick up a fuss and forbid her to leave the Hall.
Her entourage including a coachman and footman, she made her way into town on a blustery, icy day. Hambledon itself seemed coated with grey, well prepared for the long winter ahead. Fortunately the color didn't suit her mood. How could she be down when she finally had a chance to explore an actual nineteenth century village?
Soon the novelty of seeing horses, carriages, quaint stores, and pubs wore off, and she got down to the business of shopping. Women were always easier to buy for than men, so it took no time at all to pick out a huge, white swansdown muff for Lucy, and a richly embroidered, lemon-colored shawl for Lady Wilhelmina.
Terry was also easy. A wooden set of brightly colored soldiers was perfect for a child his age. Vicki's boys loved that kind of stuff. In addition, Alaina planned to make him a small, stuffed animal. She started sewing stuffed toys for all the children on the estate. These Christmas presents would serve as a sort of apology. An ambitious plan, but she hadn't meant to frighten anyone with her questions on Madame Reena.
Richard's two brothers proved more difficult. After tramping through the chilling rain, Alaina found a dry goods store that sold silver tankards. By engraving two with the names of Nigel and Charlie around the base, she had her Christmas shopping almost completed.
The hardest person was, of course, Richard himself. She spent the better part of the day searching for that perfect something. He wouldn't care one way or the other about his present, but somehow she wanted to bribe him—to make him like her, even just a little bit.
She finally found a nice gift. Nice, but not ideal. It was a regal gold and mother-of-pearl snuff box that reminded her of him. Outside the shop, she pocketed the snuff box.
“I guess that'll have to do.” Just about to return to her carriage, she paused, working up courage to walk out into the bone-freezing rain.
As she did, the wind blasted against her, taking her breath ... and her bonnet away. The fussy hat sailed down the street, its silky ties fluttering behind it.
“Oh, drat. Now I have to catch the darn thing.” With her skirts swirling, she followed the bonnet's path to a brick and tile building. The hat rested long enough to allow her to pick it up.
Fate must've deposited her on the doorstep because this particular shop was a bookseller. Maybe she could find that perfect gift for Richard after all.
Opening the heavy, wooden door was difficult at first. Another wet and blustery gust slammed against her, preventing her action. But she managed to slip inside and find herself truly in another era. The aura of centuries past hung heavy in the stale air, along with the scent of tobacco and decayed books.
A wizened clerk perched on a stool peered at her over his thick glasses. “Y'be brave t'face this weather, lassie,” he wheezed. “Brave or foolish."
Alaina agreed with the latter. “I was wondering, sir, if you might have a book—"
“Aye, I ‘ave a book or two."
More like two thousand books neatly arranged on shelves around the store. Obviously the man liked to joke around. “So I see, sir. Do you have something on ancient Rome?"
Richard would really appreciate it if she got a book on his amateur hobby. Anything to make brownie points.
“Mayhap I do. But you'd best be more specific.”
She glanced at the man but his face was lost inside its own wrinkles. “Oh, well, um, something on Caesar?"
“Which one?"
This man was up on his history, for there were actually twelve individuals who used the term “Caesar.” “Which one would you suggest, sir?"
A mouth appeared amidst the man's furrows. “Mayhap The Annals Of Imperial Rome will do?"
She was quick to show her knowledge. After all, her doctorate was in Greek and Roman literature. If, in fact, she got the chance to finish it. “By Tacitus? No, I think he's too difficult to read."
“Publius Cornelius Tacitus,” the man corrected.
“Okay, you win.” This guy was good. Very, very good. “So what else do you have?"
The mouth now grinned, showing broken knobs of teeth. “Y'be a game one, lassie. ‘ow about The Twelve Caesars? No fancy cove's library be complete without a copy."
Picturing Richard as a fancy cove made her grin, too. “By Suetonius.” She waited for the clerk to make his move.
Almost like chess. “Gaius Suetonius Tranquillus, lassie.” He must've widened his eyes for now they appeared large and rheumy behind his spectacles. “Well, wot'll it be?"
“I'll take Suetonius."
“Good choice, lassie.” He slowly eased up from the stool and rummaged through the dusty stacks of books. “'ere we go. ‘Tis old. Much older'n me."
Alaina could hardly contain herself. In her hands was a copy on the biographies of Roman rulers Julius Caesar through Domitian: The Twelve Caesars by Suetonius. For her doctorate degree, she'd bought a copy translated by the notable Robert Graves. But this book was translated by Philemon Holland, published in 1606! Richard couldn't help but be excited to add this classic to his collection.
After she paid the man, she had a sudden thought. “Maybe you could help me with something else. Would you, by any chance, know a woman by the name of Madame Reena?"
His face disappeared again inside his wrinkles. That must've been a sign of disapproval. “Wot's a lassie like yourself a-wanting with Reena?"
“I, um, I'm in a kind of fix, and I was hoping—"
“Old Reena. Last I ‘eard of ‘er, she be at West Meon.” He shook a stubby finger at her. “'er be a sly one. Like dealing with the devil ‘imself. Best be careful, now."
“West Meon!” Finally, finally Alaina could plan to go home. Not that she'd wouldn't hate to say good-bye to Saybrooke Hall. Richard... well, she'd never met a man like Richard before.
But she didn't belong here. And soon she would be on her way back home.
After thanking the clerk profusely, she opened the door out into the foul, English weather. As the wind tugged at her skirts, she didn't care. Why should she?
Well satisfied with her booty and her information, she returned to Saybrooke Hall.
~*~
In the Library, Richard poured over research papers he had gathered for his upcoming talk on his archaeology work at Fishbourne. He was to present his findings to the Dilettani Society in London early next year. The Society, whose membership only included those who had been to Italy and also had an interest in archaeology, boasted of several prominent men in the field. True, he had until the sixth of April to prepare, but focusing on his papers was an effortless way to forget about his domestic problems.
Settling in a high-backed chair by the fireplace, he took a drink of brandy and began to read. But not for long. Alicia slipped into the room with a secretive air about her. She was looking lovely, as usual, this stranger he had for a wife. So lovely, with her hair casually tumbling down on her shoulders, that the stir of desire tightened his loins.
By some stroke of luck, she was unaware of his presence. By remaining still he could watch her at his leisure. Just what the devil was she doing in his Library?
She first perused his book collection, housed against the wall opposite the fireplace. From ceiling to floor, she scanned every title, stopping occasionally to remove a book and flip through the pages.
Deuce peculiar didn't describe her activity by half. As he sipped his drink, he also drank in the sight of her slim figure, modestly dressed in a gown fit more for a scullery maid than a countess. The skirt of the dress inexplicably did not reach as far down as the modeste intended, treating him to the sight of a trim pair of ankles.
After she f
inished this task, she brushed her hands together as if to clean them. “Good,” she whispered cryptically.
What the devil? Had she been looking for a particular title or just taking inventory?
Alicia then walked over to his desk, in such a fluid movement he was reminded of the gentle sway of willow trees on a warm and balmy day. Her delicate eyebrows drawn, she scrutinized an atlas he had commissioned celebrated map-maker Thomas Moule to prepare.
Richard could no longer resist. Advancing quietly, he padded to a spot right behind her and looked over her shoulder. Inexplicably, her finger pointed at the very town of Hambledon.
So intense was her concentration, she remained unaware of his presence. Taking advantage, he inhaled her sweet floral fragrance. As soon as he spoke, she would no longer allow him this proximity.
“Looking for something, m'dear?"
“Oh!"
He was treated to the vision of Alicia's agitation: a heaving bosom—to use a phrase, and wide, startled doe eyes.
“Oh, goodness, you gave me quite a scare.” She slapped at that selfsame chest, even as he would have caressed it. Then his prophecy came true; she stepped away, placing the desk between them. “I—I didn't know you were here."
“Obviously.” He leaned closer, enjoying her consternation. “Perhaps I can help you, Alicia. Are you, by any chance, planning a trip?"
Although he had allowed her to travel to Hambledon, her exile was still in force. He waited for those tempting lips to utter her usual lies.
She composed herself quickly. Only her breathlessness revealed her true state. “A trip?” she questioned as only a bewitching deceiver could. “But that would mean I was defying you, wouldn't it? Unless you allow me to leave."
Her crafty response irked him. “Your banishment has not been revoked. So what were you doing?"
She met his gaze unflinchingly. “I wanted to look again at the distance between here and Fishbourne. It's not very far, is it? When I was ill, I felt ... neglected that you didn't come home.”
If only that were true. He spun away. “A Banbury tale, Madam."
“Maybe. But maybe you wouldn't know the truth if it hit you over the head."
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