“I’m winning,” she cried maniacally over her shoulder.
He didn’t respond, but rather than check if he was in pursuit, she stayed the course, screeching to a halt when she reached the drawing room, and Miss Farago and Mama looked up in shock at her hurried entrance.
“Lydia.” The remonstration in Mama’s tone was nothing compared to what it have been if she’d known what her daughter had just been doing.
Mr. Farago arrived behind her, and Lydia turned to look warily up at him.
He looked both bewildered and amused, his eyes twinkling, his mouth looking as though it were fighting a smile.
He greeted his sister and Prudence, accepting the offer of a pre-dinner drink.
Once he had his tumbler in hand, he made his way toward where Lydia had been furiously ignoring him by pretending to take an interest in the curtains of all things.
“Would you care to explain why you were running away?” he asked softly, standing beside her and studying the curtains, too.
Lydia spared a quick sideward glance before continuing the curtain inspection.
This was truly shaping up to be the oddest night of her life.
She didn’t even like these curtains.
“Whatever do you mean?” she asked innocently.
“I mean, as unique as you are, compared to every single other lady I’ve ever met, I don’t believe that your performance out in the garden is usual. Even for you.”
Lydia frowned at that even for you part.
And, come to think of it, unique wasn’t exactly flattering either, was it?
“We were late,” she replied snippily. “Forgive me for trying to make your visit fun.”
As far as excuses went, it was pretty poor, she knew.
“I don’t think that’s what it was about,” he responded smoothly.
Now thoroughly fed up, she turned to face him.
“Is that so? Well then, given that you’ve known me all of five minutes, why don’t you tell me what you think it was about,” she challenged.
He smiled that wicked smile again, and her breath actually caught in her throat.
She didn’t think that ever happened in real life; she thought it confined to the scandalous novels she hid from Mama.
“I think,” he said now, his voice warm and smooth like the brandy he held in his hand, “that you can feel this attraction between us, just as much as I, and that it frightens you. I think,” he continued while goose bumps broke out all over her suddenly shivering skin, “that you knew I would kiss you as I desperately wanted to. And I think,” he finished with a devilish grin, “that you wanted me to. So, you ran.”
Before Lydia could even form a coherent thought to answer him, the bell rang for dinner.
He stepped back from her, breaking the spell, and swiftly made his way to her mother, whom he escorted to dinner.
Harriet turned to Lydia with a smile.
“It seems as though we are rather short on gentlemen,” she said with a laugh. “Lady Charring said Lord Huntsforth isn’t well enough to come down this evening. And sadly, my brother isn’t enough for all of us, so shall we go in together?”
Lydia managed a weak smile in return and followed the young lady in a sort of daze.
Alex Farago wasn’t enough? He was too much. That was the problem.
Chapter Five
Alex watched Lydia all evening.
He couldn’t help it.
He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
Her behaviour in the garden had been nothing short of mad. Yet, he had found it vastly amusing. And endearing.
That thought gave him pause.
He’d never found a lady endearing before. That emotion seemed, well, meaningful somehow.
How odd it was that he’d come over here to defy his father, hopefully get to know Huntsforth. And now, he’d stumbled across the only woman he’d ever met who ignited this strange flame inside of him.
It wasn’t mere lust. It was more. It felt very much like his heart were being affected, along with the more intimate parts of him.
She was currently engaged in an animated discussion with Harriet about Aldonia. Well, he conceded, it was more like an inquisition, with poor Harriet struggling to keep up with the amount of questions being flung at her.
“Your accents,” Lydia was saying now. “You sound, well, English.”
Harriet laughed lightly, and Alex noted that his sister was thoroughly enjoying the company of Miss Charring.
It seemed the lady had a positive effect on everyone.
“We were educated by English tutors, Miss Charring,” Harriet explained. “My older brother Christopher and Alex had a professor from Oxford teach them for years. And I had a governess from London.”
“How exciting for them to have gotten the chance to live and work in Aldonia,” Lydia replied with a sigh.
Mrs. Charring had tried in vain to rein in her daughter’s enthusiasm. He had a feeling that that happened a lot.
“You must visit our country, Miss Charring,” he said smoothly when there came a miraculous lull in the questioning. “No amount of description can compare to seeing its beauty with your own eyes.”
Lydia smiled at him, her guard down.
And Alex felt an odd sort of thump in his chest at her look of unbridled wistfulness.
“Oh, I should love to,” she breathed, her sky-blue eyes sparkling. “I should love to see a great many places.”
“Well, why don’t you?” he asked.
Mrs. Charring suddenly made a choking sound, and she hastily put down her wine glass.
“Please, Mr. Farago,” she said, her smile looking a little strained. “Do not put ideas in her head. She would hie off at a moment’s notice.”
Lydia’s smile faded, and Alex frowned. He liked to see her smile. And he didn’t care to question why he wanted it back again.
“And that’s bad?” he questioned carefully.
These English were sticklers for rules, he knew.
And though being a member of the Aldonian royal family didn’t exactly lend itself to freedom, he and Harriet could at least travel when they wanted to.
“No, it’s not bad,” Prudence Charring explained. “And when she’s married, she and her husband can take the grand tour for as long as they choose. But while she remains single, she must remain here.”
Alex kept his face impassive, but he was shocked by the sudden and visceral jealousy that coursed through him at the idea of Lydia being married to some faceless man. Kissing him. Being in his arms. Making love to him…
What in the hell was wrong with him?
“Well then, let us hope you marry soon, Miss Charring. For it would be a great shame if you missed out on seeing the beauty in the world.”
Lydia smiled tightly, and he wondered at the sudden tension in her.
But after a cursory nod in acknowledgement of his words, she turned to her mother and enquired after Huntsforth’s health.
The spark had gone from her. She wasn’t as animated as before.
Her mother’s censure seemed to have dulled some of that spirit.
And why the hell did that make him feel so agitated?
Well, there was no time to indulge in such nonsensical thoughts.
Alex paid close attention to what Lady Prudence was saying about Huntsforth, fighting the surge of guilt as she described the older man’s ailments.
Alex had yet to see him.
But he would make a point of spending time with him tomorrow and somehow find a way to make up for the years of his absence.
Impatient with the maudlin feelings brought on by his guilt, Alex did his best to shake it off.
However, it seemed it wasn’t as easy as he would like to escape such feelings, for the conversation had turned from Huntsforth’s health to his deplorable nephew.
“Lydia, we’ve been through this.” Lady Prudence’s tone held both exasperation and weariness.
“Yes, we have,” Lydia answered
stubbornly, her chin lifted, her eyes flashing.
And Alex was taken aback by a sudden surge of lust slamming into him.
It was rather disconcerting, wanting a woman who so openly despised him.
Though she didn’t know it was he that she despised.
“But I hardly think it is unreasonable to point out how detestable it is for his nephew to stay away, wait for Horatio to meet his maker, and then swoop in to get what he can.”
“Lydia, please.” Lady Prudence sounded desperate.
Alex looked up and caught Harriet’s worried gaze.
His sister looked as uncomfortable as he felt.
He really should just come clean about the whole thing.
After all, he hadn’t even known that it was his inheritance.
He hadn’t known that Huntsforth had left anything to him, so it was hardly his fault. And he was here now.
Although, he had never bothered to find out either. Had never even written a letter…
Trying to ignore his circuitous thoughts, he studied Lydia once more.
As far as distractions went, she was an excellent one.
Her eyes pools of blue that he could drown in, her hair shining and shot through with sinful red, highlighted by the flickering candlelight, her cheeks flushed and smooth.
He’d been so close to kissing her, and she’d been close to letting him.
Alex sighed.
He couldn’t tell her who he was. Not until he’d had a chance to explore whatever this feeling was.
He would tell her, of course. Just not right now.
“Harriet, you look tired. No doubt the journey is catching up on you. Perhaps an early night?”
The ladies all blinked at him, surprised at his abrupt change of subject.
His words, he knew, would bring an early end to the evening. But he needed to speak to Harriet before his sister felt a need to confess. And he definitely needed to end this current conversation, given how uncomfortable it made him about his subterfuge.
Harriet frowned at him but he kept his face clear, willing her to understand.
Mercifully, she did.
“Yes, I am rather tired.” She smiled apologetically to the Charring ladies. “Would you mind terribly if I were to retire for the evening.”
“Of course not, my dear.” Lady Prudence smiled kindly. “You must be exhausted.”
Lydia smiled rather weakly but didn’t speak.
He stood when the ladies did, the only sound the scraping of their chairs.
There were a few awkward goodnights with Lydia looking steadily more miserable, and he couldn’t help but wonder at the cause of it.
He hadn’t meant to insult or upset either of their hosts, and he felt terrible for having done so, if indeed she was upset.
But he desired some distance to think about how to tactfully untangle this web of deceit he’d weaved.
Bidding one final goodnight, he swept his sister from the room, determined to keep her on his side. At least until he figured out how the hell to get out of this mess.
The silence that the Faragos left behind was deafening.
Her mother, Lydia knew, would be furious.
No doubt there was a sermon of epic proportions on its way.
As soon as the sound of footsteps faded, Lydia began the countdown in her head.
Five… four… three… two…
“How could you?” Mama hissed. “Lydia, you simply cannot behave in this manner.”
Lydia sighed.
She’d asked for it, really.
“I know. I’m sorry, Mama.”
“Sorry isn’t good enough.”
Mama seemed genuinely upset, and Lydia felt a pang of guilt.
She knew that her mother found social situations stressful as it was. And she’d gone and added to it by being too outspoken.
Lydia sighed as she stood and moved to Mama’s side of the table, taking the empty seat beside her.
“I truly am sorry, Mama. I shall hold my tongue. I promise.”
Mama nodded but remained silent, worrying at her lip.
“If it’s any solace, I do not think the Faragos disagree with me,” she continued. “Didn’t you see Mr. Farago’s expression? He looked very severe when we spoke of Huntsforth’s nephew. I’d warrant that he and his sister find such actions as deplorable as we do.”
“Perhaps,” Mama conceded. “And he did look rather upset. But, well, it just isn’t done, to discuss such delicate matters in company.”
Her mother had always been a stickler for Society rules. And though Lydia found most of them rather ridiculous, she didn’t want to upset her mother, not when she was already worrying about Huntsforth’s declining health.
“How about if I promise to forget all about the odious nephew and concentrate on helping to make our guests as comfortable as possible?” she asked with a cajoling smile.
Finally, Mama seemed to relax. “That would be wonderful, dearest,” she responded.
“Then that’s what I shall do,” Lydia said firmly.
She didn’t admit to Mama that she’d rather ignore the mysterious Mr. Farago than spend any more time with him.
And such thinking was unfair in any case.
It wasn’t the poor man’s fault that Lydia couldn’t control her feelings around him.
Chapter Six
The next morning, Lydia rose with a much more positive mindset.
The day was crisp and bright.
Fresh snow had fallen in the night and blanketed the estate in its white, clean beauty.
Yesterday, her behaviour had been truly bizarre.
Today, she would be sophisticated and everything that was proper.
There was plenty to keep her occupied in any case.
She wanted to see Huntsforth, then she would set out to find yet more holly and ivy, perhaps even some mistletoe, with which to decorate the house.
She was absolutely determined to make the place as festive and cheery as possible so that when Huntsforth felt better, he would be able to enjoy the season.
There was a cup of chocolate by her bedside, and her serviceable dimity gown was laid out, so her maid had obviously been in and gone.
Lydia was glad of it. She didn’t want anyone fussing at her hair or dress today. She wanted to get out into the fresh air and clear her mind of the awfully distracting dreams she’d had last night, featuring a particularly handsome stranger.
Sipping the rapidly cooling chocolate, she thought about her plans for the day.
In all honesty, she should make an effort to entertain Mr. Farago and Harriet.
But she felt as though she needed some time to herself if only to prepare for the impact of seeing him again.
The last thing she wanted was to start dashing around the place challenging him to races again.
Her cheeks heated as she remembered her odd behaviour from the night before.
Never before had anyone had such an effect on her.
It was most disconcerting.
Lydia quickly dressed and pinned her hair into a simple chignon.
She rushed downstairs and straight to the breakfast room.
It was mercifully empty, so she didn’t have to watch her manners and could eat breakfast with all haste and then get outside.
Lydia had always been outdoorsy, much to Mama’s despair and Father’s delight.
After donning her heavy winter cloak, Lydia fetched a wicker basket and a pair of shears and made her way outside.
The air was freezing, and the winter sunlight glinted off the white snow, almost blinding Lydia as she stood taking in the scene. But it didn’t bother her. Nothing, to Lydia’s mind, was as beautiful as a fresh snow.
She swiftly made her way to the edge of the formal gardens, where she knew the holly grew in abandonment.
It was so quiet at this time of day. Peaceful, undisturbed…
“Good morning, Lydia.”
Lydia let out a scream of fright as the voice sounded behind
her.
She spun around to face her unexpected companion, nearly falling over in the process.
A pair of strong hands reached out and clasped her around the arms, steadying her on her feet.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she bit out, glaring into the handsome face of Alex Farago. “You scared me half to death.”
“My deepest apologies,” he said with a bow that didn’t seem all that contrite to Lydia’s mind. “I didn’t know you would be concentrating so hard on a holly bush.”
She wasn’t. In point of fact, she’d been thinking of him. But she wasn’t about to tell him that.
“Well,” she said with a sniff, bending to retrieve her fallen basket, “it is a task which requires concentration.”
He raised a disbelieving brow.
“Of course,” he agreed, and she knew he was humouring her.
She could tell by the ghost of a smile hovering at his lips.
Lydia gave up and laughed despite herself. She could never remain in ill spirits for long.
“If you must know, I was woolgathering,” she admitted, turning her back and continuing to clip holly to place in the basket.
“Woolgathering?” he asked, sounding disconcertingly near.
“It means—ah—thinking about something else,” she said, feeling suddenly inexplicably nervous. And excited, too, which was confusing. “Daydreaming.”
“Ah…” He sounded closer still, and Lydia caught her breath.
She could practically feel his body heat.
“And what, may I ask, were you daydreaming about?”
“A lady should never divulge her secrets, sir,” she said, hearing the tremble in her voice.
“There’s that should again,” he said, and this time Lydia felt his breath tickle her neck.
Good Lord!
If she were to turn around now, she would be close enough for her lips to press against his.
Now where had that thought come from?
“Bend the rules, just a little,” he coaxed, his voice turning her legs to jelly. “Tell me what you were thinking about.”
Lydia wondered what he would do if she were to tell him the truth. If she were to admit that he had been occupying her thoughts and her dreams since the second he’d arrived yesterday.
The Hidden Prince (The Royals of Aldonia Book 1) Page 4