But that would be highly appropriate, she knew. Not to mention as mad as her behaviour the evening before.
So, she scrambled for something to say.
“I was thinking of Huntsforth,” she said quickly. “I do hope he’s well enough to join in the festivities next week.”
She felt Alex move away from her and had to will herself not to feel bereft.
“He doesn’t seem terribly well,” Alex said.
And his worried tone gave Lydia the courage to turn around and face him.
A frown marred his brow, and that lovely jaw of his was clenched.
“You saw him?” she asked.
“Just now,” he confirmed. “He was sleeping. Harriet is sitting with him in case he wakes.”
Suddenly Lydia felt sorry for Alex and his sister.
She had unfortunately seen the old man’s health decline for years, but for the Faragos to travel all the way to England, to be met with the decline of their old family friend… well, it must be difficult.
Instinctively, she reached out and clasped his hand.
“I’m sure that your being here will help to rouse his spirits,” she said with a smile.
Alex squeezed her hand gently before letting it go, and all of a sudden, Lydia felt that excited nervousness again.
“So,” she said with a smile, looking to distract herself and break that odd spell that seemed to weave itself about her when he was near. “How good are your holly-cutting skills?”
Alex grinned in response, and Lydia felt her toes curl.
This was getting ridiculous.
“I have many skills, Lydia. But I’m not sure cutting holly is one of them.”
She felt as though the temperature had just soared.
“Well, here’s your chance to rectify that,” she said, ignoring the fluttering in her heart as she held out the shears to him.
He studied them for a moment as though she were handing him a loaded pistol.
Finally, he reached out and tentatively took them.
“What’s the matter, Mr. Farago?” she teased. “Aren’t you used to getting your hands dirty?”
His dark eyes flew up to clash with hers, and for a moment, he wore the strangest expression on his face.
As though she had accused him of something terrible, and he had done it.
“If you’d rather not—” She reached out to take the shears back.
His expression cleared, and that disconcertingly distracting grin was back.
“I’ll have you know I’m a very quick learner,” he said.
She couldn’t hold back her answering grin, and so they set to work, she laughingly barking instruction and he cutting the holly, all the while bemoaning his station as a slave.
After they’d filled the basket, Lydia declared their work finished, and he relinquished the shears with an exaggerated sigh, one hand behind his back.
“You are a hard task-woman, Lydia,” he said with mock severity.
She should remind him not to use her Christian name, but at that moment, she didn’t really want to.
She liked hearing her name on his lips, and she liked this affinity that had built between them over the last hour or so.
“You are far too spoilt and underworked, sir,” she responded with a grin. “A little hard work never did anyone any harm.”
“Surely even you found my work this morning acceptable?” he asked with a glint in his eye.
Lydia was immediately suspicious.
“Yes, it was acceptable,” she confirmed warily.
“And hard work deserves a reward, does it not?”
Her suspicion grew as did an odd sense of anticipation. “I suppose it does,” she answered softly.
His answering smile made her heart speed.
With a look of triumph, he whipped his hand from behind his back and produced a sprig of holly.
Lydia looked at it in confusion.
“I believe in England you have a certain tradition around mistletoe.”
At this point, her heart was galloping and was likely to shoot right out of her chest.
“We do,” she croaked. “But that is holly.”
“It is,” he agreed as he stepped closer and closer. “In my country, we have the same tradition…” He held the sprig over his head with one hand. “…but with holly.”
“You do?” She raised a brow at his innocent expression. He was about as innocent as the devil himself.
“We do,” he confirmed, seeming very serious about the whole thing.
“What a strange coincidence, that there should be no mistletoe available, yet your tradition requires holly, which we have in abundance.”
His free hand crept around her waist and pulled her against his rock-solid chest, causing her to gasp at the explosion of fire that coursed through her veins at the contact with his solid chest.
“Call it Providence.” He grinned wolfishly.
That irritating brain of hers reared its disapproving head.
This was positively scandalous behaviour, she knew.
Women were completely ruined by the type of actions in which she was currently engaged.
And yet, as he pressed her closer, as his head descended slowly, so slowly toward hers, the sensible voice was drowned in a tidal wave of unstoppable need.
Finally, after an age, Alex’s lips settled on hers, and she happily and readily got swept away.
Chapter Seven
The second Alex felt Lydia’s capitulation, he knew that he was in very real danger of losing his heart to this woman.
He was sure that she was inexperienced, as most single ladies of quality were, but her natural sensuality was very nearly killing him.
Dropping both hands to encircle her waist and pull her closer still, he traced her bottom lip with his tongue, and when she gasped at the sensation, he took full advantage, plundering her mouth in a kiss that affected him more than he would have thought possible.
The feel of Lydia’s soft body pressed against his was enough to drive reason from his mind, and Alex had to struggle to keep hold of his control, rather than let pure instinct take over.
The kiss went on and on, and he felt, with no small amount of masculine satisfaction, Lydia sag against him, her arms lifting to grasp his lapels.
This woman would be his undoing.
An image flashed in his mind: Lydia standing beside him at Court, bedecked in royal jewels, a sparkling ring adorning her hand.
The thought brought him up short.
Where the hell did that come from?
He barely knew her. And though this attraction was stronger than any he’d ever felt before, it was hardly enough to warrant a proposal!
Besides, she didn’t even know about the Royal Court.
Because she didn’t know him.
The surge of guilt that rocked Alex then was enough to make him break their kiss.
He had to tell her.
He couldn’t keep lying to her. Taking liberties such as these while keeping such a secret from her.
It wouldn’t be so bad, in any case.
He was a prince, for God’s sake. Not a criminal.
What woman didn’t want a prince?
Lydia opened eyes glazed with passion, and the impact of them slammed into his gut.
God, she was beautiful.
“I have a confession,” he said, his voice hoarse with passion.
Lydia looked mesmerised by what had just happened. She was gazing up at him with such happiness, such… trust.
His guilt was like a live thing, slithering along his nerves like a serpent.
He had to tell her. But how could he when she looked like that?
How could he risk her displeasure, and therefore, risk never getting to hold her like this again?
Alex’s father had always thought him a selfish bastard.
As it turned out, his father had been right.
Because he was about to put his own wants and needs above being honest.
“What is it?” she prompted when he still had not spoken.
Pushing aside any guilt or misgivings trying to make themselves known, Alex smiled down at her.
“I lied about the holly,” he whispered.
Lydia’s smile was dazzling.
“Let’s just pretend it’s mistletoe,” she whispered back, and in that moment, Alex fell a little bit in love with her.
Lydia could barely sit still as her long-suffering maid suffered with her chestnut tresses.
They were unruly at the best of times, but today it seemed her hair was as distracted as the rest of her, for it simply wouldn’t behave.
After enough pins to cause a nationwide shortage, the abigail stepped back in triumph.
“Done,” she declared with a sigh. “And you look even more beautiful than last night, miss.”
“Thank you, Katie.” Lydia smiled tightly.
Her nerves were so fraught that she could barely form a sentence, let alone converse properly.
After she’d left Alex, and honestly, there was no point in calling him anything more formal at this stage, she’d hidden herself away in her bedchamber before sitting with Huntsforth for the afternoon.
She was delighted to see her uncle looking a little better, awake and quite alert for a time.
Lydia had taken a light luncheon in her room, feeling completely overwhelmed by her reaction to Alex and what this meant for her.
The problem was that she’d always been a terrible romantic, so she fully believed in love at first sight. And she fully believed that she could easily love him, just like one of the characters in the novels she so enjoyed reading.
Of course, in her novels there was invariably some sort of tragic event like an abduction or gruesome death to contend with, along with the love. That part she could happily avoid.
But the failing in love with a tall, dark, mysterious stranger would be no hardship.
Katie handed over Lydia’s fan, prompting her into movement.
Mama was throwing a dinner party this evening. Unfortunately, Huntsforth wouldn’t be able to attend, but there was hope that with his health on the mend, he would improve enough to join at least some of the festivities of the season.
As it was, Alex had agreed to assist Mama in hosting the event.
Lydia’s gown was a confection of cerulean organza, almost the exact shade of her eyes.
It highlighted the red in her hair and made her eyes bluer.
Mama had insisted on having it made, and now Lydia was grateful that she had.
The party tonight would be fairly small, in deference to Huntsforth’s health.
The Twelfth Night Ball in a weeks’ time would be much grander in scale, and Lydia found herself now quite desperate for it to arrive.
She had visions of dancing the night away in Alex’s arms… of walking with him in the moonlight… of his arms wrapping around her, pulling her to him…
“Miss?”
Katie’s voice interrupted Lydia’s scandalous reverie, and she felt her cheeks heat.
“Your gloves, miss.” Katie held the satin garments out to her, and Lydia took them, determinedly ignoring the sly smile on her maid’s face.
A glance at the ormolu clock on the mantle told her that she was in danger of being late, so with one last deep, fortifying breath, she went down to face the man who had kissed her senseless and turned her world upside down in a matter of days.
Alex paced the floor of the foyer, studiously ignoring his growing discomfort.
After he’d left Lydia that morning, he’d gone straight to see Huntsforth.
If he could make his peace with the man, if he could explain what had really happened, then he could explain the same thing to Lydia, and this lie that had started out so innocuous would no longer feel like it was choking him.
When he’d reached Huntsforth’s room, however, the surgeon had been in with him, and apparently, the examination had worn the man out, for he remained fast asleep for the duration of Alex’s visit.
It had been strangely emotional, sitting by the bedside of a man whom Alex didn’t know. He had fuzzy memories of loving his aunt and uncle, of course, but how much of that was memory and how much was assumption, he couldn’t say for sure. He’d been barely more than a toddler when they’d left Aldonia.
So, he had sat in the silence, trying to work out his jumbled thoughts about Huntsforth, about his inheritance, about the woman whose kiss had just blown him away.
After a while, with his thoughts no more organised and his conscience no clearer, Alex left to ready himself for tonight.
He had told Lady Prudence that he would be happy to host her party with her, and the woman was so bloody nice and grateful about it that it increased his guilt tenfold.
And so he paced now, torn between wanting desperately to see Lydia and wanting to avoid her and those eyes of hers that made him want to confess all.
A sound on the stairs caught his attention, and he spun around in anticipation, but it was Harriet who arrived, looking regal as ever in gold damask silk.
“Ah, sister, you look well this evening,” he said with a smile.
“Thank you,” Harriet answered with a smile of her own, but as soon as she reached his side, her expression turned serious.
“Alex, I need to speak with you,” she said, her tone low and urgent.
And he knew, before she even spoke, what it was about.
“Harriet, listen—”
“No, you listen,” she hissed, interrupting him. “These are good people, Alex. They have shown us nothing but kindness. And lying to them is wrong.”
Alex sighed, muttering an oath under his breath.
Harriet was merely giving voice to his own thoughts.
“Haven’t you enjoyed the freedom of not being royal?” he asked, desperate to assuage his guilt in some small way. “Hasn’t it been nice to just be Harriet and not Her Highness?”
He watched her reaction closely and was pleased to see a loosening in her jaw and resignation in her eyes.
“Yes, it has been. Truly.”
Before he could congratulate himself, however, she continued.
“But it still isn’t right. And frankly, it is ridiculous. I don’t know why I ever agreed to it. You could easily explain the circumstances of your inheritance to Lydia. Explain how none of this was your fault.”
“Wasn’t it?” he asked dully.
Harriet’s frown deepened.
“Of course it wasn’t,” she said firmly. “You didn’t know, Alex.”
Alex ran a hand agitatedly through his hair.
He didn’t know what had gotten into him.
Well, that wasn’t true. He knew what, or rather whom, had affected him so.
Being around Lydia, witnessing her selflessness, her sensitivity to her mother, her worry for Huntsforth, traipsing through the snow to collect holly in the hopes of making the man’s Christmas as good as possible. It all highlighted just how selfish and self-absorbed Alex had been.
The second son of a royal family, he’d never been expected to do anything other than show up at a few Society events and dance attendance on the wives of important people.
His life had been a stream of nothingness. He hadn’t worked for anything, hadn’t done any good.
And here had been this man, whom he could have picked up a quill and sent an occasional letter to, and he’d forgotten him. Forgotten his beloved aunt.
He hadn’t known about the inheritance, no. But what good had he done? In any part of his life?
He knew enough about Lydia Charring now to know she would despise the man Alex was; a spoilt, lazy, privileged prince with too much time and money on his hands.
Harriet was awaiting an answer, and she looked worried, which compounded his guilt further still.
“No, I didn’t know,” he said now, mustering a smile. “And I will confess all. I promise. Just—allow me to await the right time. It would be grossly unfair of us to ruin the party the ladies
have worked so hard on, would it not?”
Harriet, as he knew she would, capitulated immediately, hating the idea of upsetting the Charrings, of whom she had grown extremely fond.
Another noise sounded on the staircase, and Alex looked up, only to have his heart stop dead in his chest.
Lydia was gliding down the staircase, a breathtaking smile on her face.
Had anyone ever looked so beautiful?
He felt, rather than saw, Harriet slip discreetly away.
He couldn’t have torn his eyes from the vision walking toward him if his life depended on it.
“Good evening, Alex.” Lydia smiled shyly.
He barely trusted himself to speak.
Lydia’s smile dimmed a little in the face of his silence.
“You’re enchanting,” he managed to croak.
Her smile returned.
Wordlessly, he held out his arm, and she took it immediately, the small palm at his elbow causing a jolt to shoot through him.
Alex decided there and then that he would allow himself to enjoy the evening without divulging his secret identity.
He would tell her.
But something about this evening felt almost magical, and he didn’t want to break the spell. Not just yet.
Chapter Eight
Lydia’s heart thumped painfully loudly as she heard Alex’s laugh from across the room.
She hadn’t been seated with him at dinner, to her disappointment.
And from the scowls he had sent to her side of the table for the duration of the meal, he wasn’t exactly pleased about it either.
She had been seated next to Sir Thomas, a young acquaintance of her father’s and someone who bored her to tears each time she was unfortunate enough to have him inflicted on her.
Lydia had spent the majority of the evening hiding her yawns and watching Alex as he charmed every guest at the table.
He smiled easily, he laughed freely, and he regaled them all with exciting tales from his homeland.
She could practically see every woman at the table fall in love with him, and she had the mad idea to jump up and claim him.
She didn’t, of course. But it was tempting.
The Hidden Prince (The Royals of Aldonia Book 1) Page 5