Desires of a Perfect Lady

by Victoria Alexander

  “Ah me.” His partner sighed. “It is the way with you Englishmen is it not?”

  “My apologies.” He drew his brows together. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You are preoccupied, my lord.” She shook her head in a chastising manner. “And I fear very much that your head is not filled with thoughts of me.”

  “Then I am a fool,” he said firmly. “You are delightful.”

  “Yes, I am.” She considered him thoughtfully. “And yet it is not enough to capture your attention completely.”

  He stared into her eyes and lied. “You have my complete attention.”

  She laughed. “You do not lie well, my lord.” She paused. “It is the fair-haired lady, your companion, who fills your thoughts, is it not?”

  “She is not my companion.” His gaze slipped to where Livy stood sipping a glass of wine and watching . . . him? Surely, he was mistaken. Still, if he wasn’t, the least he could do was give her something to watch. He turned his gaze back to his partner.

  The lady raised a brow. “She is not your mistress then?”

  “My mistress?” He stared at her in surprise. Was that what everyone here thought? That Livy was his mistress? “Why on earth would you think that?”

  She shrugged. “You have come to Venice together, and she is not your wife.” She smiled knowingly. “Therefore, she must be your mistress.”

  “She is most certainly not.” He huffed.

  “But you wish her to be.”

  “Not at all.” Although it was an intriguing idea.

  She laughed softly. “You do not lie well even to yourself.”

  He grinned. “I lie better to myself than to anyone else.”

  “Perhaps.” Curiosity shone in her eyes. “Why have you not told her of your feelings?”

  “What makes you think I have feelings?”

  “Come now, my lord.” She looked at him as if she could not believe the stupidity of men in general and him in particular. “We have only just met, and yet I can see you look at the lady with longing as well as determination.”

  “She wants nothing that I want.”

  “Ah well, then that explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  “Why she cannot seem to tear her eyes from you. Surely you have noticed?”

  He started to deny it, then smiled. “Perhaps.”

  She leaned closer and without missing a step spoke low into his ear. “You wish to make her jealous then, yes?”

  “No,” he said quickly. “Of course not. I would never . . .” He paused. Was it such a bad idea?

  “And yet you do not dance with her but with me.”

  “And in that have earned the envy of every man in the room.”

  She laughed. “You are a charming creature, for an Englishman.”

  He grinned. “On behalf of Englishmen everywhere, you have my thanks.”

  “Pity your affections are otherwise engaged.”

  He studied her cautiously. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

  “It was not a question but an observation.” They danced silently for a few moments, then she nodded. “I will help you.”

  “Help me,” he said slowly. “I don’t need help.”

  “You are a . . . what is the word?” Her delicate brow furrowed. “Ottuso? Stupido?”

  “Stupid?”

  “Yes, that is it. You are a stupid man like every other man of my acquaintance. And I shall help you.”

  “I don’t really think I need—”

  “Which is what makes you stupid.” Her smile took any sting out of her words. The music ended, and she took his arm. “Come into the garden and we shall talk about how I shall help you.”

  “I really don’t think—”

  “She is watching you, no?”

  He glanced at Livy, who was engaged in conversation with a gentleman much shorter than she. Even as he looked, her gaze strayed to him. He nodded. “Yes.”

  “Then it will do her good to see you leave with another.”

  Why not? “Very well.”

  She led him to doors that opened onto a terrace. They stepped outside and moved to steps leading down into a garden far larger than he had anticipated. Lit with lanterns, what he could see was lush with thickly growing plants, overflowing with exotic blooms.

  She tilted her head and smiled. “You thought we lived with only the water at our doors?”

  He chuckled. “Possibly.”

  “It is something of a secret I think, the gardens of Venice. One does not expect them.” She gazed over the gardens, a slight smile of pride curving her lips. “It has been my experience when one travels with a companion, that one is rarely left to one’s own devices, no?”

  He nodded.

  “Then perhaps it would do good for you not to be where she expects you to be. Not to be at her . . .” She thought for a moment. “Beck and call is it?”

  “Yes, but I’m not. Well, not entirely.” He shook his head. “But I don’t understand.”

  “Come, join me tomorrow here in the garden for a visit. Luncheon perhaps? Yes, that would be lovely.”

  “Here? In the conte’s garden?” He frowned. “Won’t that be awkward?”

  “Not in the least.” She cast him a curious glance. “I am often to be found in the gardens here.”

  “I see,” he said slowly. “Then you and the conte are . . . companions?”

  She laughed. “Of a sort, yes.”

  “And he won’t mind your seeing another man.”

  “My dear Lord Wyldewood, it is a mere luncheon, not an assignation.” Mischief twinkled in her eyes. “And if he finds it annoying . . .” She shrugged. “I would not mind it.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You have me at a disadvantage. You seem to know my name but I do not know yours.”

  She smiled. “You failed to ask.”

  “My apologies. That was unforgivable.”

  “Not at all.” She laughed. “It is a ball, my lord. You needn’t ask the name of every woman with whom you dance. Part of the pleasure is the mystery. Who is the lady in your arms? Does she belong to another, or will she belong to you?”

  “Yes, well . . .”

  “I know your name because the conte’s secretary, while the soul of discretion on many matters, can always be persuaded to tell me what he knows. I know as well that you sent a note to the conte requesting a meeting regarding a Titian copy of a lost Bellini painting that your Lady Rathbourne would like to acquire.”

  “The conte’s secretary is certainly efficient,” Sterling murmured. “Perhaps I should ask him who you are?”

  “It is not necessary. I shall introduce myself.” She extended her hand and he took it. “I am your hostess.”

  He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Then you are . . .”

  “Alessandra.” She smiled. “Contessa de Sarafini.”

  Olivia paced the width of her room in the Grand Royal Hotel Danieli as she had since their return from the conte’s more than an hour ago. She ignored the doors open to her balcony and the magical sight of the Venetian lagoon reflecting the stars overhead. After all, it was not a sight to be enjoyed alone but rather a sight meant to be shared by lovers.

  Lovers? Hah! Whatever had made her think of such a thing? Certainly not the man even now in the very next room. The man whose own balcony overlooked the same scene hers did. The man who had once owned her heart and quite possibly still did.

  It had been a grand and glorious evening. Or would have been had Sterling not made such a spectacle of himself. Why the man had flirted outrageously and charmed and danced with very nearly every lady there. Except for her, which was most annoying. Not that she’d had any lack of partners and had indeed danced nearly every dance herself. And flirted as well. But she certainly hadn’t left the ballroom with anyone as he had.

  Admittedly, he had every right to flirt and do whatever it was he was inclined to do with other women. She had made it perfectly clear to him right f
rom the start that there could never again be anything more between them than a certain cautious friendship. But something had changed, or perhaps she had changed. Or possibly nothing had changed at all.

  Blast it, she was indeed jealous. Of the women dancing in his arms tonight. Of the ladies whose eyes he had gazed into as if they and they alone held the key to his heart. And definitely of the lovely creature he had left the ballroom with, even if they hadn’t been gone for very long.

  She and Sterling had scarcely exchanged more than a handful of words on the way back to the hotel. He had been lost in thought, as if something of importance was on his mind, probably a woman, which had only increased her annoyance.

  Odd that after all they had been through together, it was something as simple as jealousy that now brought her to her senses. The thought struck her with blinding clarity. She did not want to lose him again.

  She sank down on the bed. It was past time to face a truth that the conte had recognized, perhaps that even Millicent had seen, that everyone may well have noticed but Olivia. Past time to face her own feelings and her fears.

  Yes, her list had sustained her spirit through the years, but was it so much the list itself as the fact that she had put him on it? Perhaps, if she had simply inherited her late husband’s wealth, she wouldn’t have given Sterling a second thought although she doubted it. He had always been there, in the shadows in the back of her mind, in her unguarded dreams, in the locked places in her heart. Why couldn’t she admit it?

  Was she still so hurt by his betrayal? Still so afraid that she would be hurt again? She prided herself on her strength. Strength forged in the last decade. Was she strong enough to face the truth about her feelings? Strong enough to risk losing him again? Not that she had him. After all, she was nothing more than an obligation to him. Yet another responsibility to be borne by the Earl of Wyldewood.

  Still, hadn’t he been there when she had needed him now? Hadn’t he put his life aside to help her gain her inheritance? Hadn’t he done everything anyone could possibly ask of him? Surely it was more than merely his desire to make amends for the past. And more than his sense of responsibility. Was it time, then, to put the past to rest and go on from here? With him? The man she had once loved. And God help her, the man she had always loved.

  She’d been the one unwilling to discuss those dark days. But even ten years ago he was not the type of man to have abandoned her. Which only begged the question of why he had. Certainly she couldn’t fault him for believing her father. But why hadn’t he, at least in some cursory manner, acknowledged her letters?

  Past time to get the answers and in doing so be able truly to leave the past behind. She stood, crossed the room, and stepped out on the balcony, craning her neck to see across his balcony. And past time as well to forgive. There was no light on in his room. Perhaps he was already in bed. No matter. Now that she had decided to face their past, she refused to do it alone. Besides, she hadn’t told him about tomorrow’s—no—today’s meeting with the conte. And if being with him now led to something more, well, it wouldn’t be simply to cross him off her list.

  She moved to the door to his room, drew a deep breath, and knocked. Nothing. She tried again. Again there was no response. She tried once more and still he did not answer. Damnation, the man was a sound sleeper. There was nothing to be done then, she would have to wake him. She turned the key in the lock, pushed open the door, and stepped into his room.

  “Sterling?”

  The light from her own rooms illuminated his. The bed was empty, as was the room, and no light shone from the parlor beyond. Where was he?

  And more to the point: Whom was he with?

  “Well, this is awkward.” Sterling drummed his fingers on the small table next to his chair in Josiah’s room. “But there’s no need to panic.”

  “No, of course not, sir.” Josiah’s voice lacked the conviction of his words. “Panic would not serve Lady Rathbourne well.”

  “Still, I am glad you sent for me.” Sterling had been back in his room for less than an hour when a hotel porter had knocked on his door with a note from Josiah, requesting his presence on a matter of urgency.

  Josiah nodded. “I thought it best to bring this to you first, sir.” He paused. “Although I daresay she won’t see it that way.”

  “No, she won’t.” The drumming of his fingers increased. “Why wasn’t she told about this?”

  “I don’t know.” Josiah shook his head. “I wasn’t aware of it myself until tonight.”

  “And how did you discover it?”

  “It has bothered me for some time that there was to be a concise accounting of the methods used to obtain the items. It seemed odd to me as there was nothing regarding how the items were obtained. Nothing that prohibited purchase for example. Yet I was instructed to note the place, date, and time of every acquisition.”

  “Why time?”

  “Precisely what aroused my curiosity.”

  “I thought your Mr. Hollis told her there was no time limit or deadline.”

  “I’m not sure Mr. Hollis was aware of this.”

  Sterling raised a brow. “Someone must have been.”

  “No doubt. But, indeed, time is not a factor unless she undertakes to finish the collections before a suitable period of mourning.”

  “A year then?”

  Josiah nodded.

  “Good God.” Sterling rubbed his hand over his eyes. “And if she does?”

  “Then from the time she completes the first collection to the time she completes the last can be no greater than the length of time the viscount had been dead before the first object was acquired.”

  “Rathbourne died on the eighteenth of last month. We received the jar on the twenty-third of this month.” Sterling furrowed his brow. “Thirty-six days?”

  “By my accounting.” Josiah nodded. “It has been seven days since we received the jar and left Egypt. Depending on the route and mode of transport, and any number of things we cannot control including weather, it will take at least six to return to London. Which means—”

  “She has no more than twenty-three days left to meet the terms of the will.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why didn’t you know about this? I thought you were well versed in the details of the will.”

  “I was. I am,” he said firmly. “I quite thoroughly studied one copy of the will before my first meeting with Lady Rathbourne. I did not see this. However, in the papers I was given when we left London, I received a different copy of the will. The one I examined tonight. You must understand.” He leaned forward. “In the last few days before his death, the viscount was changing his will to provide a trust for his own private museum. As he died before completing those arrangements, his original will was still in effect. However, there were several different members of the firm involved and a myriad of files. Which is why the will was not read until more than a fortnight after his death. It is distressing but not especially surprising that something would be misplaced. This particular clause was part of an addendum added several years ago.”

  “No doubt when the viscount realized his widow would want to be out from his control as soon as possible.”

  “Or simply to make her quest more difficult. This could have been a simple oversight, and certainly no one ever expected that she would accept the challenge. Still . . .” He shook his head. “I find it difficult to believe that Mr. Hollis did not know of this. And most disturbing that he said nothing.”

  “It is in your firm’s best financial interest that Olivia fail.”

  “I am well aware of that.” Josiah paused for a long moment. “I have always thought my employers to be men of honor and integrity.” He met Sterling’s gaze firmly. “I shall retain my position until Lady Rathbourne’s fate is decided, but I will not remain with the firm after that.”

  Sterling nodded. “You’ll need a new position if you still intend to support a wife.”

  Josiah cast him a wry smile. “It has become apparent to me, if
not to her, or you either for that matter, that her affections are otherwise engaged. Even if she fails, she will not marry me to save herself.”

  “If she fails, she will not marry anyone. Her pride and her desire for independence will not permit her otherwise.”

  “Then it is up to us, sir, to make certain she does not fail.”

  Sterling smiled. “Are you conceding our wager then?”

  “I am . . .” Josiah thought for a moment. “Accepting the inevitable.”

  Sterling studied him. “And I am the inevitable?”

  “I believe there is much between you that remains to be resolved. But . . .” He shook his head. “I can only hope one day to have a woman look at me the way she looks at you. It is subtle and cautious, but it is unmistakable.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “I do although I suspect it is not obvious to anyone other than a close observer.” He drew a deep breath. “Will you tell her about this tomorrow then, or rather today?”

  “I don’t know.” Sterling’s first impulse was not to say anything. To protect her from undue anxiety. “I’m not sure we should tell her at all.”

  “I don’t think that would be wise, sir,” Josiah said slowly. “She should know that time is now of the essence. Besides, she would not take your keeping this from her well.”

  “No, she wouldn’t. It is possible she already knows. She has a copy of the will after all.” They exchanged skeptical glances, neither of them needing to say what they both knew. Sterling blew a long breath. “Yes, of course, I’ll tell her.”

  “As we do not know what the third item is, she needs to acquire the Titian as quickly as possible so that we may return to London.”

  “And needs to convince the conte to turn over a painting that has been in his family for generations. It will not be easy; nor, I suspect, accomplished quickly.” Sterling thought for a moment. “But perhaps the conte is not the one to convince.”