She gaped at him. Alec’s little scheme, false as it had been, had worked. Sydney was actually proposing.
“Why?” she asked. “What has made you suddenly eager to marry, when you haven’t spoken to me for a week?”
“I’ve finally realized what’s good for me. And you’re good for me.”
She arched one eyebrow. “Like eating well and taking exercise?”
“No… that is… you’ll keep me from doing anything foolish or reckless.”
She managed a smile. “You couldn’t do anything foolish or reckless if you tried.”
He swallowed and looked away. “You never know. Temptation lies everywhere.” His gaze swung back to her. “So will you do it? Marry me, I mean?”
She stared at him, temporarily at a loss for words. Sydney was the same man she’d always known, the same man she’d imagined marrying for years—kind, attentive, a brilliant poet. He was still her friend, with the same handsome, aristocratic features, the same close-shaven chin and artfully arranged curls.
But when she tried to imagine him kissing her as passionately as Alec, or making her heart race with a word, she couldn’t. She simply couldn’t.
Still, that was a good thing, wasn’t it? With Sydney she would never feel the hollow pain of the past two days, the cruel uncertainty, the fierce desires that came to her unexpectedly in the night. Everything would be courteous and quiet and peaceful.
Sounds boring to me.
Alec’s words pounded in her ears. Cursed arrogant scoundrel—it was so like him to invade her thoughts! Look what he’d done to her. He’d ruined Sydney for her. He’d made her as bad as he was—eager for excitement and dissatisfied with the quiet life.
And a breaker of rules.
Sydney watched her with pain in his face. “Does your silence mean ‘no’?”
“You wouldn’t be happy with me now.” As angry as she was at Alec, as confused as he made her feel, she did know that Sydney wasn’t the right man for her.
He tensed. “It’s him, isn’t it? He’s turned you against me.”
“Not exactly—”
“Even if you don’t wish to have me anymore,” Sydney said tightly, “at least choose someone better than Iversley to replace me.”
“He’s not as bad as you think.”
“He didn’t arrive to take you to the party, did he?”
“Mama told you—he was held up at his estate.”
Sydney snorted. “A likely tale. I doubt he would care enough about his estate to get held up there.”
She thought of the fervor with which Alec had described Edenmore and shook her head. “I think you’re wrong.”
“Why are you defending him?”
She blinked. “I don’t know.”
“He’s off somewhere doing God knows what and breaking his promise, yet you put up with it—”
“Oh, no, I shan’t put up with it, believe me.” There would be no more evasions, no more inconsiderate behavior, or she would send him packing. “But I believe there’s good in him.”
Until she said it, she hadn’t realized it. But it was true. It might be buried rather deep, but there was good in him.
“You’re wrong about him, Kit. At best, he’s a prankster who makes fun of bad poets for entertainment.” When she gaped at him, Sydney added, “Yes, I noticed all his antics at the reading. It was exactly the sort of thing he did at Harrow. He never takes anything seriously.”
Whereas Sydney took everything so seriously that he couldn’t even make up his mind about marriage.
“At worst,” Sydney continued, “he’s a duplicitous defiler of women.”
“And how do you know that about him?”
“Surely you recognize the type—charming, quick-witted, skilled at seduction, and completely without moral fiber.”
“In other words, you know it because you assume it. Not because you have any evidence that he defiles or deceives women.”
Sydney grew sullen. “He used to flatter the maids at Harrow so he could kiss them.”
A giggle floated up inside her. She could easily imagine a sixteen-year-old Alec feeling his oats, flirting with some chambermaid so he could steal a kiss. It would be just like him. “If he did, he probably kissed a great many. I doubt few maids could resist Alec’s charm.”
“You’re not listening—”
“Why should I? It would be one thing if you could show me how dastardly he’s been since he’s arrived in England, but all this nonsense from his days at Harrow… goodness, every boy does those things.”
“I didn’t.”
“I’ll bet your friend Lord Napier did. He seems the sort.”
Sydney gave a strangely harsh laugh. “One thing I can promise you—Napier has never tried to kiss a chambermaid in his life.”
“If you say so. But all boys act foolishly sometimes. You can’t judge a man’s character by the pranks he played as a lad.” Especially a man who’d been estranged from his father and sent abroad in the middle of a war.
A thought suddenly occurred to her. “Tell me something, Sydney—what exactly did Alec do to get sent down from school?” That was one subject Alec had been tight-lipped about.
Sydney frowned. “His stupid friends had some notion that they could pass themselves off as a royal entourage if Iversley would pretend to be the Prince of Wales. They strolled into an inn they’d never gone to in a neighboring town and demanded an expensive meal. When the innkeeper challenged them, they ran off, but the man reported it to Harrow and picked every one of them out.”
She gaped at him. “That’s it? That’s the horrible act that got him banished to Portugal?”
“I don’t know about Portugal, but it got him kicked out of Harrow.”
She laughed. She couldn’t stop laughing. Considering all the awful crimes she’d imagined, she’d never guessed it could be something so silly.
Sydney was scowling. “It’s not funny, you know. There was a terrible furor over it. All the boys got in trouble, and Iversley’s father hauled him off, swearing he would thrash him when he got him home.”
She sobered. His father had done far worse than thrash him, judging from the wistfulness in Alec’s voice whenever he spoke of his mother.
The waltz was ending, so Sydney took her arm to lead her from the floor. “Promise me you won’t make any hasty decisions about Iversley, Kit.”
She sighed. It was time to tell him that she’d agreed to marry the man. And she didn’t relish his reaction.
The voice of Lady Purefoy’s butler suddenly sounded over the crowd, announcing a new arrival. “The Right Honorable The Earl of Iversley.”
She started and turned as the crowd murmured around her.
And no wonder. The man descending the steps didn’t look like an earl or even a lord. Instead of evening attire, Alec wore a rumpled frock coat of olive green, buckskin trousers, and top boots caked with mud. His raven hair was mussed, and his chin looked as if it hadn’t seen a razor in days.
Such an ungentlemanly appearance would have roused comment anywhere, but at a party as elegant as Lady Purefoy’s, it sparked loudly voiced disapproval.
Alec paid it no heed, striding into the ballroom with a dark gaze that warned everyone off. When at last his gaze settled on her, Katherine felt a sudden thrill of fear. Because while no one else in the ballroom might realize it, Alec was furious.
And judging from the direction of his glare, his anger was all for her.
Chapter Nineteen
Sometimes a rake should simply act
on instinct.
—Anonymous, A Rake’s Rhetorick
When Alec spotted Katherine on Lovelace’s arm he saw red, and no amount of rational thought could rein in his thundering temper.
Never mind that he’d been the one to let the time get away from him while touring his half brother’s fascinating estate. Never mind that she had every right to dance with whomever she pleased.
According to Katherine’s manservant, she’d l
He wouldn’t stand for it.
As he approached, Lovelace stepped between them, surveying Alec with clear contempt. “So you’ve finally dragged yourself out of whatever hole you were wallowing in? You ought to be ashamed, embarrassing Miss Merivale like this.”
Katherine stepped out from behind Lovelace, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “That’s enough, Sydney.”
“Yes, ‘Sydney,’ ” Alec echoed snidely. “Why don’t you stay out of it? This is between me and my betrothed.”
“B-Betrothed?” Lovelace stammered.
Alec’s gaze narrowed on Katherine, whose blush confirmed why Lovelace looked confused. Alec’s temper went into full stampede. “Yes. Miss Merivale has agreed to marry me, a little fact she apparently forgot to tell you.”
Katherine glared at him. “I was about to do that, my lord.”
“Aren’t you glad I spared you the trouble?” With a scowl, he held out his arm. “And now, madam, I’d like a word with you.”
“See here—” Lovelace began.
“It’s all right, Sydney.” With a little lift of her chin, Katherine took Alec’s arm. “I’d like a word with his lordship, myself.”
They marched across the ballroom as people stared and whispered around them. Damn. He and Katherine would get no privacy here. And he wanted privacy for this little talk.
“Alec—” she began.
“Not yet,” he murmured. “Let’s go into the garden, where we can be alone.”
She started to pull her hand from his arm. “I don’t think I want to be alone with you just now.”
He gripped her hand as he steered her toward the doors leading outside. “You have no choice… unless you want me to go back and knock Lovelace into the next county after all.”
She shot him a nervous glance. “You wouldn’t.”
“Right now, I just might.”
She headed out the doors without a murmur. But as soon as they’d entered the garden, she wrenched free of his grip to whirl on him. “You are unconscionable. You don’t show up, you don’t send word, and then you get angry with me because I danced with Sydney?”
He stalked forward. “It wasn’t your dancing with him that sparked my temper, sweetheart. It was the fact that you hadn’t told him we’re marrying.”
Backing away, she shook her head. “You were angry before you even knew that.”
“How would you react if you’d raced here after two frantic days dealing with an emergency, only to find your intended on another man’s arm?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Probably the same way you�d react if you heard that your intended had gone to some hotel the very night he offered marriage. And that he didn’t want you to know about it.”
That knocked the wind right out of him. Only now did he notice the tears shining in her eyes and the trembling of her chin. Blast, blast, and double-blast.
A sound beyond her made him look up to see several people watching them from the balcony. Katherine followed his gaze and cursed under her breath.
He leveled a black look on their audience, who one by one disappeared back into the ballroom. Spotting an orangery at the end of the walk, he grabbed her arm and towed her toward it.
“What are you doing?” she snapped, trying to wriggle free.
“Do you really want to have this argument in front of half the world?”
“They’re gone now.”
“They’ll return, I assure you. No one can resist a public quarrel.”
That seemed to decide her, for she let him lead her inside the orangery. Despite the windows on the opposite end, the place was as black as gunpowder on the moonless night. He removed his gloves, then felt along the ledge near the door until he found a lamp and the flint box beside it.
Once lit, the lamp illuminated a very annoyed Katherine, who watched him with thinly disguised impatience. “Well? I had good reason to dance with Sydney. What is your reason for going to the Stephens Hotel and keeping it from me?”
He should have known Katherine would wheedle the truth out of that damned footboy. But how much had she learned? It would be just like his clever wife-to-be to pretend ignorance in order to catch him in a lie.
Better to stick to the facts. “I live there.”
Judging from the shock on her face, she hadn’t learned that. “Y-You what?”
In for a penny, in for a pound. “I live at the Stephens Hotel when I’m in town. My father sold our town house when he grew too ill to come into society, and I haven’t had time to buy a new one.” Or the money to rent one.
Confusion knit her brow. “But why didn’t you want me to know that?”
“The Stephens Hotel isn’t exactly the grand lodgings an earl should have. I could have gone to the Clarendon, but the owner of Stephens is a friend of mine.” And the Clarendon was beyond his means.
She eyed him suspiciously. “Then why did your ‘friend’ say he’d never heard of you?”
Alarm swamped him. “What did you do—have a runner interrogate him?”
She had the good grace to blush. “No, but… well, when the footboy you sent wouldn’t say where he worked, I… had Thomas follow him. Thomas talked to the owner, who denied knowing you.”
Alec shrugged. “I requested that Jack not mention it to anyone. I didn’t want to deal with people’s questions about why I had no town house.”
“You know I wouldn’t care about something like that.”
“But your mother would. I didn’t think she’d be impressed to hear I was living at the Stephens Hotel.”
He took a step toward Katherine, but she stepped back quickly, still wary. “Do you care so much what Mama thinks of you?”
“You want her approval for our marriage, don’t you?”
“You know very well she’ll approve.” Her eyebrow cocked up. “She’s terribly pleased that you’re an earl.”
“But you’re not. You’d prefer Sir Sydney, the poet,” he said acidly, unable to squelch his jealousy.
“I’d prefer a man I can trust. I’m not entirely sure that’s you.”
Unfortunately, Katherine was too intelligent to be fooled by his flimsy excuses, so rational argument was futile. Only one tactic worked on her.
He headed purposefully for her. “You do trust me.” His gaze flicked down to her brooch. “Or you wouldn’t wear my gift. You trusted me to ride at you with a sword and not hurt you. You trusted me not to deflower you at Astley’s—”
“That was different,” she said, backing away. “You weren’t waltzing in from two days out of town without explaining or apologizing—”
“I�m apologizing now,” he said as he stalked her.
“Trying to kiss me is not apologizing.”
“It could be.” He reached for her.
She slapped his hand with her reticule, which was surprisingly heavy for such a flimsy-looking thing.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“For thinking you can get around me with kisses.” She put some distance between them. “Now stay back. I want to know why you’re here so late and why you couldn’t send a message.”
He rubbed his stinging hand in annoyance. “Because by the time I realized it would take me longer than expected to deal with things, it was too late to send a message.”
“What things?” she persisted.
“Estate matters—I told you.”
“Be specific, Alec. What estate matters?”
He scowled at her. “If you think I’ll be the sort of husband who reports to his wife every time he sneezes, think again.”
“You won’t be any sort of husband at all if you don’t give me some answers.”
He sucked in a lungful of orange-scented air. Blast her. She was too curious by half. And he was on very shaky ground. “I had to return to my estate to ensure the delivery of some plows and tillers we need for the spring planting. There, are you happy?”
“Why couldn’t your steward do it?”
“Because I fired my father’s thieving steward, and neither my tenants nor the local merchants know the new one well enough yet to trust him.” He cocked his head. “Forgive me for not explaining all this earlier, but I didn’t realize estate management is your hobby.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she ignored his sarcasm. “ ‘To ensure the delivery’ took you two days?”
He gritted his teeth. “When the merchant refuses to honor his son’s word, it does. He wouldn’t deliver, so I had to make other arrangements, and that meant a stop in Hertfordshire at a friend’s estate.”
He was congratulating himself for telling her everything without lying when she said, “What other arrangements?”
“I’m in no mood to discuss all the workings of my estate,” he growled as he headed for her again. “After two days of dealing with stubborn merchants, suspicious tenants, and a worried steward, I’m in the mood for only one thing—reminding my intended which man she agreed to marry. Something she seems to have conveniently forgotten.”
Her eyes went wide as she started backing away again. “I didn’t forget. I-I was working up to telling him…”
“While you danced with him. And promenaded on his arm.”
She stepped back, only to come up against an orange tree so hard that it dropped leaves onto her gown and into her hair. Wielding her reticule like a weapon, she glared at him. “Stay back, or I’ll hit you again.”
“Go ahead.” He reached for her. “I dare you.”
When she tried to swat him with her reticule, he easily snatched it out of her hand. He started to toss it aside, but its weight gave him pause. “What do you carry in this thing—cannonballs?”
Alarm spread over her features. “Give it back!”
With a shake of his head, he opened it. When he saw the book inside, curiosity turned to anger. “Poetry from your friend, I suppose.”
He drew the book out, then walked over to the lamp. When he read the title, he couldn’t believe it. Scowling, he waved the book at her. “Lovelace gave you this?”
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