by Gayle Eden
She did not get a chance to respond. After they were again seated however, Alex and everyone else in her box, likely in the theater, knew how often Edmund looked over and kept those tawny eyes on her.
“It’s not fair,” Alex muttered a dozen times. “It’s not bloody fair to torment me like that.”
“I know—isn’t the play bloody awful.” Jo had leaned up and murmured.
“Awful.” Alex stared across at Edmund’s box. She needed the time away or else she was going to do something she would regret.
* * * *
Dinner, seated at a discreet table, found them positioned thus; first the Marquis, with Val and the duchess on either side. It put Jo next, and Edmund with Alex at his side too. She breathed his warm masculine scent, painfully aware of him in a palpable way that made her require concentration to eat.
At one point, he took a sip of wine and turned to her, asking, “May I have a word with you before you leave?”
“Yes.” She read the emotion behind his seemingly polite request. His potent gaze moved over her face before he turned away again.
Jo kept the conversation lively. Alex could tell the duchess enjoyed Jo’s wit, and it did make for a good evening without brooding on Val’s troubles. She saw the duchess take Val’s hand and lean to talk quietly with her for some time. Val seemed to be listening intently and Alex could see a friendship forming that lightened her heart.
When they were ready to depart, Edmund held her chair. His palm grazed Alex’s spine in a way that made her blood rush. Outside they went to their separate coaches, her father walking over to speak to the duchess a moment.
With Val and Jo already in the coach, Alex was standing just behind her father when Edmund came over and led her a bit away.
His body blocking out the others, he stared at her whilst Alex leaned back against the brick façade of the building. Fog was starting to drift, the air was damp, but she was hot all over. No matter how many times she’d seen him, this was the first time she’d been close and breathed him, and had him looking into her face—her eyes—in four years.
He propped one palm by her head and murmured, “This is a mistake.”
“What?”
“This,” he rasped and then lowered his head and kissed her.
She was not expecting it. He kissed her mouth with the soft ravishment of a man who did not trust himself. He used his tongue like a man who was making love to her. Alex felt her heart pound. Her head grew light. Her bones caught fire. She moaned, whimpered, when he pressed in the slightest, going deeper, before pulling back completely.
Her breath panting between wet lips, she stared, dazed as he strode back to the coach. Pulling away from the wall, Alex followed on shaky legs and weak knees. One kiss and her body was aflame.
The duchess saw, and likely her sisters did too. Her father’s back was turned, thankfully. Once everyone was ensconced and the coach pulling from the curb, she got a whispered teasing from Jo, but was in too much of a muse to retort back. That was not like the Earl of Sotherton at all. Edmund completely surprised her, damn him. She could deal with his ignoring her because she understood partly that persona. Nevertheless, she could not wrestle her memories and desire if he was going to bloody let her see that man in the parlor again.
It stirred her attraction to him. Forced her, to acknowledge it, and stirred her senses even now with his taste on her tongue, his scent in her nose.
That night, as she sat on the edge of the bed in her night rail, Jo knocked, and entered in sleep ware.
“Do you want to talk now?”
Alex shook her head. “He’s making me daft, Jo. Just when I thought, I could live with—well, he bloody ignores me. You see how he is oh-so-polite but nothing more, when he is here. I’ve enjoyed seeing Auvary although I’m afraid he’ll move too fast and I—I don’t bloody know what I’m doing.” Alex rubbed her forehead.
Sitting beside her, Jo put her arm around her. “Don’t feel so bad. I’m in a mess myself.”
“What? Who?” Alex dropped her hands.
Jo closed her eyes. “It’s an impossible attraction.”
“Sascha.”
Jo nodded and then opened her eyes. “It’s—there’s too much wrong. And he, well he bloody acts one way and then suddenly…” She threw up her hands. “I’m going to find a lover. I swear it. I’m not—going to get mixed up with some bloody confusing man.”
“Yes. They are.”
Jo stood. “We’ll figure this out. We are Ramsey’s. I will not be up when you and Val leave. But be careful and have a nice trip.”
“We will.”
Alex did not sleep until dawn. She tried to decipher the kiss and could not.
Edmund did not want to want her. That was the only conclusion she could come to.
It was not very flattering.
* * * *
The small break was good for Val. They were kept busy, and whilst Van Wyc took care of the main things, Alex visited a few tenants and Valerie gathered the paperwork her father requested brought back.
In the mornings, they rode or walked the lovely woods and even helped Van Wyc with a sheep if he needed it. Alex found time to clear her head and regain her balance. She saw Val, late some nights, standing in the courtyard, or sitting in the moonlit gardens. They talked, Val confiding a bit at a time.
Alex realized Val felt guilt, guilt for wanting a babe too bad—thinking it would fix things with Leland, for being blind, throwing away her real dreams for imitation. She was keeping a journal now, she said, which seemed to help.
Her sister was a person who did not talk as easily as she or Jo. Val had a great many accomplishments, a good education, and an abundance of common sense. Alex rather thought that her longing for family had much to do with Leland being able to find her soft spots and exploit them.
In some ways, it was a dream to Val now—she spoke as if it were another person. A nightmare, she could not believe she lived.
Filling the days with bracing walks, work, and lying at night in her chambers reading, Alex could hardly believe they had burned the week so swiftly. However, the night before they were to return she heard voices in the study as she was leaving the kitchens—having raided more of cook’s tarts and eaten them at the scrubbed table.
Standing by the door, that was just cracked, she heard Van Wyc say, “You’ve not touched it. None of it. It is your money, Val. It was robbed from you—not the normal way, but it was the same intent.”
“I don’t need it. I will start over, as I deserve to. I said the vows and I stayed despite—”
“Christ, Valerie. Aren’t you tired of playing the martyr? Being the victim? How much more are you going to give to him? The time, your emotions, two years of life and the abuse of your body—your refusal to even—”
“Why, Archard…whatever have I done to make you angry?”
Van Wyc’s voice was gruff, “Your pardon. It’s been a long week and I’m tired.”
“Yes of course,” Val sounded dismayed. “But you understand, I cannot touch that money.”
“No. I do not. I understand your misplaced pride makes you stubborn as hell.”
“Don’t be angry.”
“Then don’t be so bloody… blind,” was the growled reply.
The French doors opened and Alex ran to the upper hall looking down and seeing Van Wyc head off toward the woods, followed by an hour of chopping sounds—coming from the woodcutter’s cottage. Van Wyc’s moon lit figure eventually came toward the house two hours later, shirtless and his muscled torso and hair dripping wet from the lake. When he entered the house and his chambers, his door slammed shut loudly.
Going to her rooms, Alex heard Val’s tread pass by soon after. She stared at the shadows on the wall.
Oh, dear. Valerie really was blind.
* * * *
“Nothing much happened," Jo told Alex, after they had arrived in town, and unpacked. “Father went to Jackson’s and his clubs, I attended two gatherings, although
I admit I used the excuse of your and Val’s absence to not attend as many. I went shopping.”
Resting on the bed, Alex had her head propped in her hand and yawned. “I’ve something to tell you. A secret. But I’m too bloody tired at the moment.”
“Well, that’s not fair.” Jo laughed.
“I’ll tell you later. Wake me for dinner, will you?”
“Yes.”
Alex napped and awoke for dinner but instead of dressing, she took it on a tray. Jo left a note that she was going out—some sudden decision to attend a masque ball.
No good for much but napping, Alex did that and was refreshed by the next morning. She fully expected that Auvary would call for a park ride, and she dressed in her gray habit and smart hat, going down the stairs pulling on her black gloves.
She reached the bottom the same moment Edmund entered. Had her father not been coming from the dining area, she may well have said something about that kiss he had given her.
Instead, she murmured, “Good morning.”
“Morning.” Edmund bowed slightly, dressed for the club or coffeehouse apparently, and absent a cravat. He had on white snug trousers and black books, a linen shirt and thigh length jacket that was casual. From his wind-ruffled hair to his sinewy throat, she could really have done without the tempting distraction.
“Are you riding then, sweet?” Her father reached her and kissed her brow.
“I expected to—”
“Ah, I completely forgot to tell you,” Her father winced. “Auvary was called away for a couple of days. He did send round a note—”
“No worry, father. I’ll just take a groom.” She watched Edmund step in and await her father fetching his jacket. “Where is Jo?”
“Still abed. She was out till dawn.” The Marquis headed up the stairs.
Her black gloves on, the butler discreetly moving into the other room, Alex eyed Edmund who stood with hands behind his back, appearing at ease but burning her with his gaze.
“Enjoy your day.”
He nodded, his gaze roaming her face. “You’ve an invite to the Netherlands ball?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“I’ll collect you for it at nine.”
She arched her brow and opened her mouth, but her father was coming back down.
Alex let herself out, and left for the park with her groom. It was not a very good idea. It was not what she expected. If Edmund took her to a ball, there would be talk—oh, certainly, there would be talk.
She spent her ride absent minded and returned home to find the note that Auvary left. He explained it was some problem on the estate—no more than two days absence. She bloody hoped so, because without him in the picture, she would be tempted to seduce Edmund again.
Chapter Five
Getting ready for the ball had Alex so tense and nervous, she hardly said a word as the two maids helped her dress. The ball gown—the only one she had ordered that was delivered, was an ivory satin. The pleats of material at the sleeveless shoulders crisscrossed her bodice and to the back, falling in a fan of pleats to the floor. The main skirt had the same tiny pleats, and showed an underskirt at the hem. The deep bosom and pleated bodice required simpler Jewelry. Alex wore a drop ruby that matched the ones in her ears.
Piles of curls on her head, delicate longer ones around her face and nape, she watched the maid place pins with glittering tips amid them. Her mind was still reeling that Edmund De Forrest was going to escort her. Under the gown, she wore only a pair of sheer white stockings. Her pumps were ivory satin with ruby bows.
Oh yes, part of her was saint, part very wicked.
“There now. You can stand.”
Alex stood, having her lips salved with pink tint, lashes darkened, and a bit of blush on her cheeks. The cape she slid on was ruby under ivory lace. It had long slits at the arms, and hooked at the throat with a gold latch. Her fingerless gloves were fitted on. The final touch, a small ruby ring her father had bought for her.
“You can breathe now, malady.”
Alex glanced at Molly and smiled dryly. “I was holding my breath, wasn’t I?”
“It’s only natural. You look beautiful.”
Alex needed to hear that. She left the chamber and held up her hem going down the stairs, the soft curls floating and teasing her face, the cape hem gliding along a step behind. She was careful in her heeled pumps.
The butler answered the door when she was but three steps from the bottom. Edmund stepped in and glanced up, his whole body seeming to freeze, as she stood poised on the stairs.
Alex’s heart was racing out of her chest. He looked so bloody good. He carried white gloves and had a formal cloak over his arms, his silken black hair shone, framing his sensual face. The amber silk of the cravat he wore enhanced his tawny eyes. He wore a black jacket, thigh length, and open to show a brocade and silk vest with gold embroider, a white silk shirt, and snug black trousers, high polished boots.
Her gaze went from those boots up his long legs with material so snug over them she could see his thigh muscles. Up over that vest which she knew covered a ridged and taut torso, and up to a mouth, that could take her apart with one little kiss.
“Good evening,” his tone sounded husky.
She jerked her gaze to his, giving him her hand when he stepped forward that last step to take it. “Evening…” She fought constriction in her throat, wondering if he felt the tremor in her fingers.
In time, he led her out to his crested coach, the footmen assisting them in. they were seated across from each other. Alex endeavored to ignore his slightly parted legs, his size seeming to fill the coach whilst the scent of leather and other manly aromas teased her nostrils.
“This—is a mistake.” She whispered, taking in his visage while he was making no effort to hide he was looking at her.
“Most likely.” Edmund’s nostrils flared slightly as if breathing her perfume in the confined space.
The coach doors could have blown off from the sexual tension.
Alex turned to stare out the window else, she would do nothing but gawk at him the whole time. Breathing through her nose, deep and steady, she wanted to call it off, to spare them both—spare herself because he had obviously asked her impulsively. She really did not understand what he wanted her to think, even if she did understand an attraction that was hard to fight.
Too soon, they were at the Duke’s mansion. There was the distraction from a crush of vehicles and guests everywhere. Seconds after the coach stopped, footmen came for the doors, and she glanced at Edmund. His lashes were half-mast and shielding some intense emotion. The current of heat seemed to crackle hotter between them.
It was going to be utter hell.
One of the liveried servants opened the doors, and then Edmund was out and reaching for her hand, escorting her down. Hand on his arm, she looked over a sea of faces, elaborate gowns, and fancy dressed lords, only a handful of familiar ones, but dozens who had turned before filing through the entry—regarding herself and the earl with a raised brow or sniff.
Her head barely reaching his shoulder, Alex could not see as much as Edmund once they were amid the crush, going through the door and into the foyer. Her hand felt the flex of his hard muscles as they were announced—and despite a roar of voices, music, and noise, Alex would swear that it all hushed those few moments he led her down the entry stairs of the grand ballroom
The receiving line saw her curtsying and receiving a few cuts. She observed Edmund stiffen ahead of her, but simply wanted to get through it because she really did think it was a mistake to let him escort her.
“Wait here.” Having made their way to a spot off from the main dancing, Edmund went to fetch champagne.
Alex watched him walk toward the tables. His graceful stride would be impossible for most in such a crush. Still, she saw heads turning from him to herself, and cape given up at the door; she clasped her hands lightly and kept her face impassive, chanting mistake, mistake, mistake, in her head.
<
br /> Speaking of blank—when Edmund returned and handed her the glass, she got a quick look at his face before he took his place beside her with his own drink. He had that cold and aloof expression on. Even as they sipped and people came by, spoke to him, nodded to her, he did not relax it.
They were early as balls go. She was still looking for familiar faces of her father’s friends while the crowd grew. The room was sweltering with body heat and scent, the flowers in massive vases mingled amid it. Alex remembered the downside of being invited to the “not to be missed” balls. These gatherings left little room to move.
An hour advanced, of people going back and forth, Many Edmund made introductions to herself, .Alex would never recall the titles and names. She read their expressions clear enough. A hand full were polite, even friendly, but most of those high in the instep were clearly nothing more but curious to get a look at, or speak to her, and then swiftly ignore her to gush at Edmund.
Alex snorted at their dismissal. She gained a tiny bit of satisfaction that it sounded as if Edmund spoke most his words through gritted teeth, too.
If they mattered any at all in her real life, Alex may have been hurt. As it was, she simply tolerated it. Unlike Edmund, she would not be invited to these upper crust gatherings normally. It was not something she aspired to either, because neither were some of her father’s friends and their staunch supporters, amid the higher circles.
Ultimately, the dancing was in full swing. Alex breathed a full breath, watching the partners and an ocean of white dressed “heiress” debs, getting their dance cards filled.
Her first champagne gone, she was on her second when Edmund’s arm brushing hers made her glance up.
“Dance with me?”
“Yes.”
He handed their glasses off. Her legs were less than steady as they joined the lines. Heated and flushed, she went through the steps, aware of whispers rising and eyes upon them, having to jerk herself out of a trance of gazing at him—aware too, that the sinew on his cheeks tightened as he kept that remote mask in place.