Heaven Sent the Wrong One

by VJ Dunraven

  The seller looked puzzled but did as he requested.

  "Thank you," Andrew dimpled as the vendor handed him the rose, making the poor girl blush profusely. "Now let's see," he tilted Alexandra's chin with his thumb and forefinger.

  She raised her brows in inquiry.

  "There," he slipped the stem into her hair above her ear and secured it with one of her pins.

  "Oh, my lady, how lovely!" The flower vendor exclaimed.

  Andrew chuckled and took both her hands, weaving their fingers together as he leaned closer and playfully rubbed his nose on hers. "You do look very lovely today," he whispered, "I'm a lucky man."

  Alexandra stared at him, speechless. Conceit and impertinence aside, God almighty, not only was he devastatingly handsome, but he was also rapturously romantic. This light-hearted side of him astounded her. The man could be dangerously charming if he pleased.

  The flower seller's dreamy sigh made them laugh at the same time. They bade her a cheerful goodbye and strolled hand in hand towards the cluster of tents in the square.

  "What's over there?" Alexandra pointed at a lone large tent at the far end, backing into a small earth mound surrounded by lively spectators.

  "Why don’t we find out?" Andrew led her to the tent and guided her through the swarm of onlookers, protectively wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he steered her towards a spot where they could get a better view.

  "Oh, what an extraordinary contest!" Alexandra watched in glee as it became apparent that the game was a challenge between men and women besting each other in three kinds of sport.

  On the table before each team was a set of darts, a bow with a cylinder-full of arrows and an air rifle. The competitors were engaged in a flirtatious, but fiercely competitive banter—the participants being obviously couples. Even the audience was divided into two corners: the women's side and the men's side.

  Alexandra held her breath in anticipation as the man in charge waved a green flag and the game began.

  The first couple went through the routine. The woman did fairly well on the bow and arrow, but showed poorly on the darts and rifle.

  The male half of the audience teasingly heckled at the female half.

  By the time the third and last couple had their turn, the men, predictably, were ahead of their women counterparts.

  "Just as I expected," Andrew laughed.

  "Oh, what utter balderdash!" Alexandra scowled at him just as the contest ended and the man in charge called for new couples to participate.

  Andrew arched a mocking brow. "It's a man's sport. The possibility of women having the slightest chance of winning is as much as the likelihood of men having an advantage on a game of embroidery."

  Alexandra snorted. "That's just pure horse dung," she waved her hand at the man in charge.

  Andrew gaped in astonishment at her coarse language. "Did you just say horse—?”

  "Dung, —yes." Alexandra tugged at his hand as the man in charge gestured for them to come forward.

  "What are you doing?" Andrew swept his eyes at the cheering crowd.

  "I'm going to show you menfolk what women can do," she released his hand and took her place in front of the table next to the women's corner.

  "Are there any other couples who would like to join?" The man in charge raised his hand and waited for a response.

  None came forward.

  Alexandra noted the whispers and curious eyes of the men and women in the audience. Ah—now she understood. None of them wanted to join because the social boundaries have risen. The locals would rather witness if their betters can actually do better, —or make a fool of themselves.

  "Well, my lord, my lady, it seems you'll have to play one on one," the man in charge announced.

  "Are you sure you want to do this?" Andrew said amidst the murmurs from the crowd.

  She smirked. "Why,—are you afraid I might beat your arse?" Her reply was loud enough for the women to gasp in shock.

  Andrew's brows shot upwards. "My, aren't we brazen now," he arrogantly answered with greater volume. "Beware—I will demand a kiss in front of our audience, —if I beat your arse."

  The men whistled and guffawed.

  Alexandra felt the heat climb up her cheeks and spread to her ears. Why—her Romeo had definitely regressed to his odious self!

  Well then. "Be likewise warned," she declared with a lift of her chin, "if I win, you'll have to wear my rose in your hair for the day."

  The women clapped and cachinnated with delight.

  "If—" Andrew rejoined smugly, "you win." He folded his arms across his chest and added, "But you will not."

  "Ooooo..." the audience hooted altogether.

  "We'll see," Alexandra tilted her head haughtily, "I'm a woman of action—unlike certain people who are all talk and nonsense."

  "Aaaahhh..." the spectators nodded all around and laughed.

  The man in charge raised a quelling hand, silencing the crowd. "Let the games begin!" he declared with a single wave of a green flag.

  "Ladies first," Andrew inclined his head with a gesture towards her.

  The crowd became uncannily quiet.

  Alexandra moved to the table and selected a dart. The target was a few meters away—not unlike the ones she practiced on in her father's estate. She positioned herself at the mark and held the dart with a steady hand, estimating the correct angle and amount of force needed to propel it to the center dot. With a quick flick of her arm and wrist, she threw the dart towards the target.

  It landed just inside the perimeter of the red center mark.

  An excellent shot.

  The women broke into applause.

  "Your turn," she regarded Andrew with a quirk of an eyebrow.

  "Ah—now I know where the confidence comes from," he said as he selected a dart from his table. "You may be an excellent shot, Miss Banana," he stood in position and unceremoniously released the dart after a quick appraisal of the target, "but I'm a perfect shot."

  Alexandra stared in consternation at the board.

  His dart had hit the red center dot right in the middle.

  He winked at her amidst the vigorous cheers and whistling from the men.

  She harrumphed and stalked back to her table, ignoring the playful taunts from the male audience.

  You'll be just fine, she mumbled in annoyance to herself, her competitive side rising to the fore. You can do this.

  Her lips curved slyly at the next challenge. She may be an excellent shot with the darts, but her aim was flawless with the bow and arrow.

  She retrieved an arrow from the cylinder and picked up the bow, positioning herself on the designated mark. Hoisting the arrow against the bowstring, she secured the position of the shaft and drew it backwards until the string strained.

  The target for this exercise was a great distance farther than the darts, but it was nothing she had not done before with precision. She carefully set her aim at the center circle. Then, with a final nod of satisfaction, she released the arrow.

  It hit the center of the mark with a rapid quiver.

  The women shrieked, clapping in jubilation.

  "Nice shot," Andrew said as she returned the bow to its perch next to her table.

  "It can’t get any better than that," she gloated and threw him an arch glance.

  "We'll see," he shuffled through the bows in his cylinder, checking and feeling for the sharpest point. "I'm a man of action—unlike certain people who are all talk and nonsense."

  She rolled her eyes and pulled a face at his back.

  He went to his mark and picked up his bow, drawing the string with the arrow so tautly, the bow bent severely backwards until she thought it would snap. Surely, this excessive force was not necessary for the arrow to reach the target, she frowned. But then again, he might not be as adept at this particular sport as he wanted her to believe.

  The entire apparatus shook violently with a resounding twang when he released the arrow.

  It made an a
udible swishing noise as it sliced through the air at a very high speed.

  The whole audience gasped.

  His arrow landed precisely in the center of the circle— splitting hers into two.

  Alexandra stared at the still quivering bow in stupefaction.

  Good Lord. Where did he learn how to do that? She knew from experience that making that shot required many hours of practice. It meant mastery of the skill, achieved only with dedication and perhaps a prestigious trainer.

  The audience erupted in applause and ear-splitting whistles.

  "Your turn," he swept a handful of honey blond hair off his forehead, giving her a quick flick of his eyebrows and pursing his lips with a look of utter self-satisfaction.

  Alexandra's hands went cold. No—she reminded herself; he's just a valet—and that—that was just a lucky shot, nothing more.

  She quickly gathered her bruised confidence and collected the last weapon on her table—the rifle.

  The wildly cheering crowd hushed.

  Alexandra winced at the weight of the gun. It was heavy and cumbersome, unlike the pistols she favored. She turned her attention to where the man in charge had finished affixing a board. The target for this challenge was set even further than the bow and arrow. From where she stood on her mark, her view of the center circle equated to a speck of red paint.

  She drew a deep breath to calm her nerves. This wasn't the first time she handled a rifle. She'd gone hunting with her papa many times and had always done very well. This would be no different from shooting geese flying in the air.

  She held the gun by the forestock, propped the butt against her shoulder and hooked her forefinger onto the trigger. The dot was barely visible, making it doubly hard for her to reconcile it with the gun sight. She shifted the firearm a few times, her shoulder beginning to cramp from its weight.

  The women in the audience fell into complete silence. The men, in turn, punctuated the tension with occasional droll comments.

  "Relax your shoulder," she heard Andrew say behind her.

  "Don't distract me," she said irritably, her insecurity on her ability to deliver a good shot increasing her apprehension.

  "I'm not," he replied, in a gentle tone. "You're gripping the forestock too high. Level it with the stock and straighten the barrel—or you'll miss the target."

  Alexandra did not reply, but she grudgingly accepted his advice and lowered the barrel a notch, then re-checked her sight.

  "That's better," Andrew whispered, in a voice that soothed her dented aplomb.

  She released the safety lock and pulled the trigger.

  The target rattled.

  The man in charge ran up to conduct an inspection.

  He grinned and gave her a thumb up sign.

  Her bullet had successfully clipped half of the red dot.

  The women cheered, chattering noisily in excitement.

  "Not bad," Andrew said, as the used target was removed in place of a new one.

  "Be ready to wear a rose in your hair," she chaffed saucily, touching the fragrant bloom above her ear.

  "Thank you, but no," he moved closer, peering at her with those gorgeous green eyes. "I'd rather kiss you—with or without an audience," he traced the outline of her lips with a forefinger.

  Alexandra trembled at his touch. Her surroundings blurred as her senses responded to the man in front of her. Win or lose, she'd rather kiss him—in fact, she wanted him to do it now—to hell with the contest!

  "Ahoy, my lord!" A man yelled from the crowd. "It ain't time for the prize yet!"

  Good-natured heckling and laughter followed his comment.

  Andrew chuckled, deep dimples etched on his cheeks as he tapped the tip of her nose with his forefinger, before he turned to pick up the rifle from his table.

  Alexandra watched as he expertly maneuvered the weapon into the correct position, checking the sight for not more than two seconds before pulling the trigger.

  The audience went still.

  The man in charge rushed to the easel and inspected the target. He uttered a curse and shook his head.

  Absolute silence descended on the tent.

  "My lord," the man swiveled around, holding the target up, eyes wide with amazement. "Your shot— it is perfect!"

  The crowd, including the women, whistled, and cheered, a number of them sauntering towards the man in charge to inspect the bullet's exit for themselves. Several men came up to congratulate Andrew and expressed their respect for Alexandra's talents.

  "Well, I think it's time I claim my prize," Andrew said as the people milling about them thinned.

  "Here?" Alexandra glanced around, unnerved. It was a very public place.

  Andrew followed her gaze and acquiesced. "Alright. Perhaps later—but I must warn you. I expect payment with interest."

  Alexandra felt the heat rush to her cheeks. She could not say no to something she had initiated in the first place. As the loser, she owed him a kiss. And as for the interest—

  "What kind of interest?" She asked warily.

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, a fiery glint in his glorious green eyes.

  Alexandra waited with bated breath, conscious of the hard planes of his muscles and the maddening aroma of cedar with a hint of mint, clinging to his skin.

  "I want you," he took one of her hands that she had unconsciously laid on his broad chest and kissed the pulse hammering erratically on her wrist.

  Alexandra followed his movement with her eyes and met his gaze. Her heart had lost its rhythm and her belly tingled with a warm rush that inflamed the feminine softness between her legs.

  "You want—m-me?" She squeaked, though she'd heard him clearly and understood exactly what he was asking.

  "U-hum," his expression sobered and she recognized the flare of desire in his eyes, in the set of his mouth and the slight furrow on his brow.

  She knew it would come to this. The unmistakable physical attraction between them was apparent from the very beginning. Those stolen kisses were never unintentional. Both of them were well aware where those kisses would eventually lead, but were powerless to rein in their passion, much less prevent their growing desire for each other.

  Alexandra knew the gravity of taking the next step, but it was not too late for her to refuse. She could hold her ground and rebuff him. Forget everything that had happened between them. Pack her bags and leave. Return to her father, who would no doubt waste not another minute to find another suitable dimwit to match her with.

  Could she make herself jump overboard from the burning ship and deny the refuge of heaven being offered by her pirate angel who had come to her rescue?

  She cupped his cheek with her hand and he turned a little, just enough to graze his lips against her palm.

  A silent request; a subtle persuasion.

  She could see it all in his eyes.

  Did she have the strength to reject him? Yes—if she hit herself over the head with a mallet to erase his image from her mind, or if she stopped breathing to keep the scent of him from dwelling in her lungs.

  "Anna—" his voice had dropped several octaves lower. A restrained plea—but with implicit urgency nonetheless.

  She caressed his lower lip with her thumb, arresting what he was about to say.

  Questions reverberated in her thoughts. What would happen if she capitulated? What could she lose—her blasted virginity? For whom was she saving it for anyway? Would she rather give it to her future unknown toad-of-a-husband-to-be, or surrender it to Andrew—the sum epitome of the dashing heroes in her books, except for the valet part— before her maidenhead gathered cobwebs and turned moldy?

  "When?" The word spilled from her mouth in a soft gush.

  A slow smile rose from his lips, spreading widely until his dimples formed deep round indentations on his cheeks.

  "Tonight," he whispered, catching her thumb with his teeth and giving it a gentle nibble that sent shivers down her spine.

  Tonight.
Alexandra felt an odd contentment settle over her in spite of her awareness that she was venturing into dangerous territory. Her papa would be horridly scandalized if he discovered the truth, but though she loved him dearly, she was tired of being managed and longed to escape from under his thumb. Now, by some twisted coincidence resulting from her ruse, she had unexpectedly garnered fourteen short days of freedom.

  Freedom. She inhaled the cool breeze to savor its meaning, feeling for once in her life, she could truly breathe.

  Andrew placed an arm around her shoulders and they strolled to the other tents.

  She glanced up at him, suddenly realizing that, this is what freedom felt like—a thrill from the simple touch of the man of her own choosing.

  He smiled sideways at her and she glimpsed what freedom looked like—curly lashed green eyes she could forever admire and dimples so adorable, she could never tire of kissing them all the time.

  Sweet, sweet, freedom.

  It would be hers—tonight.

  Chapter 9

  The First Night

  "I'll see you in a half hour," Allayne helped Alexandra alight from the carriage near the stables a short distance away from Countess Penthorpe's manor.

  He had given her directions to come to Mister Carlyle's bedchamber tonight for their tryst. His master would be out for the rest of the night until early morning, he had told her, attending a soiree directly after the fair with all the other guests at the home of Viscount Stanton in town, a friend of the countess. The timing couldn't have been more ideal. Save for the help, they would have the whole house to themselves.

  Alexandra nodded and made her way to the back door of the main house, the entrance commonly used by servants.

  It had been a wonderful day.

  They had spent the entire afternoon at the fair and as the sun sank into the horizon, he took her to one of the elegant establishments for dinner. She had felt a little guilty at the extravagant fare he ordered. He must be spending far more than he could afford, but she said nothing to embarrass him.

  The ride back to the manor had been sweet and exhilarating. They did not talk much, but they kissed and snuggled inside the carriage, anticipating their night together.