"I told her it's a sign from God." Jon grabbed two glasses of champagne as a servant walked by with a tray. "She should have come back with me, not you."
"Touch my wife, Jon, and I'll cut off the offending hand," Hunter said sweetly.
Jon sighed, pushing his mask up on his forehead so that he could drink. "Well, I'm off. The cards are calling me. I understand a game of basset is about to begin. Madame." He bowed to Alexandra, holding both glasses up so that neither spilled. He stuck his tongue out at Hunter and walked away.
Hunter took her by the hand and led her out onto the dance floor, joining two lines that were just beginning a country dance. "Sometimes I don't know why I associate with that man."
She curtsied as he bowed and they began to dance the Roger de Coverley. "Because you love him," she answered.
"Yes, but beside that."
She laughed as he danced away, his form as fine as that of any gentleman on the floor. A few moments later, after several different partners, Hunter joined her again. "Admirable dancing, sir," she teased from behind her papier-mâché mask. "But I believe I prefer the moves of the corn dance. You were wearing far less, as I recall."
His laughter floated back to her as he danced away with yet another partner. When he returned to her, the Roger de Coverley ended, but they remained on the dance floor dancing minuets and reels and other country dances until neither could catch a breath.
"No more," she cried as she walked off the dance floor. "I've got to sit down and rest. I have to have something to drink."
Hunter grabbed two glasses of sweet red wine as a servant walked by with a full tray. He pushed one into her hand and led her to a corner. Alexandra sat and just as Hunter was about to sit beside her, the Earl of Monthrop waved to him.
"Son! My dear Viscount. Come and settle this matter at once! William here swears John Clouse had the fastest horse in the city, but I beg to differ."
Hunter looked down at Alexandra, lifting an eyebrow.
"Go," she urged. "You'll not escape him. You might as well get it over with. I'll just sit here and wait for you."
He drank down his wine and handed her the glass. He pushed his mask back farther on his head. "Be back as soon as possible. Don't move."
She watched him walk away as she sipped her wine. Maybe everything was going to be all right. Maybe she was just worrying too much, she thought to herself. Because we do love each other. Isn't that all that matters?
"Alexandra!"
She looked up to see a man standing before her in a wooden half mask, half painted white, half black. She narrowed her eyes speculatively. "Roland?"
He yanked the mask from his head. "Damnation, I don't know why I bother. Everyone always knows me. A dance, sweet Alex."
She groaned. "I was resting. Have a seat." She patted the gold damask seat cushion on the gilt chair beside her.
He sat down, crossing his legs at the calves.
"Enjoying yourself?" she asked.
"Your father always did know how to throw an event of any sort."
"How's Mark?"
He watched the crowd as he reached out to tap her knee. "Good of you to ask. Doing well."
"Have you met my Geoffry?"
"Not yet." He took a glass of wine a servant offered. "But I understand he's the best looking sot in London since Roger Matthews went into the country with the pox."
She smiled at him. "You are a dear friend."
"Are you telling me I should have married you when I had the chance?" he teased.
"I'm saying mayhap I should have married you, when I had the chance."
He looked at her over the rim of the glass. "Have you thought any more on what I said the other day about being true to yourself?"
"I'm fine, Roland. Truly. And Hunt—Geoffry is fine; he's simply preoccupied. His father's taken a turn for the worse. We don't think he'll live much longer."
"A good man, Dunnon. I'll be sorry to see him go."
For the next hour Roland and Alexandra sat watching the dancers as the two of them talked, sampled delicacies prepared by French cooks, and drank her father's wine. Twice she spotted Hunter, but each time he was drawn away by someone else wanting to meet or greet the long-lost Viscount Rordan.
"Enough refreshment!" Roland said after his second glass of wine. He grasped her hand and lifted her out of the gilt chair. "A dance."
She swayed one way and then the other, looking for Hunter. He had disappeared again. "I was waiting for Geoffry, but I guess he's still occupied."
Roland motioned toward the dance floor where a minuet was about to begin. "No excuse, savage woman. A dance or your life!"
She shrugged. "Then what can I say?" She tossed her mask onto the chair behind her and walked with him to the dance floor.
They danced two minuets and then a reel, but Alexandra was restless. She'd had too much wine and rich food. Her stays were too tight, her shoes tighter, and she needed a breath of fresh air.
She grabbed Roland's hand as the musicians struck up another song. "Oh, Roland, I don't want to dance anymore. It's too hot in here. Can't we step out onto the balcony? The rain's stopped."
"With a married woman, not my own? Gads, what a scandal."
She rolled her eyes as she walked off the dance floor headed for the double French doors that had been flung open to let in cold air to the overheated guests. "I don't know where Geoffry is. At the gaming tables with Jon I would wager." She wrinkled her nose. "And since when did you care what anyone thought?"
Roland dropped a hand casually on her bare shoulder and whispered in her ear as he led her out onto the balcony.
Hunter lifted another glass of wine to his lips. This was his fourth or fifth glass in half an hour's time, but he didn't care. He needed the strength of the liquor. He needed that feeling it gave him that filled the void in his chest. The gentleman in the lime green hose with an alligator mask on the back of his head rambled on about the king's new mistress, but Hunter blocked out his voice. He was watching Alexandra.
The man she was with, the man she'd been with more than an hour, was Roland, he was told. He was the man she had been betrothed to after he'd left for the colonies. Alexandra had never said why the marriage hadn't taken place, but it was obvious to him that it wasn't because they didn't care for each other. They were laughing like old friends, comfortable with each other, at ease in their surroundings.
He gulped down the last of the wine and dropped the glass onto an empty tray on a small table behind him. It fell over hitting another. Glass shattered, but he didn't bother to turn around to survey the damage.
Now this Roland and Alexandra were walking out onto the balcony arm and arm. He tugged absently at his earlobe, thinking of the earring Alexandra still wore on her finger.
Who am I kidding to think she'd be happy married to me, he thought. She should have married the fop when she had the chance. He's the kind of man she wanted, not a man like me. I'm as out of place at this ball as an opossum in Versailles. This isn't me. I can never be happy here. I'll just make her life miserable.
Alexandra disappeared into the darkness out on the garden balcony, but Hunter could have sworn he could hear her laughing, them laughing. What was she doing, a married woman, being so familiar with an unmarried man?
Hunter gave a curt nod to the gentleman still babbling on, halting him in midsentence. "If you'll excuse me, my lord . . ."
The alligator gave a harrumph as he stepped out of Hunter's way.
Hunter strode across the ballroom floor oblivious to the dancers whose paths he crossed. Alexandra was his wife, damn it! She belonged at his side—not this dandy's!
He stepped out onto the dark balcony. The rain had ceased. The smell of the warm ground and upturned dirt of the gardens below mixed with the scent of the fallen rain and rose to fill his nostrils. There it was again. He could hear her laughing.
"Geoffry!" Alexandra spotted him and waved. She and the dashing Roland were leaning over the balcony. She touched his han
d casually as they turned to greet him.
Roland stood erect. "Viscount, allow me to introduce myself. I'm—"
"I know who the hell you are, and I'd like to know what it is you're doing with my wife!"
Alexandra stepped away from the balcony, releasing Roland's arm. "Hunter!"
Several guests standing on the balcony turned to the threesome with interest.
Roland smiled, bowing slightly. "My apologies if I offended you, sir." He spoke softly. "Alex and I are good friends, but I can assure you she is safe enough with me. I'd not lay a hand on her."
"And you expect me to accept your word? Accept a gentleman's word when every man in London seems to be futtering another man's wife!"
Alexandra grasped Hunter's arm, speaking angrily under her breath. "Hunter, you've had too much to drink. That's enough. You don't know what you're saying."
"I repeat myself, sir," Hunter went on, pushing Alexandra's hand from his arm. "Why would I trust you? The two of you are obviously familiar with each other. I understand you even once considered marrying my wife."
"Hunter, you're making a scene. Others are watching. Let's go."
"No, I'll go, Alex," Roland said. "It's time I was on my way, anyway. I thank you for the—"
"I've not finished my conversation with you," Hunter said, grabbing the lawn collar of Roland's waistcoat.
"Hunter! Unhand him and take your leave," Alexandra shouted angrily.
Roland looked directly into Hunter's enraged eyes. "You can take my word that your wife's virtue is safe with me," he said, "because though your wife is charming, yonder is where my attentions lie." He pointed through the open doors, into the ballroom.
Hunter turned his head. A tall, pretty, young man in a yellow-blond powdered wig was standing just inside the doorway in conversation with another man, oblivious to what was occurring on the balcony. He held a black and white half mask identical to Roland's.
Hunter felt his throat constricting. He released Roland's coat. He'd made an ass of himself. He knew it now. The blond gentleman looked up at them, nodding his head and then turning his gaze to Roland. The look on the man's face was all-revealing. They were lovers, he and Roland. There was no mistaking it.
Hunter turned to Roland. He couldn't bring himself to look at Alexandra, not after he'd embarrassed her so. "My grave apologies, sir," he said, formally. Then, with a stiff bow, he pulled his mask off the top of his head, down over his face, and strode away.
Alexandra shouted after him, but he didn't turn back. He figured he'd already hurt her enough for one evening.
Chapter Twenty-six
"Son of pox-faced beggar," Alexandra raged, as she ripped her Indian maiden's mask off her face and hurled it across her bedchamber. It hit the mantel, sending an unlit candelabrum crashing to the floor.
The maid in the doorway cringed, unused to such displays of emotion. "Have . . . have you need of me tonight, my lady?"
Alexandra turned around. "No! I'll have no need of anyone tonight."
"You . . . you don't want help with the gown, mistress?"
"No." She stomped toward the door. "I'll rip it off, cut if off! I don't know! Just leave me!"
The girl backed up, closing the door behind her.
Alexandra thrust the key in the lock and turned it. How could he have embarrassed her like that? How could he have insulted Roland, the only true friend she had, other than Jon? How could he have made such a scene in her father's home? She yanked off her red-and-white feathered headdress and threw it on the bed. Next came her shoes and then her stockings.
The whole incident on the balcony was bad enough. He'd had too much to drink. He'd said things he shouldn't have said. But then the worthless, cowardly lout walked out on her! He couldn't even stand there and face her!
She yanked her modesty piece from her bodice and then began to unlace her stomacher, jerking at the gold silk cord. When a piece snapped off, she threw it to the floor and went on unlacing herself. Whose idea could it possibly have been to dress a woman in such a manner that she couldn't dress and undress herself? A man's . . . she was certain of it!
"I don't know where you've gone," she hollered at the empty room, because Hunter wasn't there to holler at. "But you'd better run, because when I find you, Geoffry Rordan, Viscount Ashton, I'm going to knock that thumping smirk off your face," she seethed.
She pulled the gown off her shoulders, not caring that she tore the delicately laced seams in the process. "I hate you! I hate you!" She pushed the scarlet red gown down around her waist, letting it fall in a puddle at her feet. "I should have married Jon!" She jerked her corset cover over her head. "He'd not have made a fool of himself in front of me and half of London!"
A knock came at the door. "Alex."
"Go away!" she shouted, struggling with the ties of her corset.
"Alex, it's Jon."
"Go away, Jon. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to talk to anyone."
He rapped on the door again. "Alex, I'm not leaving, so you might as well let me in. I can shout and carry on if you like, but then everyone downstairs in the ballroom will hear me."
Finally getting the corset loose enough to slide down over her hips, she stepped out of it and threw it too to the floor.
"Alex."
She felt a sob rise in her throat. Why was Jon here? It was Hunter who should be at her door begging to come in. Where was he?
"Alex . . ."
"All right, all right!" she moaned. Her head was pounding. She wanted to just lie down and cry. She picked up her powdering mantle off a chair and covered her shift with it. She didn't bother to tie the powder blue ribbons. God's teeth, Jon had seen her in less on the trail.
She twisted the key in the door. The knob turned and Jon stepped in, closing the door behind him.
"Now there'll really be a scandal," he said. "Just how many men are you keeping company with?"
She didn't know how she could laugh at a time like this, but his words struck her funny. "God, Jon, why do these things keep happening to me? I just want a normal life."
"What's a normal life? I certainly can't tell you." He lifted her boned corset up off the floor with one finger and held it up in the air.
She snatched it from him and threw it against the handpainted wallpaper. "Did you want something? Or have you just come to annoy me?"
"I just don't want you to be too hard on him. This has all been very difficult, Alex."
She gave a laugh, but she wasn't amused. "And what, you don't think it's been hard on me?"
"His father is dying. He's had all this responsibility dropped into his lap. He doesn't even really want the money and lands, nor the title. At least he doesn't think so."
"So why doesn't he just give it all up?"
He went on speaking quietly. "Give it up? How? He's an only son. The title, the homes, much of the property has been in the family for hundreds of years. He can't just walk away." He hesitated for a moment. "Besides, this was what you wanted."
"Says who?"
"Come now. When you married him, this was what you intended to come home to, wasn't it?"
"I didn't know who he was," she defended.
"You're not stupid. You had an idea, if not of his true identity, then at least of his circumstance."
She threw up her hands. "I don't know what all this has to do with anything. He was drunk."
"Not drunk. I've never seen him drunk. That's my forte. But he did have too much drink. He wasn't thinking clearly."
"He jumped to conclusions without speaking to me. He didn't trust me or my judgement."
"It's easy for men to become jealous over the women they love. Why didn't you tell him the truth of why you didn't marry Roland?"
"It wasn't any of Hunter's business. Roland was a friend. When I found out he was in love with Mark, I couldn't marry him. But I didn't want his reputation marred. That's why no one ever knew why the betrothal was broken." She turned her back on Jon, not wanting him to see the tears
that gathered in the corners of her eyes. "But none of that matters. Hunter embarrassed me, he embarrassed himself, and he insulted Roland."
"Not on purpose."
"It's no excuse!"
He rested his hand on her shoulder. "No, it's not, but it's a good enough explanation to deserve a little understanding from you."
"So why did he walk off? He's not the first man to make a jackass of himself at a party. Every man in that room's done it once. I'd wager you have."
"More than once. But not Hunter. He's not used to being out of control. I imagine he was afraid he would hurt you more than he already had, if he stayed."
She turned to face Jon. "I love him." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "No matter what he's done. I love him, Jon. I just want to be with him."
"So tell him, not me."
"I've tried." She walked to the windows and tugged absently at the closed draperies. "But all he does is go on about responsibility and how overwhelmed he is. He keeps putting words in my mouth and saying what I want, what I feel."
"It's just going to take time, Alex."
She sighed, wrapping her arms around her waist. "I want to go back to Dunnon Castle. I hate it here. Do you know where he is? Do you know where Hunter's gone?"
"No. But I've a good idea. We spent many a night in our younger days on the streets of London. I'll find him."
"Tell him to come get me. I'm angry, but that doesn't mean I don't want to see him. Tell him we'll go back together. If his father is as near to death as he thinks, we should all be there."
Jon went to the door. "You get some sleep. I'll find him and send him home when he's sober and got some sense about him."
She followed him into the hall. "Thanks, Jon, for everything." She kissed him on the cheek. "Good night."
"Night, love."
Alexandra went back into her bedchamber and closed the door behind her. She looked at her clothing strewn about the room. Her scarlet ball gown was in shreds. But instead of picking the clothes up, she threw off her mantle and walked around the chamber, blowing out the candles. She was so tired. A night's sleep was what she needed. Nothing ever seemed to look as hopeless by the light of the day. She pushed the clothing and accessories off her bed and onto the floor and climbed under the counterpane. She closed her eyes and fell asleep almost immediately.
His Wild Heart Page 28