Wholly incorrigible.
He’d laughed when she wrote no in strawberry preserves with her finger, then he had the audacity to lick her fingertip clean.
She’d nearly slithered onto the floor and would have made a cake of herself, if the waiter hadn’t brought fresh scones to their table a moment later.
At her insistence, Lucan danced with eligible damsels at each ball they attended, but as became his habit, he claimed two dances from her, including the supper waltz each time. As a result of his expert tutelage on the dance floor, she’d become passably good at keeping off his toes.
Over the weeks, they’d slipped into a comfortable companionship and become the greatest of friends. Lucan knew more about her life as a gypsy and her concerns about her present situation than Katrina or Seonaid. With him, she talked freely about almost anything.
“Hmm.” Katrina flipped over once more, and hands in the air, spread her fingers. “Three weeks of daily excursions to Hyde Park—even in the rain and sleet. Two theater performances, one opera, a day spent at Bullock’s Museum.” She wiggled four fingers before continuing her catalog. “Four balls, a musicale—”
“Don’t forget dinner here thrice, a visit to Gypsy Hill, two card parties, and several heather bouquets,” Seonaid said with a saucy wink.
Has it been really been that many?
Alexa shook her gloved finger at them. “Hush, you two. I’ve told you before, nothing can come of it, and honestly, I do not want to be a duchess. I’ve tolerated the public excursions because of your presence and his. In case you hadn’t noticed, la beau monde hasn’t exactly embraced me.”
With Lucan at her side, she’d met the ton’s scorn head on. True to his word, his friends rallied around her and buffered her from the worst of the ton’s reproof, yet snubs and rebuffs continued out of his view.
Although grateful for their support, she’d determined the time to depart was nigh. Within a fortnight, she’d leave London and wouldn’t return. “Have you forgotten I’m planning to leave, as soon as my funds are transferred?”
Her monies hadn’t been deposited yet, something to do with auditing the trust transactions for the past two decades having taken longer than Mr. Ponsby anticipated. He’d discovered Harrison and Minerva had accumulated a formidable amount of debt and his ailing partner had allowed them to borrow against Shona’s trust. It appeared they’d tampered with hers as well.
Irritation raised sharp little claws and scratched a path of annoyance along Alexa’s nerves upon learning that disagreeable news. Given Harrison’s seedy character, the revelation didn’t astound her.
“Well,” Katrina drew circle-eights atop the counterpane, “you haven’t managed to dissuade the duke from pursuing you with your protestations, have you?”
Big mistake, telling her pert cousin that tidbit.
Katrina slid Alexa a sly glance before grabbing a pillow and stuffing it beneath her head. “Do you think he’ll ask you to marry him again today?”
Undoubtedly.
Which was one reason Alexa had decided to leave. Lucan wouldn’t seriously seek a wife with her about, which meant breaking his word to his mother. Not something a man of his caliber took lightly.
The other motivation to move ahead with her life had resulted from Shona unexpectedly receiving the Lord of Parliament title the day before yesterday.
Calling her to his study, Uncle Hugo gently informed Alexa of the committee’s decision. Although unexpected, and the ruling had incensed her aunt and uncle, Alexa’s initial reaction was profound relief.
Except for when their paths crossed at social events, she purposely hadn’t sought her stepmother or sister since the day of Mr. Ponsby’s visit. Minerva, nevertheless, persistently tried to see Alexa.
She and Harrison called twice the first week, but after Aunt Bridget’s frosty reception and Alexa’s non-appearance in the drawing room, Minerva resorted to sending Alexa invitations to call almost daily. When those efforts proved unsuccessful, she persuaded Shona to pen a few as well.
Alexa didn’t intend to be unkind or uncongenial, but she dreaded Harrison’s company to such an extent, she avoided the others as well. Truth to tell, after learning her father worried about their safety, Alexa didn’t trust Minerva either.
Perhaps the letter from him would clarify his concerns, if she unearthed its whereabouts.
“You’re sure you didn’t spot an unopened letter near the tea tray in the salon the day Mr. Ponsby came? Steafan wrote it to me and neither Auntie nor Uncle has seen it. I saw the solicitor lay it on the table, but as you know, I left the room in quite a dither and forgot about it until the next day.”
“No,” Katrina shook her head, “but things were chaotic when Shona and I entered. Perhaps a servant misplaced it. Have you asked the housekeeper or butler?”
“Yes, both, and I searched the room myself, including beneath the cushions and settees.”
Alexa closed her eyes for a moment, picturing the salon. Harrison sat at that end of the settee. Had the cur pocketed the note? Alexa wouldn’t put it past him.
Before she returned to Scotland to seek her father, purchase a modest cottage, and attempt to set a new course for her life, she intended to bid Shona farewell and wish her success in her new position. The life of a peeress suited Shona better. She’d do well as Lady Atterberry, and hopefully, she’d attract the interest of more suitable beaux than Renishaw and make a proper match.
The dreaded visit to confront Harrison about the letter must be scheduled. Alexa would drag Aunt Bridget or Katrina with her to ask the snake if he’d helped himself to her letter, not that he could form a truthful word with his forked tongue.
After one more meeting with Mr. Ponsby to receive her funds, she would be off. She had to wait until November fifteenth when he returned from Edinburgh, or she would have departed sooner. Each day she spent with Lucan, it became more difficult to contemplate leaving. But depart she must, for both their sakes.
She scrunched her nose. Where did she put her reticule? A person needed an extra hand to tote the paraphernalia a gentlewoman required for an outing.
“Why don’t you want to marry the Duke of Harcourt, Alexa?” Echoing the question the dowager hollered at the theater, Seonaid leaned her chestnut head against the floral damask chair’s high back.
Alexa thought back to that night and wanted to groan. Thank God the orchestra had launched into the overture, preventing Alexa from having to answer Lady Middleton. Nonetheless, she’d been keenly aware of the looks directed in her and Lucan’s way, many speculative, a few envious, plus a passel of outraged scowls.
She met Seonaid’s inquisitive, yet kind, gaze. Alexa might as well share the truth. Seonaid doubtlessly knew it already. Having a friend with the second sight made it devilishly hard to keep secrets.
“The duke needs a refined wife, one who knows how to assume the role of a duchess, not an awkward Highlander who’d rather wade barefoot in streams.”
Within the tedious constraints of propriety—a noblewoman’s tightly laced emotional corset—Alexa would shrivel and die from boredom. “And besides, I cannot be sure his persistence isn’t only because he finds me less objectionable than the other candidates, not from a great desire for me personally. Socially, we’re worlds apart, and I fear, in the end, we’d despise one another, or at the very least, our resentment would lead to avoidance.”
Ah, there’s my reticule.
She scooped the bag from beneath a discarded fichu.
Far worse to have disappointment and disillusionment ferment for years until affection turned to bitter antagonism, or worse, indifference, than to depart with a marginally cracked heart. The latter she might eventually recover from, but the former, well, she’d bear that scar for a lifetime.
“It’s not such a difficult thing to overcome,
Alexa. You’re intelligent and can readily learn what is required of a duchess. His grace seems a patient, undemanding man.” Katrina turned onto her side and propped her head with her palm. She pointed at Alexa. “Forgive me, my dear, but in my opinion, it’s a pathetically feeble excuse, and you are not a coward.”
“She’s right, you know. You’re conceding defeat before you’ve tried. I’m rather surprised, given your resilient nature.” An indirect challenge tinged Seonaid’s words.
“What about love?” Alexa rested her hip against her dressing table and toyed with a silver-overlaid perfume bottle. She searched their faces before returning to fidget with the bottle. “Your parents love each other, and my Scottish parents do, too. Would you marry someone who needs to procure a wife in a rush to satisfy a vow, but who doesn’t love you?”
Rounded, solemn gazes and grave silence met her question.
“I thought not.” She replaced the bottle atop the table. “I don’t wish to either, even if his reasons are honorable and unselfish.”
Katrina sat up, concern replacing her giddiness. She cast Seonaid a desperate look. “Alexa, I hoped . . . What I mean to say is, I thought by you marrying his grace some of the sting from . . .”
Seonaid cocked her head, her eyes warm with empathy. “What are your plans now that Shona is Lady Atterberry?”
Lucan patted his pocket as he descended from his coach in front of the Needhams’ manor and inhaled a calming breath. Another couple of weeks and Achilles ought to be fully mended. Silly, how much he missed his horse.
Did Alexa ride? Astride maybe, but sidesaddle? No, he’d bet Prinny’s tubby toes she didn’t, and knowing her, she wouldn’t want to learn, though she’d been eager to learn to drive a team.
The weather had conspired against him, and he couldn’t use his landau with its convertible top anymore, though ensconced in a carriage with her at his side didn’t cause the usual phobic reaction.
Lucan rehearsed, again, how he intended to propose to Alexa today. Yes, she’d refused him each previous time, but last evening as he brooded before a crackling fire in his study, pondering her reluctance, an epiphany rocked him.
Prepared this time with a ring in his pocket—straight from the jeweler’s, as a matter of fact—and armed with what Bretheridge and Warrick assured him women wanted to hear, he intended to finally win her consent.
Over the past weeks, his fascination and admiration—and yes, his lust—evolved into the most intense, confusing, wholly mind-altering emotion he’d ever experienced.
Love. He loved Alexa.
Loved her enough to appoint a proxy to vote for him in Parliament and bustle her to the country if she despised living in Town. Devil it, after Mother died, they’d move to Scotland if Alexa couldn’t abide Chattsworth Park House.
Another surprise awaited her too, which was why he decided they’d forgo their usual jaunt through Hyde Park—too bitterly cold to toddle about outdoors today, in any event. Frost covered the ground, and the boldest streak of sunlight couldn’t penetrate the dense cloud cover. Still, the oppressive elements couldn’t damper his jovial mood.
A half past seven this morning, pounding at the door had interrupted Lucan’s morning coffee.
Darley brought welcome news.
Bellary had saved Lucan the inconvenience of ruining Renishaw by putting a lead ball in the cawker at dawn. As Bretheridge had predicted, Bellary grew impatient waiting for his monies, and had challenged the viscount to a duel.
In typical cowardly fashion, Renishaw fired early, nicking Bellary’s shoulder. Bellary’s aim hit home and dropped Renishaw in his tracks. Now Lucan would never know if the viscount was responsible for the factory fire.
Nevertheless, relief for Jeremy and Alexa filled him. The one morsel of empathy he mustered existed for the Dowager Viscountess Renishaw. She’d lost her sons in duels, and with no other children, was at the new heir’s mercy. Lucan prayed the next Viscount Renishaw possessed a modicum of decency his predecessors had lacked.
Whistling, he dashed up the Needhams’ steps, his weighty navy blue greatcoat flapping about his ankles. The door swung open before he lifted the knocker.
“Good morning, Lucan,” Alexa fairly chirped.
The door frame swallowed her petite form as she stood inside, grinning. Bundled in a scarlet coat trimmed in ermine, her hair was tucked into a matching hat, except for a few silky, ebony curls at her temples. That adorable beauty mark beside her plump lips taunted, daring him to press his lips against the enticing speck.
Eyes sparkling, she shoved a hand into a fur muff. Had she watched for him at the window?
The knowledge further ignited the warmth in his heart. Despite her adamant refusals to marry him, she anticipated their excursions as much as he.
“Good morning, Kitten. Are you ready?” He perused the empty entry. “Is Bindy accompanying us again today?”
“No, she has a fierce cold, poor dear.” Alexa looped her reticule onto her wrist. “Jules is coming instead. He’ll ride above with the driver, else you two long shanks will knock knees the entire time.”
Not the most appropriate of places for proper chaperonage. No matter. Lucan’s house lay but a half dozen blocks away. “I have a surprise for you. Two, actually.”
Tossing him a saucy smile, she slipped past. “Oh? What kind of a surprise?”
She clambered into the carriage.
The footman exchanged a bemused look with him, and Lucan notched a shoulder. “She’s an independent little thing, isn’t she?”
“Indeed, sir, she is.” Jules grinned as he shut the door behind Lucan.
Once settled, Lucan draped a thick lap robe across their knees. “Renishaw died in a duel this morning.”
Poorly done. You might have warned her instead of blurting the news.
Fidgeting with her reticule’s satin straps, Alexa remained silent for an extended moment. “I cannot rejoice in his death, for I know it grieves his family, but I’m grateful he won’t harass me any longer.”
Her inflection, and the disconcerted glint in her eye, revealed Renishaw’s death shook her, despite him having been her nemesis.
The dismal skies outside dimmed the carriage’s interior. “We don’t usually have such severe frost this early.”
“Aren’t we beyond discussing the weather, Your Grace?” Shivering, Alexa laughed, the sultry, tantalizing sound driving him mad with lustful musings.
God, he loved her laugh. Loved to make her smile and giggle, and adored the impish glint in her lilac eyes. Lucan chuckled and took her gloved hand in his. “Way beyond, and we’re also far beyond the ‘Your Grace’ silliness too.”
She stared at their entwined fingers for a moment before burrowing closer to his side. “I’m leaving London.”
Chapter 25
“Leaving? For how long?”
Lucan’s heart skipped a beat, or perhaps the carriage lurching forward as they left the curb launched the organ to his throat. He’d gulped twice before managing to form a coherent sound.
Alexa slid him an unreadable glance, the gold shards in her eyes glittering. “Forever, Lucan.”
Her face blurred, and he blinked away stinging moisture.
She might as well have ripped his heart from his chest and pitched it underneath the horses’ tramping hooves. Tiny black spots wavered before his eyes, and a cold sweat engulfed him as the carriage’s sides shuddered and gradually closed in, suffocating him.
Breathe.
You’re fine.
Look at Alexa.
He forced his gaze to her eyes and gulped air into his lungs. “Why?”
He’d waited too long to tell her he loved her.
Her bowed mouth bent downward, she rested her head against his shoulder as if she couldn’t bear to look at him.
“Because, you will never seriously seek a wife as long as I remain here, and I cannot marry you. I’ve been selfish these past days.” She wiggled the fingers he held encased in his hand. “I am being selfish even now, but it’s unfair to you. The longer I stay, the less time you have to find a bride and honor your promise to your mother.”
Lucan grasped her chin, gently turning her face to his. He searched her eyes. Shadowed with turmoil, they appeared almost black. “I want no other, will wed no other, even if it means breaking my word. Even if it means my title passes to my wastrel cousin.”
Something between a sigh and a sob escaped her, and she raised torment-laden eyes to his. “Oh, Lucan. You cannot make such a sacrifice.”
“Of course I can. I shall, if it means you’ll marry me.” He would. In a blink. He couldn’t contemplate enduring the remainder of his days without seeing her, or worse yet, seeing her occasionally and knowing she’d never be his.
She angled her head away and presented her profile. “If I thought I could make you proud, perform the duties of a duchess with a modicum of success, I’d be sorely tempted. Though, if I’m honest, Lucan, the notion terrifies me. I’d commit gaffs and faux pas, bring ridicule and shame upon you and the duchy.”
“I do not care. Run naked through Almack’s Assembly Rooms or turn cartwheels and expose your stockings at Vauxhall Gardens. I shall do both with you.” Lucan kissed the top of her head, the ermine tickling his nose.
“Preposterous. Imagine what Lady Jersey or Countess Esterházy would say.” She gave a watery chuckle before her countenance became grave once more.
“You need to be serious, Lucan. We both know you and your friends’ influence contributed to my acceptance these past weeks. Even then, the reception has been scant more than stilted politeness to my face and disparaging me behind my back.”
Heartbreak and Honor Page 22