by Janet Kent
“Miss Kinsey, this is Mr. Ian Morrissey. Mr. Morrissey, I have the privilege of presenting you to Miss Alicia Kinsey.” Lady Montgomery paused with a polite smile, but Alicia barely noticed.
A slow, luxurious heat began to spread up her body. Alicia hoped her cheeks weren’t flushed too brightly. Mr. Morrissey’s nostrils flared. The penetrating depths of his gaze held her in thrall and she could feel herself becoming almost lightheaded. She wondered if she was remembering to breathe – she’d certainly forgotten to blink.
Alicia sucked in some air and tried to get a hold of her senses.
“Delighted to meet you,” she breathed. Alicia hadn’t known that men could be so impossibly handsome. Mr. Morrissey’s dark, wavy hair was a shade lighter than his black formal dress, and the muscles that filled out his expertly tailored clothes were impossible to hide. He exuded strength, self-assurance, and undeniable masculinity.
Mr. Morrissey reached out his hand confidently, and her trembling fingers floated up to greet it. As he clasped her palm in his, a tremor traveled up her wrist. Gooseflesh prickled her arms. His eyelids lowered as he noticed the irrepressible reaction. Slowly, he kissed the gloved knuckles. Alicia could feel the trail of heat as he dragged his gaze up her arm, along the line of her neck, and focused on her mouth. Instinctively, she licked her lips. His grip on her fingers tightened.
“Trust me, madam,” he said in a husky whisper. “The pleasure is mine.”
Alicia swallowed and forced her gaze from their joined hands.
“Oh!” cried Lady Montgomery. “The orchestra is starting, and I have promised this set. Until later.” She disappeared into the crowd.
Mr. Morrissey released her hand, but his attention remained riveted on Alicia’s face. “If you have this dance free, would you allow me the honor?”
Sweet lord. Alicia would allow him the honor of the rest of her life, if only he would – oh, for heaven’s sake. Louis pranced straight toward them.
“I would love to. Just a moment, let me tell–” Alicia jumped as viselike fingers wrapped around her upper arm and squeezed.
Louis gripped her arm and dragged her a few feet away from Mr. Morrissey before he whipped her around to face him. Spit flew as he hissed in her face.
“This will be the only time I reprimand you privately, Alicia. Most men would not deign to do so. You’re lucky I am an exemplary man.”
Alicia squinted, trying not to betray her revulsion.
“Don’t pull faces, cousin. You ruined my cravat,” Louis stage-whispered, still gripping her arm. “It cannot be fixed without starting over. I should never have listened to a word you said, and I shall not make that mistake again.”
Alicia glanced over his shoulder at Mr. Morrissey’s concerned expression. “Louis, we are being watched. I was about to dance with–”
“Oh, of course, of course, dancing is far more important than my cravat!” Louis shrilled.
Before she formulated an appropriate retort, Louis tugged her back to Mr. Morrissey’s side and relinquished his hold on her arm. “Here,” he huffed. He turned as if to go, then twisted around to face her again for one last parting shot. “Learn to be a better fiancée,” he said with a pout and floated off into the crowd.
Presumably, he disappeared to visit the smoking room, the billiard room, the card room, or the unwanted fiancé-to-be room – whichever space the Montgomerys were more likely to offer. No matter. A lack of Louis corresponded with Alicia’s plans, which centered on taking advantage of the opportunity to make a good impression on this handsome stranger, if Louis had not ruined her chances already.
She smiled apologetically at Mr. Morrissey and gave her arm a surreptitious rub. A bruise would ruin the effect of her new gown, a slender, high-waisted silk with gauzy green skirts and short puffed sleeves. Alicia’s hands shook. She hoped Mr. Morrissey wasn’t rethinking the wisdom of asking her to dance. His eyes were focused on hers again, and her brain no longer functioned.
“Have you permission?” he asked.
Wonderful. He witnessed her cousin’s tantrum and now feared she needed to beg his permission to dance. Beg Louis, to whom she might find herself pledged in fourteen days if she were not successful with her current stratagem. Alicia bit her lip. She would be happy when the betrothal problem was solved and behind her, when she could laugh at it someday. Someday, when she got a nursery full of children and a husband who adored her. Somewhere far from Louis.
“I’m sure he doesn’t mind.”
Mr. Morrissey’s brow creased. “I meant only–”
Alicia laughed at herself. “I’m sorry. I just realized.”
How silly. He must think she was the biggest ninny in the world. For once, men’s general belief that women were foolish creatures might play to her advantage. She hoped he didn’t ask her any more questions – it seemed she was incapable of answering the most basic of queries. If she ever met him again, she would be certain to have her head on straight.
Normally, Alicia was very adept at the art of conversation, but after the insanity with Louis, her mind melted with Mr. Morrissey in her sight. He must think her fresh from the schoolroom, as inane as she had been acting. Her brain just wasn’t operating tonight, and Mr. Morrissey was accountable for much of that condition.
“Yes, I have permission for the waltz. Of course that’s what you meant.” Alicia bowed her head, unable to believe what a muck she was making of the situation. “And, yes, I would love to dance.”
Mr. Morrissey extended one strong arm and she rested her hand on his forearm. Alicia could have sworn she could feel the warmth from his palm through her gown and her undergarments, heating the warm skin beneath. The heat in his eyes made her wonder if his palm could also feel the texture of her trembling skin through her clothes.
Alicia reached out one arm and laid her hand on his bicep. He closed his eyes. His arm felt just as powerful as it looked. The taut muscles flexed slightly under her touch, thrilling Alicia with a sense of power. She could affect him just as he affected her. A smile threatened, and she bit her lip.
He fastened his gaze on her mouth. Alicia’s breath caught. He seemed unable to decide whether to focus his hungry stare at her lips or her eyes. Alicia wasn’t sure which she preferred.
The music began in earnest. Her body whirled with his and she needed all her mental faculties just to remember to keep breathing.
###
Light began to streak across the foggy horizon when Ian reached the river. He’d retired not long after the Montgomery’s soirée because he was accustomed to rising with the sun. Dawn was his favorite time of day. Even on the muddy banks of the Thames.
Ian stooped and gathered a handful of stones. He picked through them for a flat one, and with a practiced movement, sent it skipping across the water. The river stank of rubbish and dead fish. He wished he were at Heatherley. His pond at home was beautiful, clear, and clean. He was tired of his west-end townhouse already. But here he was, in London, just as Caspian had hoped.
Ian sent another stone across the water. Four hops.
Stuck here. Not just for the weekend, as he’d hoped. But perhaps for the entire bloody month. And wrapped up in another mission, for the love of God, even though this one was hardly of the same caliber as those during wartime.
Caspian was right. There ought to be a fair investigation before the jewel thief’s victims became too restless and Lord Chadwick found himself at their mercy. An innocent man in trouble. And Chadwick was a father. Alicia Kinsey’s father. Seductive Alicia Kinsey. Just the memory of her touch burning through his clothes made his body-
Ian tossed the remaining stones aside, and knelt to find better ones.
There must be evidence pointing in one direction or the other. Ian owed Caspian his best efforts. He owed Chadwick and his daughter the decency to be thorough and fair, to prevent false charges against an innocent man. And Ian owed a full investigation most of all to his own father, to be absolutely certain before he allowed any man to suffer punishme
nt for a crime he did not commit. His father, however, was a topic he did not wish to contemplate this morning.
Ian rose to his feet with a new handful of stones. Juggling them in his hand, he considered his options.
He’d have to search Chadwick House tonight. If Lord Chadwick was innocent, he must be removed from suspicion, and quickly. He could not allow himself to be sidetracked, just because he had met a member of the family.
Another stone went flying across the river. Five hops.
True, that particular family member was nothing if not stunning. Shining, golden curls that begged to be touched. Expressive hazel eyes gifted with flecks of green and gold, generously surrounded by thick brown lashes. And that body… But scant days remained to make any objections before Caspian captured Lord Chadwick for the theft and subsequent sale of stolen jewels and delivered him to the victims for any punishment they saw fit. He would not be surprised if the accused perished in a duel of honor.
The next stone he threw sank on the first hop.
###
Later that afternoon, Alicia dismissed her maid and went downstairs earlier than usual. Although unlikely that Great-aunt Beatrix awaited her already, since the old woman’s afternoon naps ran to the extreme, Alicia didn’t want to stare at her rose-papered walls a single minute more.
Stiffening her shoulders, Alicia descended the staircase, strode down the hallway, and slipped into the library. A beloved smell greeted her – the pleasant scent of books. Floor to ceiling shelves swept across every wall in the room, and a myriad of volumes of varying sizes squeezed together tightly on each row. Alicia sank into her usual chair and gazed around the warm-hued room. A light rain tapped against the windows.
“Dear?” came a familiar, halting voice.
Alicia’s head snapped up.
A stout, fresh-faced maid led great-aunt Beatrix to the window. Alicia smiled. Her aunt habitually reclined on the wide, wine-colored cushion covering the deep window seat. She loved to look out the window while she listened absently to Alicia’s voice. Already some activity outside the glass absorbed Beatrix fully, presenting Alicia with the back of her aunt’s silver-haired head.
Alicia craned her neck. Ah, a bird. The robin pried a worm from the wet soil and with a flap of its wings, soared into the gray sky. Although not partial to worms herself, Alicia found herself wishing she could fly away with the robin, leaving Louis and Papa behind.
“Good afternoon, Aunt,” Alicia said with a fond smile. Beatrix was the one person in her life with whom she could be herself without fear of ridicule or condescension. Like Alicia’s mother, Aunt Beatrix had always offered unconditional love.
The maid adjusted the woolen shawl covering her aunt’s thin frame and left the room. Great-aunt Beatrix twisted around to face Alicia and graced her with a spirited grin. Not for the first time, Alicia got the distinct impression that much of her aunt’s vagueness was an act put on for Papa’s benefit.
“I brought you something fun,” Beatrix said, bringing from behind her back a medium-sized chalice made of blue glass and a matching dish.
Alicia regarded the object uncertainly. “What is it? A vase set?”
Beatrix chortled. “Vases aren’t fun. It’s a patch stand! When I was your age, men and women of fashion would adorn themselves with patches. Come see.” She chose a small black cloth, dipped a finger in something gooey and smeared the back of the fabric. She pressed her fingers against her face for a long moment before letting go. A tiny heart clung to her cheek.
Alicia gasped and bounced over to the window seat. She settled into the cushion next to her aunt. She reached for a square of cloth and laughed when she pulled up a moon-shaped swatch of black velvet. Aunt Beatrix was right – patches were fun.
She imagined herself coming out at the time that such things were in fashion. Perhaps some elegant gentleman in a powdered wig would have swept her off her feet. Wearing patches was almost like wearing a disguise. How intriguing to go dancing with everyone in wigs and patches!
Alicia’s smile faltered. Although she busied herself with applying various shapes, thoughts of Louis kept intruding. Her best plan would be to find an alternate suitor. However, a limited number of eligible suitors populated town. The Season hadn’t yet begun. Parties were small, and filled with people she had known for years, none of which sparked her interest.
Except, of course, for last night. Every time she closed her eyes, she could feel the pressure of Ian Morrissey’s strong hand on her waist, the sensation of his soft lips through the thin silk gloves covering her knuckles, the shiver that slid across her skin everywhere he touched with those dark blue eyes. She wanted a man like that to fall in love with her.
“I need to marry for love,” Alicia said slowly.
“I should hope so, dear. Follow your heart.” Beatrix stuck a small square on the tip of her nose and crossed her eyes, making Alicia burst into laughter.
Great-aunt Beatrix followed her heart, but her devotion had not turned out as hoped. Perhaps avoiding such sad circumstances explained why most women married for economic, social, or business reasons. Practical reasons. Reasons that didn’t include love.
“No matter what?” Alicia asked, placing a star-shaped patch in the center of her forehead.
“Never, ever give up. Be true to your heart.”
She felt warmed by a renewed bond with her aunt.
Her father, however, was another matter. He had been strict even when Mama still lived with them, and close to tyrannical since she’d been gone. Even so, Alicia continued to obey him in all things – until now. In his mind, her rebellion precipitated an abrupt fall from grace. She doubted any patience or sympathy for her remained.
Beatrix put the patch stand in Alicia’s lap and turned toward the window. She giggled at her reflection and breathed on the glass to watch the steam from her mouth spread and disappear.
By the time Louis was of age, Papa spoke of him with a veneer of contempt. If she could understand Papa’s motivation for enforcing a sudden marriage, perhaps she could provide an alternative solution and avoid wedding Louis altogether.
If Papa still harbored some of his old doubts about Louis, there had to be more to this betrothal than evident at first blush. Perhaps despite his more questionable qualities, Louis was a better judge of antiquities than she gave him credit for. Perhaps he and her father had become friends.
Alicia furrowed her brow in consternation, and the star patch twitched on her forehead.
Perhaps she overlooked some clue, some statement that would shed light on the situation. She fought to recall the conversation with her father without becoming angry anew.
The insults he had given! “More at stake than you, Alicia,” he’d said. As if there could ever be more at stake than the bride and groom in question. “Girls know nothing about business dealings, Alicia,” he’d said. As if collecting antiques constituted a business.
But… he might be involved in other business matters. It would not be unlike Papa to simply want her out of his hair so that he could concentrate on his own concerns. No doubt, Papa thought marrying her to Louis an excellent opportunity.
Alicia pressed her lips together. A marriage of Papa’s convenience happened to be quite inconvenient to her. Proving to Louis she would be an unfit wife seemed a sound strategy.
Beatrix turned from the window and pulled something else from the folds of her skirts. Alicia looked closer and her mouth fell open. Great-aunt Beatrix stared back, calmly chewing the end of a cigar.
“What are you doing?” Alicia gasped.
“Chewing a cheroot,” her aunt responded, her mouth distorted by the brown cigar dangling from thin, chapped lips and her face still speckled with random fashion patches.
“Where on earth did you get a cheroot?” Alicia demanded.
Great-aunt Beatrix removed the offending cigar from her mouth and cast her eyes heavenward. “Chadwick’s office, of course. I’d have got one for you had I known you’d be so intereste
d.”
Alicia gaped. Papa locked his office every time he went out, which meant Beatrix must have snuck in while he was still at home. Perhaps Great-aunt Beatrix was as dotty as her father claimed.
“But why would you want one?”
Beatrix slanted a condescending gaze in her direction. “To see what it was like.”
“Are you going to smoke it?” Alicia asked in horror.
“Of course not,” Beatrix answered. “I want to chew it.”
Alicia felt like a fish deprived of water. Her mouth was moving, but only inarticulate sounds escaped. Secreting cigars from the sanctuary of Papa’s study topped every antic she’d seen her aunt do before.
Beatrix shrugged, dropped the unlit cigar into a dress pocket, and returned her gaze to the window.
On second thought, Beatrix had a wily streak unlike any other. Sometimes, Alicia wished she were more like her unconventional aunt. If Beatrix wanted to chew a cheroot, she chewed a cheroot. By unfocusing her gaze and lolling her head just so, Beatrix could blame almost any indiscretion on eccentricity evoked by her old age. Alicia had seen her get away with exactly that on multiple occasions.
To sneak into her father’s office may have been foolish, yes, but also daring. And to do so undetected… Alicia imagined Beatrix executed this particular maneuver with regularity. It would enrage her father to find out she made a habit of pilfering his possessions. He kept everything in his office. He littered his desk with accounts, ledgers, papers, notes for negotiations… Alicia’s back straightened. Yes, exactly. He kept everything in his office.
If she could find out what dealings prompted the sudden threat of engagement to Louis, she could determine a way out. All she had to do was examine the papers on his desk.
Alicia dreamed she’d marry for love, but today she’d settle for not marrying Louis. If Beatrix could creep in and out without incident, so could she. But what if she were caught? All great-aunt Beatrix had to do was look crazy. Papa might be irritated, but he’d roll his eyes and ring for a maid to return her to her room. Alicia would receive a far worse punishment.