“It will be nice for you to have another young lady for company, miss,” Katie said, before her eyes gleamed once again. “And I hear her brother is ever so handsome.”
At the mention of Mr. Farago, Lydia’s stomach flip-flopped wildly, and her skin began to tingle.
Goodness! What a ridiculous reaction to someone’s name.
To Lydia’s horror, warmth flooded her cheeks.
“Is he?” Katie asked.
“Is who what?” Lydia frowned in confusion, having been distracted by her body’s ridiculous behaviour.
“Is he handsome?” Katie persisted.
Lydia pretended to consider the question, but there was nothing to consider, really.
He was, without a doubt, the single most handsome man she had ever seen in her entire life.
His devilishly dark eyes… his midnight-black hair… that jaw… that mouth! His broad shoulders and strong neck…
Heavens!
Lydia resisted the urge to fan herself, knowing that her nosy maid would be vastly entertained by such behaviour.
Of course, she couldn’t lie either.
“Yes, he is,” she managed to say with the merest hint of a squeak in her voice. “Very handsome.”
“Single too, Mrs. Tate said,” Katie answered, sounding far too innocent for Lydia’s liking.
Lydia glared at her maid in the mirror.
“I wouldn’t know,” she replied primly. “I hardly spoke above two words to the man. Mrs. Tate certainly seems to know a lot for a housekeeper.”
Katie grinned unabashedly back.
And Lydia knew she was fighting a losing battle.
A stroll around the garden was actually starting to sound like a very good idea indeed.
“Well,” she said, standing abruptly and shaking out her skirts. “You’ve done a lovely job, as usual. Thank you, Katie.”
Katie continued to grin as she went to fetch Lydia’s white satin gloves and a wrap to match.
“You look beautiful, miss,” she said as she handed the items over to Lydia.
Lydia turned to the looking glass and ran a critical eye over her reflection.
Katie had done a wonderful job with her hair. In fact, it looked as though she had put more effort into the style than usual, gathering it in a pile of soft curls, the pink ribbon a pretty flash of colour amongst her dark locks.
The satin gown, in the same soft pink, gave her skin a rosy glow, and the small diamonds at her ears and throat made her blue eyes sparkle.
She didn’t have the dark, exotic beauty of Harriet Farago, but she would do.
Bidding Katie a brief goodnight, ignoring the other girl’s speculative smile, she swept from the room and quickly made her way to the back of the house, stopping briefly to fetch her heavy, velvet winter cloak.
The gardens were just off the conservatory, and there was time for a quick, mercifully quiet stroll round them before dinner.
Lydia stepped out into the cool winter evening, looking forward to a moment or two of blissful solitude.
She certainly didn’t want to answer any more questions about the mysterious Mr. Farago, at least not while she was having this discomfiting reaction to him.
She needed some space to process her thoughts and try to understand why her mouth dried and her heart raced at the mere mention of his name.
She bounded down the steps then pushed open the wrought iron gate that led to rows of well-kept shrubs and small trees that were able to withstand a harsh, English winter.
Lydia was just breathing a sigh of relief when a sound caught her attention.
Looking to the right, she was both excited and inexplicably nervous to see Mr. Farago strolling toward her.
“Miss Charring, you look enchanting.” He spoke in that smooth, delectable voice of his.
Lydia swallowed as her throat did that silly dry thing, and her heart began a rather alarming jig.
She had a feeling she was in very real trouble here.
Chapter Three
So, it hadn’t been a fluke then.
Alex was once again caught off guard by his sudden and visceral reaction to the woman standing before him.
Dear God, but she was beautiful.
Even though her dark green cloak covered most of her body, Alex remembered enough from that afternoon to be able to imagine how her gown sat on her curves.
But he had a clear vision of her glorious hair… and her incredible eyes…
The night was clear so the moon shone bright, making them sparkle like the diamonds that adorned her.
“G-good evening, Mr. Farago,” she said, sounding startled to find him there.
He wanted nothing more than to sweep her into his arms and plunder her mouth with his own, which of course he could not do.
“Good evening, Miss Charring,” he answered smoothly, giving no sign of the flames burning inside him. “It is a pleasant night, is it not?”
“Yes, it is. I often like to take a walk before dinner. I hope I haven’t disturbed you?”
“Not at all. I am grateful for the company. And, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, surprised by it.”
At her frown of confusion, he continued, smiling as he held out his arm to her.
She took it immediately, and he was rocked by the impact of her hand upon him, even through her satin evening gloves and his dinner jacket.
“My sister arrives at the eleventh hour, having spent hours doing God knows what to prepare herself for the evening. Yet, here you are, with plenty of time to spare, and looking more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever met. It’s quite the feat.”
Alex watched a delicate flush stain her cheeks at his words, and it endeared her to him even more.
Having spent all of his adult life surrounded by sophisticated women of power, either at home or when visiting other principalities, an innocent’s blush was a rare sight indeed.
He would have paid anything to know what was going through that agile mind of hers at his words, but she changed the subject.
Which was probably for the best.
A seduction in a freezing garden probably wasn’t the best of ideas, even if it was the most tempting.
“Did you get a chance to see Huntsforth?” she asked, a little breathlessly.
Alex couldn’t help but feel smug that he’d affected her so.
“Unfortunately, no,” he answered as they took their slow stroll around the garden. “I believe he is still too unwell to receive guests.”
Lydia bit her lip, and Alex had to fight hard not to be distracted by the action.
“He does seem to be taking a longer time to recover from this bout of illness,” she said, a crease marring her brow. “Mama will become quite frantic soon.”
Alex hadn’t known Lady Charring above an hour, but she did seem to be the type of lady whose nerves would fray easily.
“Has he been sick for very long?”
“Above a month now,” she answered, still frowning. “I do hope it isn’t too serious. After all, he isn’t getting any younger.”
Alex tried to ignore the guilt slamming into him. It was contemptible that his family had abandoned the old man.
Alex had quite forgotten all about him until his father had explained the circumstances of the inheritance. But he shouldn’t have forgotten him, should he?
“Perhaps you’re being here will rally his spirits some,” Lydia said now, her voice ringing with a false cheer. “It will be so nice for him to have visitors from Aldonia. He used to speak so wistfully of it when I was a child. I always thought it sounded like a magical kingdom, filled with princes and princesses and fairy-tale castles.”
She had no idea how close to the mark she was, and Alex felt the beginnings of remorse at hiding his true identity from her.
Enough secrets had surrounded his relationship to Huntsforth.
He didn’t want any more.
And for some reason, the more he spoke to Lydia, the more unpalatable any sort of dishonesty was to him
.
Alex drew them to a stop then turned and faced her, preparing to tell her the truth.
But before he got the chance, she was speaking again.
“I do hope you will be able to tell me all about it during your visit. And…”
She looked so earnest, so sincere, standing there in the moonlight, that she tugged on his heartstrings and awakened his guilt even more so.
“…I thank you for doing what his selfish, dreadful nephew would not.”
Alex gulped as his cravat seemed to tighten into a noose around his neck.
She certainly wasn’t afraid to speak her mind.
“You feel such venom, yet you have never met the man. Perhaps he isn’t as bad as you think?”
Lydia blinked in surprise, as though she hadn’t expected him to argue.
“Well, no, I haven’t met him. But I can guess his character.”
“You can? And how’s that?”
“Because people like him are all the same. Horatio told Mama years ago that he comes from an extremely wealthy and influential family. So I have no doubt that he is spoiled, selfish, and self-absorbed. He has undoubtedly spent his youth carousing, debauching and evading responsibility as all very wealthy people do. Womanising and gambling at every opportunity, perfectly happy living an elitist lifestyle and thinking of no one outside of himself.”
Each cutting word stung like a slap to the face.
She’d described him perfectly.
When had he ever cared for anyone besides himself? He was only here because he’d decided on a whim that he wanted to travel to England, uncaring that his mother had wanted the family together for Christmastide.
And, if he were being completely honest with himself, a large part of his visit to Horatio was to defy his father. When had he ever given Horatio a second thought before then?
He felt suddenly sickened by his past behaviours, annoyed too, that he’d had them spelled out for him by the one person whose good opinion had swiftly become inexplicably important.
He was a prince, for God’s sake. What did he care for the opinion of an English miss?
But care he did, and it made him angry.
“You are not part of this elitist lifestyle you so disdain? Isn’t your father a baron?”
Alex watched the flicker of emotions on her expressive face.
There was irritation, shock, then what looked like contrition.
“Yes, I suppose I am,” she mumbled before she rallied and her chin lifted. “But I don’t selfishly act whatever way I choose, forgetting the people who care about me along the way.”
Ah. She had him there.
“You don’t know this man,” he repeated softly.
“I know enough. His absence these past years has told me everything I need to know about him.”
They stood facing each other in the still, winter’s night, and Alex was put in mind of combatants at either side of a battlefield.
He couldn’t do it.
He couldn’t have that flash of anger in her expressive blue eyes directed at him. Worse, the disappointment in this faceless nephew she so deplored.
Dishonesty was a small price to pay for the chance to spend more time with her.
So he kept silent on the matter and hoped that he wouldn’t be found out.
Chapter Four
As Lydia looked into the devilishly handsome face of her companion, the usual embarrassment after one of her outbursts seeped into her.
When would she learn to hold her tongue?
Mama had been stressing for years that gentlemen didn’t care for outspoken women.
Such opinions had always irritated her in the past.
Now, however, she found herself caring very much about whether this new acquaintance of hers disliked her or not.
And that wouldn’t do.
She hardly knew the man.
Besides, she refused to be the type of person who changed for anybody.
“I’ve let my mouth run away with me,” Lydia began by way of apology.
His dark, molten eyes dropped instantly, and her throat dried at the heat in his gaze as it focused on her lips.
Lydia’s tongue darted out, and his eyes narrowed and fixed more intently on her lips.
All of a sudden, it was difficult to breathe.
“I—ah—I no doubt should learn to bite my tongue,” she continued, hearing the breathlessness of her tone but powerless to stop it.
His jaw tensed as she mumbled the words, and Lydia wondered what she could have said to cause him to look so stern, even pained.
Before she had a chance to ask, however, he spoke, rendering her unable to utter a single word.
“I think you should a great many things with your tongue, Lydia. Biting it is not one of them.”
Lydia felt her jaw drop, and her heart begin to thump loudly, even painfully.
She should slap him. She really should.
His words were the outside of enough.
Yet, rather than the outrage and disgust she should feel, a heated excitement coursed through her instead.
“Your spirit is refreshing,” he spoke again, all politeness, as though he hadn’t just completely thrown her with his improper talk of a moment ago.
“Er, thank you,” Lydia answered, unsure of what to say.
Mama, if she were here, would likely have swooned in the face of such impropriety, and because of that, Lydia felt that she should at least make some sort of effort to rebuke him for the liberties he had taken in speaking to her that way.
“You are quite outrageous, Mr. Farago,” she said, trying her hardest to sound stern. “You musn’t say such things to a lady, and…” She continued louder when it looked as though he meant to speak. “…you shouldn’t call me Lydia. I haven’t given you leave to use my name.”
Mr. Farago eyed her intently for a moment before he stepped closer with a grin so wicked Lydia thought her whole body had caught fire.
“You don’t want me to call you Lydia?” he asked softly.
The feelings and rather wanton thoughts swirling through her head made it nigh on impossible to concentrate on anything other than the size of him, the scent of him, the closeness of him.
But she was tenacious.
“Well, no. I mean, yes. That is to say, you shouldn’t—” She stuttered and stumbled as he drew closer still until there were mere inches between them and she had to crane her neck to look into his face.
He had a lovely jaw, she noticed distractedly.
Her hand lifted of its own accord as though to smooth over it, but her brain gave her hand a stern talking to just in time, thank goodness.
“I didn’t ask if I should,” he answered softly, his voice dropping and reminding her of all things sinful and delicious. “I asked if you didn’t want me to.”
Lydia heard the strangest sound, a whimper of sorts, and a second later she realised it came from her.
“I-I…”
She was vastly out of her depth here.
Good God! The man could give lessons in seduction. And he was clearly a rogue since they’d known each other a matter of hours and he was acting thusly.
“You may call me Alex,” he continued in that hypnotic voice of his, and Lydia actually felt herself sway toward him.
Her brain, of course, piped up again, dragging her unruly body back under control.
Her brain sounded a lot like her mother, which was rather disconcerting.
“I shouldn’t,” she responded, trying to sound cool and aloof and failing spectacularly.
“Ah, there’s that shouldn’t again,” he said with a smile. “Tell me, do you always do everything exactly as you should?”
Lydia thought back to her countless faux pas, her unruly mouth, her manners, which were sometimes a little lacking…
“Not always,” she admitted with a small smile.
His answering smile was positively breathtaking.
“Then I can only hope that this will be one of the times you
don’t,” he said softly.
Lydia gripped the sides of her gown to stop from doing something silly like fan herself or throw herself into his arms.
It was completely new to her, this feeling of—well, she didn’t quite know what it was. But it was exciting and frightening and made her think all sorts of wanton things that would have her mother expiring on the spot.
“I’m sure it’s time to get back,” she murmured to his cravat, not quite ready to look into those black-as-sin eyes.
“I’m sure it is,” he agreed, “Lydia.”
She did look up then, in time to see his devilish smile.
Gracious. The man could melt a glacier with one of those looks.
And it was overwhelming. Suddenly, Lydia felt a desperate need to get away from him and the temptation he presented.
“Right, well then… splendid. Let’s get you inside then. Come on,” she said robustly, flapping her hands at him, sounding like a slightly hysterical governess.
What on earth was she doing?
His frown of confusion confirmed that he thought she’d run quite mad. Well, that made two of them.
“Er, may I escort you?” He held out an arm, all chivalry and gentlemanly manners even in the face of her strange conduct.
Lydia’s nerves, however, had been shredded to pieces by his seductive words and her reaction to them, and so she knew it would be dangerous to put her hand anywhere near him.
“Nonsense, old chap,” she cried jovially, like a loony. “Let’s race!”
Her brain, the poor overworked thing, was positively screaming at her at this point, telling her to calm down and stop acting like she was in Bedlam. But some sort of madness had truly taken over her, and she was desperate to put some distance between her and this man so she could sort through her confusing thoughts.
Without quite knowing what she was about, or how she could possibly recover any sort of grace and dignity, she turned and shot off into the house.
It was the most bizarre, out-of-body experience she’d ever had.
The sensible, sane part of her wondered with a sort of horror what she was about, while the crazy person who had taken root in the face of these feelings she’d developed, ran, actually ran, full pelt into the house. As though he’d been daft enough to agree to this absurdity and was following suit.
The Hidden Prince (The Royals of Aldonia Book 1) Page 3