by VJ Dunraven
However, the task wouldn't be easy. Alexandra pursed her lips in a worried frown. The soiree was a crush. Obviously, Mr. Carlyle and his hosts carried great social significance. As to how she could manage to pull aside her quarry without causing unsolicited attention, she had no idea. Nonetheless, she must do what she had to do. If things went awry, (and chances were—they would) she would just have to improvise her plan and play it by ear.
She wove through the lively, bejeweled crowd, nodding here and there at acquaintances and stopping to chat with a few old friends. All the while, she kept her eyes open for Mr. Carlyle and Anna, hoping her chance would soon arise.
For the past few days, she was torn between dreading and looking forward to this moment. But avoiding it would only prolong her anxiety and she must admit—though she may have scarcely seen Mr. Carlyle during that fortnight in Bath, their common connection to Andrew was there, fueling her optimism to hear some news about him.
She desperately needed information. Any concrete evidence that would validate—confirm—that he was indeed happy—successful—perhaps married—contentedly settled with children and the woman of his choosing. All those things she wanted for herself, but never completely had, save for the joy of having Gabriel, which she nevertheless wished for him.
She needed an ending to her fairy tale. A closure, a conclusion to the story of that period in her life. So she could move on; so she could finally stash her leather-bound memoir high up on the bookshelf where it would always remain hidden from view, untouched—forgotten.
Her motivation for this encounter might be unorthodox, but she needed it as much as she needed air to breathe. For the sake of her son, she must strive to live her life in the present, unencumbered from the sorrows of the past. And tonight—she fervently hoped—would be the start.
"Alex!" Jeremy waved at her from the other side of the dance floor.
Alexandra waved back and excused herself from her friends. She met him along the perimeter halfway across the room.
"What a delight to see you! How are you?" Jeremy took both her hands and kissed her fingers.
"I am well, thank you. And how is your wife?"
"Ecstatic," Jeremy laughed. "We just learned yesterday that she's expecting another child."
"That's wonderful!" Alexandra beamed, noting the subtle blush on her dear cousin's cheeks. He looked handsome as ever, dressed in an elegant black evening jacket paired with a dove gray waistcoat, meticulously tailored and buttoned over a snow-white silk shirt. His longish dark hair brushed his shoulders, a stark contrast to his pristine white cravat pinned with an exquisite ruby that winked whenever he moved, as it caught the light from the chandeliers above.
Several ladies glanced in their direction. Some even openly stared,—no doubt, to admire Jeremy,—something, which even his happily married state couldn't deter. Thank goodness, the man was smitten and had eyes only for his wife, Cassie.
Alexandra sighed. Ah—wouldn't it be marvelous if she had someone who loved her like that—without a qualm, without fear or hesitation. Just a faithful kind of affection one could rely on and endure the test of time.
A modicum of sadness settled in her core. Her husband, the duke, loved her, but in the same way, a father loved a daughter. After he passed and as soon as her mourning was over, several gentlemen requested to call on her, but she'd turned them all down. For no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't see beyond the bright green eyes and dazzling dimpled smile of the only man she ever loved—long relegated to nothing but a bittersweet memory, yet still vitally alive in her heart regardless of the years gone by.
"Alex? Are you alright?" Jeremy peered at her with dark eyes so much like her own.
"What? Oh—" Alexandra felt the heat rise in her cheeks. "I'm sorry—that was awfully rude of me. I must have been woolgathering."
"I understand," Jeremy said with concern. "It must be difficult to regain your bearings and venture back into society after—"
Alexandra placed an appeasing hand on his arm. "Don’t worry about me, dear cousin. I promise—I'm fine. What were you saying a little while ago?"
Jeremy cocked a dark brow, but otherwise appeared to accept her avowal. "Edward can't wait to see Gabriel."
"It is the same for Gabriel," Alexandra chuckled. "He was so disappointed that he could not come tonight and fell asleep complaining about the unfairness of children not being allowed to attend soirees."
Jeremy's mouth tilted into a crooked grin. "If it's alright with you, I shall have Edward call on him the day after tomorrow. They have not seen each other in a long time."
"Yes," Alexandra nodded. "Gabriel was only two or so years old the last time he saw him."
"Lord—has it been that long?" Jeremy exclaimed.
"Yes." Alexandra hid her melancholy. "You'll be surprised to see how much he's grown."
"My wife is planning an exclusive dinner party for family and friends to welcome you back into society. Bring Gabriel. I want to judge for myself if he's showing signs of our side of the family's good looks or veering towards the fair-haired side of the late duke."
"T-that is so generous of you. Gabriel will be thrilled. Please extend my gratitude to Cassie," Alexandra replied, a little apprehensive about Jeremy's last statement. She prayed that upon seeing Gabriel, Jeremy would attribute his honey-blond hair to that of her late husband. However, she might have some explaining (and a lot of lying) to do about Gabriel's striking, curly-lashed green eyes, and prominent dimples on both cheeks.
"I'm glad you're here." Jeremy squeezed her hand. "It's good to see you again."
"Me too," Alexandra replied, genuinely pleased to reconnect with her cousin and his family.
"Well, then!" Jeremy craned his neck and searched the crowd. "Let's go look for Cassie. She's circulating amongst the guests with Desiree, Grandstone's wife. She will be pleased to see you. Ah—there's Richard. Let's go and say hello. Are you ready to refresh your acquaintance with Allayne—er—Mister Carlyle? I thought I just saw him, too. Ah—yes—there he is! Come." He placed her hand on his arm and promptly led her in the direction of the far corner of the densely populated room.
A pang of panic churned her insides. "Wait. Jeremy—" Alexandra said, but her protest was drowned out by the noise of the bustling crowd. This could not be happening! She could not face Mr. Carlyle with Jeremy—or with anyone for that matter! If Mr. Carlyle slipped and mentioned her affair with Andrew—even in passing—it could instigate further questioning and gossip—the prime recipe for a scandal.
"Jeremy!" she rasped, over the laughter of a group of gentlemen standing up ahead, but Jeremy had come to a halt to join them.
"Richard," Jeremy beckoned to one of the men, "do you remember my cousin, the Duchess of Redfellow?"
"Of course." The tall, blond, well-dressed, and extremely attractive gentleman, whom Alexandra recognized as the Duke of Grandstone, broke from the group and strolled towards her. She met him and his wife, Desiree, one summer at Waterford Park. They came with their children, a set of blond, blue-eyed twins who were as excited as Edward to play with little Gabriel.
"Your Grace." Alexandra curtsied.
"Duchess." He took her hand and bowed over it, then scrutinized her with piercing sapphire-blue eyes.
Alexandra wanted to shrink from his assessing gaze. The Duke of Grandstone possessed a sharp wit and could be unnerving—especially if one was trying to hide something.
Alexandra suppressed her unease and averted her eyes, only to see Jeremy approach another gentleman who had his back to them, chatting with the other guests.
"Hey there, old chap." Jeremy slapped the man's shoulder. "Look who's here."
Alexandra's heart plummeted to her belly and her mouth went dry as her senses converged on the man before her. Even from where she stood rooted to the spot, staring at his back as he begged off from his companions, she recognized the deep rumble of his baritone. She knew every line of his body, the powerful breadth of his shoulders, the softness o
f his long honey-blond hair as it cascaded in thick layered waves, several inches below the collar of his charcoal evening jacket.
"You are well acquainted with my friend," the Duke of Grandstone declared in a conclusive manner that permitted no dispute, flicking his chin at their subject and pinning her with a knowing blue gaze.
Alexandra gasped at his alarming degree of acumen. She felt cornered—exposed—her feelings read like an open book. Heat spread from her neck to her cheekbones as she realized—she still had the duke's fingers in her white-knuckled grip.
"Pardon me, Your Grace—" she stammered, quickly releasing him. Swiftly, her gaze swiveled back to the man standing not two yards away from her. Her mind raced in endless circles. Could it really be Andrew—or was she hallucinating? Why would he be here—of all places—and what could he be doing—mingling with aristocrats?
Just then, the man who had precipitated her folly—the same one she constantly dreamt of, pined for, terribly missed and loved so well—chose that moment to turn around and face her.
Alexandra thought her heart would explode out of her chest. It beat so vigorously against her ribcage that every thump began to hurt. The air around her must have grown scant, for Dear God—she could not breathe, nor form a single coherent thought—nor utter even a single word.
He looked more handsome than she remembered. An archangel with a beautiful dimpled smile, impeccably groomed, and elegantly dressed in the height of fashion. His eyes, framed with long lashes that curled outwards, perfectly matched the large emerald that twinkled playfully on his cravat. He smelled heavenly—of the fresh, familiar scent of cedar, sage and mint that reminded her of brilliant sunshine and glorious springtime, and precious moments in the gazebo by the pond, spent in each other's arms.
His dimpled smile faded and his eyes widened, as his gaze connected with hers.
"I suppose no introductions are in order," Jeremy said. "I believe you two met years ago in Bath."
Neither of them acknowledged what he had said. They stood staring at each other—both of them speechless. To Alexandra, Andrew appeared as stunned as she was upon seeing her.
"Ahem." Jeremy elbowed Andrew quite forcefully. "You do remember Lady Alexandra Davenport, don't you?"
"Lady Alexandra?" Andrew switched his flummoxed gaze to Jeremy, then back to Alexandra.
Holy Mother of God. Alexandra momentarily closed her eyes at the impending disaster. Her brain must have curdled in her skull, for seeing Andrew made her lapse and overlook one very important detail—that Jeremy would inevitably reveal her true identity to him.
"Yes,—well, she goes by a different name now," Jeremy replied, sending her an apologetic look. "Lord—this is embarrassing. Pray, forgive my friend's poor memory. I suppose it has been too long and Allayne—" he glared sideways at Andrew, "Mister Carlyle—can no longer remember."
"M-Mister Carlyle?" Alexandra shot a dumbfounded glance at Jeremy, before sending her round-eyed gaze back to Andrew.
"You do remember Mister Carlyle, don't you, Alex?" Jeremy's voice took an exasperated tone. "You even said so in your letter."
Alexandra wanted to say something—anything, but the words couldn't tumble out of her rapidly constricting throat. Andrew was Allayne Carlyle? The viscount's heir? The one her papa had been so adamant for her to meet—to the point of forcibly making her take that trip?
"Alex?" Jeremy tilted his head with an inquiring lift of an eyebrow.
At her lack of response, she heard Jeremy say, "Pardon my cousin,” to the man she knew as Andrew, but who turned out to be Mister Carlyle instead. "Good God—" he shook his head with a chuckle, "— what a pickle! I suppose neither of you remember each other."
"She's your cousin?" Mr. Carlyle, alias Andrew, exclaimed.
"Sorry, old chap. I know, I should've told you," Jeremy shrugged. "But I did not want you to think I was in cahoots with your mother about the whole Bath thing. Nevertheless—let me rectify this unforeseen awkward situation and reintroduce the both of you."
"Allow me to do the honor." The Duke of Grandstone stepped in with a somewhat meaningful glance at Jeremy.
"If you insist." Jeremy quirked a dark brow, but nodded for him to go ahead.
Grandstone took Alexandra's hand, clasping her cold gloved fingers in the warmth of his. He gently drew her closer to Mr. Carlyle, who up to now was intently regarding her with eyes that had darkened to almost black.
"Mister Allayne Cassius Carlyle, may I present Her Grace, The Duchess of Redfellow," Grandstone said, extending Alexandra's hand towards Allayne Carlyle with a visibly encouraging expression for him to take it and bow over her fingers.
Alexandra watched Allayne Carlyle's face contort in stupefaction and prayed he would keep his composure long enough to heed Grandstone's fosterage of a formal introduction.
But Allayne Carlyle was completely oblivious to propriety. "You married—a duke?" he blurted aloud, ignoring her proffered hand still resting on the duke's fingers, suspended between them.
"Allayne." Grandstone uttered in a stern tone.
Allayne, however, seemed to have lost all sense of decorum. "When?" he spat the word so harshly that Alexandra flinched.
"What the devil is going on?" Jeremy flickered his eyes from Allayne to Alexandra, then back to Allayne again.
"When—goddammit!" Allayne did not even bother to unfasten his blazing eyes from Alexandra, his deep voice climbing to a degree audible enough to turn curious heads in their direction.
Jeremy cleared his throat. "Easy, old chap. Perhaps we should—"
"Answer me!" Allayne roared through clenched teeth.
Alexandra recoiled from him, clutching the duke's hand for support. She never shied from confrontation, but for some reason, Andrew—Mr. Carlyle—with his anger evident in the set of his jaw and the tension in his posture—rendered her weak, dazed, and bereft of the ability to speak.
"That's enough!" Grandstone growled in a voice laced with censure, narrowing his eyes at Allayne in warning. He placed Alexandra's trembling hand on his arm and patted it in reassurance. "I apologize in behalf of my friend, Duchess." He sent another scathing glance at Allayne. "Let me escort you to a seat and procure you something to drink."
Alexandra bit her quivering lip and nodded, thankful for the chance to escape. She needed space to collect herself—to think, digest, strategize—on how to deal with this unbelievable mess she found herself embroiled in.
Grandstone covered her hand with his on the crook of his arm and began to lead her away.
"No." Allayne's strong fingers clamped on her arm, restraining her flight.
Alexandra froze, startled at the first contact they've had in years. Even with his gloves on, the heat of his skin seared her flesh to the bone—tingling, stirring, and awakening every dormant nerve ending. She ached for his touch—his proximity—the feel of all of him for so long—that the mere brush of his fingers sent frissons along the length of her spine, quickening her pulse, intensifying her awareness of the masculine virility that was uniquely his.
"Unhand the duchess," Richard said in an ominous tone.
"Now, Allayne." Jeremy demanded.
The air suddenly thickened with animosity.
Alexandra raised imploring eyes at Allayne, who was searching her face as if he was trying to find something—or someone—and waiting for that person to come forth and acknowledge him.
"Please—" she slipped her other hand from the duke's arm and laid it atop of his. The action was meant to indicate her displeasure and relinquish herself from his grip, but instead, a flare of recognition—an echo of an old bygone magic, sparked between them. His fingers instinctively twined with hers and a myriad of emotions replaced the austereness of his visage. The tautness in his stance subsided, his chest expanding as he inhaled a lungful of air, holding his breath for a moment before exhaling it in a heavy sigh. Then, with a surprising vulnerability that was plain for her to see, his eyes filled with something she hadn't seen—yet desperately
yearned for—with every breath she took, every single day, every single hour of her life, for more than four years.
Tenderness. Love. Affection. All mingled in those beautiful eyes she adored, with an equal amount of uncertainty—and fear.
And for the first time, since they last saw each other, since that day he asked to marry her, since that moment they promised to love and cherish one another forever—he looked at her—the way he used to do, long ago, in Bath.
Alexandra's self-control waned. She wanted nothing more than to throw herself in his arms—cling to him, bind her body and soul with his—and never, ever let go. Because if she lost him once more, she would not have the strength to bear it. Her heart had been so tattered from their separation, that even now, it was barely mended. She would rather die a thousand deaths than live through another heartbreak all over again.
"There you are!" A cheerful female voice disrupted the spell that blinded Alexandra from everything around her.
Allayne swiveled his head at the sound, releasing Alexandra's arm.
A beautiful, petite blond woman in an exquisite evening gown, her ears and throat dripping with diamonds, approached him with a wide smile.
"Oh! Pardon me—" the woman exclaimed, her gloved fingers covering her mouth as her pale blue eyes shifted from Allayne to Alexandra. "I did not notice you had company." She beamed sunnily at Alexandra. "Hello! I'm Marion Ellery." She extended her hand towards her without waiting for anyone to make the introductions.
Alexandra gaped at her hand. What was she supposed to do with it? "I—ah—"
"Marion." Allayne drew Marion's hand away and lowered it to her side with a pointed look.