by Gayle Callen
She thought again of the poem he’d created so quickly. She wanted to giggle—she wanted to sigh at such talent being lost on a man who could not appreciate it except for its ability to seduce women.
Clifford had known the true beauty of poetry. Clifford had never abused its power.
But Emmeline had been forced to send him away.
Chapter 7
Three days later, Alex stood before the entrance to the grand London home of the Marquess of Kent. Columns rose high above him, and carved stone flanked the massive doors. Tall windows let in the light.
He had to court Blythe for a kiss, which meant visiting her.
Then why did his evening with Emmeline spring immediately to mind?
He could admit to curiosity. He wanted to face her in the light of day, and see if her customary serenity could be upset by memories of their time together.
Or did he mock himself? Was it he who wanted to forget the sensations he’d felt as he held her lush body? He remembered the brief taste of her flesh, the brush of her hair against his skin. Such simple things with other women—but downright erotic with Emmeline.
He lifted the doorknocker and let it fall. The door opened immediately, as if the liveried manservant’s only duty was to welcome guests.
“I have come to call on Lady Blythe. Is she at home?”
The servant bowed as Alex stepped in. Stone walls rose high above him, covered with paintings and tapestries, and clean rushes were strewn across the floor.
“Might I ask your name, my lord?”
“Sir Alexander Thornton.”
“Please wait in the front parlor while I inquire, my lord.”
While Alex was seated on the low-backed settle, Lord Kent entered the front hall, where two servants adjusted his cloak and handed him his hat. He stared into the parlor at Alex, who promptly rose to his feet and gave his best court bow.
“You are—?” said Lord Kent brusquely.
“Sir Alexander Thornton, my lord.”
“You are here to see Blythe?”
Why was Blythe the immediate assumption? “Yes, my lord.”
Kent sent one of the servants away with a message for Blythe. Then he leaned forward on his decorative cane, but still did not enter the room. “Your father was Viscount Thornton?”
“He was.”
“A good man.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“I hope your brother can do half as well. A pity he’s married.”
Alex felt the heat of anger rise in his face, but before he could decide on the best retort, Emmeline appeared at her father’s side and peered into the parlor.
Her eyes widened, and Alex thought that she paled a bit, as if she feared he was discussing her with her father. He calmed himself and managed a bow in her direction.
“Lady Emmeline.”
As she looked back and forth between the two of them, Lord Kent gave his elder daughter a nod as if she were a servant.
“Keep Thornton company until Blythe arrives. Mind you, he’s not to stay long. Lord Seabrook has asked to attend your sister today.”
Of course Lord Seabrook, the heir to a duchy, would be a far more fitting suitor than a mere knight, Alex thought with disdain.
The marquess left the mansion, followed by a trail of servants. A moment later, Alex and Emmeline were alone, though still in two separate rooms. She looked at the front door for a moment, but Alex saw not even wistfulness cross her features. She controlled every emotion—or thought she did. He began to wonder if only he could bring out her impulsiveness.
He was no longer shocked that her father used her to amuse her sister’s suitor; instead, he would take advantage of it. She was not wearing a ruff about her neck, and he could see the long line of her throat, the delicate width of her shoulders, the creamy skin that disappeared into the square neckline of her tan gown. Serviceable, plain garments, but they framed her uncovered auburn hair like a jewel.
“My lady.”
Emmeline barely controlled a shiver at the deep, smooth tone of Alex’s voice. She could not imagine what it would be like to be the sole recipient of his attention, to be the constant focus of a gaze so direct, so dark with a secret knowledge she didn’t possess.
She was tempted to leave him alone—especially after their evening together three nights before—but she could not be so rude. She had to sit with him like an elderly aunt, because her father had ordered it.
Lifting her chin, she entered the parlor and walked toward Alex. He had remained standing, and a shaft of sunlight from the high mullioned windows seemed to glow about him, reflecting off the shining emerald satins and brocades of his garments.
And then he smiled at her, and his teeth flashed like the diamond dangling from his ear. It was a knowing, secretive smile, and she knew that her blush must rival the hue of her hair.
She sat down opposite him on a cushioned bench before the hearth. “Good day, Sir Alexander.”
He shook his head as he settled his long arm on the back of the wooden settle. “I thought we had settled that issue. Call me Alex.”
“’Twould be highly improper, sir.” Goodness, now she even sounded like an elderly aunt!
“Improper? Nothing is improper between two friends. You did save my life the other night.”
“Save your life?” she repeated.
“Of course. Had you not used your own body to shove me into that stall, your father might very well have fed me to the swans.”
She controlled the smile that threatened to erupt. “Come, sir, my father is not a barbarian. He would have understood my explanations.”
“Would he? His daughter, out alone with a man?”
His deep voice and wicked eyes made her wonder what could happen out alone with him—not that she wanted to find out.
The truly sad thing was that her father would have been angry with her, not with Alex. Though her father had allowed her education, and trusted her judgment just as well as the steward of his estates, her judgment with men was ever faulty in her father’s eyes. Not that she’d had much chance to test his theory.
Just then, Blythe stepped into the room, and Emmeline could only smile her fondness at her radiant sister, who glittered in white and silver like a ray of moonlight. And she knew just what Blythe was thinking—Sir Alexander and Lord Seabrook were both coming to visit her. Two flirtations in one day, for a girl new to having a man’s attention, was a heady thing. Emmeline was happy for her—but she felt a flash of guilt as Alex kissed the back of Blythe’s hand. Her guilt would never leave her, for she could not tell her sister the truth—that she’d felt something when Alex had touched her, that his tongue on her palm burned her, that his chest pressed to hers made her ache in places she’d never imagined.
Was he even now making Blythe feel the same things?
Emmeline turned to go sit in a corner of the room to work on her embroidery, when Alex said, “Lady Emmeline, come, do not sit alone. What more could a man want than the attention of two such lovely sisters?”
Blythe smiled. “Surely you can work here with us, by the warmth of the fire.”
With a nod, Emmeline sat down on a stool near her sister, then dropped her gaze to the canvas in her lap. There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment, but soon Alex’s ready voice relaxed her.
“Lady Blythe, I enjoyed dancing with you, very much. Whoever tutored you was clearly the best in London.”
Emmeline gripped the canvas, waiting.
Blythe giggled. “I already told you, Alex, ’twas my sister, because she teaches me everything.”
Emmeline could not stop her gaze from rising to Alex. He was watching her quietly, an amused smile lifting his generous lips. His eyes roamed down from her face, and it was as if he spoke, telling her he would dance with her soon. She shivered.
Why were her thoughts so fanciful? she wondered wildly, as she looked back at her canvas. She would never dance with him. No man asked her anymore, not in years. It was as if they had all suddenly decided
at one particular party that she was unworthy. She remembered it as if it were yesterday, the humiliation and loneliness. She’d never known why, and always wondered if they’d heard about Clifford.
“Your sister must be an excellent dancer,” Alex said, and she could hear the amusement and promise in his voice.
Emmeline was mortified at his flirting, and wished desperately that he would not do so in front of Blythe. But her sister began to ask Alex about his friends, his travels, and the conversation moved on to safer topics.
Safer in one way, perhaps. Her curiosity about him was dangerous, yet she could not stop listening. Though he told Blythe many amusing stories about the people who moved through his life, Emmeline could tell instinctively that he had only Edmund Blackwell for a true friend. Why? Alex was so amusing and interesting, and even kind in his own way. He’d defended her figure, she remembered with a blush, making her aunt’s comments about her lack of beauty seem petty rather than hurtful.
“You have a brother, too, don’t you?” Blythe asked.
Perhaps only Emmeline sensed the sudden tension in the room. She looked up to find Alex regarding her sister almost warily. If she were Blythe, she would move on to another subject.
“Your brother?” Blythe prodded.
“Yes, my brother Spencer became the viscount after our father died.”
Blythe gave the smallest frown, as if she expected more. “And…?”
Emmeline wanted to poke her sister, but that would have been too obvious. Instead she bit her lip and watched Alex from beneath her brows.
“And?” he echoed softly.
“Are you not twins?”
“Yes.” He leaned forward, piercing Blythe with his gaze.
Emmeline held her breath, fascinated despite herself. Why was he so upset, but trying not to show it?
“Identical twins?”
“Yes.”
Emmeline almost gaped as she imagined another man looking exactly like him. She couldn’t summon indignation when Blythe merrily continued her inquisition.
“How fascinating, Alex! Are you so alike that you were able to fool people when you were younger?”
Now his smile had the slightest twinge of bitterness. “Yes.”
He stood up, towering over the sisters. “Lady Blythe, surely I am a dull conversation piece compared to yourself.”
And without Blythe even knowing she’d been manipulated, Alex started to ask questions about her interests.
But Emmeline was more curious than ever, and she could not help narrowing her eyes as she watched him.
At the sound of creaking wood, Alex came abruptly awake. He lay in his bed above the tavern, knowing it was the middle of the night by the absolute silence below. He wiped a hand over his face, feeling dull-witted from an evening spent drinking and gambling. Still, there was an edge of tension, something that felt wrong.
Just when he turned to see if the fire had gone out, he heard a rustle of garments. He quickly came up on his elbows, then immediately rolled off the bed onto the floor. By the dim firelight, he saw that two men were attacking him. They tried to grab for his arms, and Alex punched one in the face, then reached for his sword, propped next to the bed. With a triumphant yell, he scrambled to his feet and faced them with his blade, only to find the door wide open and his assailants gone.
He ran into the torchlit corridor and down the stairs into the taproom, but they’d had too much of a lead. He lowered his sword, then closed the outer door. He heard a stirring behind him, and whirled with his blade aloft, but it was only Viv, the tavern maid, lifting her head from her pallet before the hearth.
She gave him a dreamy smile and pushed herself to a sitting position. “Milord, I knew ye’d change yer mind. And ye don’t need a sword to make me come with ye.”
As he lowered his weapon, he suddenly realized why she had gotten the wrong idea. In his haste, he’d neglected to don his clothing.
He grinned at her. “Sorry, Viv, but I’m not needing companionship this night.”
She looked down his body in puzzlement, then shrugged and burrowed back under her blanket.
Alex ducked into Edmund’s chamber, but his bed hadn’t been slept in. He must have found his own companionship for the night.
Alex knew he couldn’t sleep now, so he went back to his room to dress. He wondered if these were the same two men who’d attacked him a fortnight before. He hadn’t seen their faces clearly, but he’d wager that it had been them. As he buttoned up his doublet, he glanced to the table beside his bed, then cursed.
His pouch of coins was gone.
Alex searched the floor, beneath the bed, even in his trunk. The small stash of sovereigns he kept hidden was still there, but growing ever smaller. He’d patronized almost every moneylender in London, and his credit was fast running out. Soon it would mean a journey to his Cumberland estate for more money, something he’d been avoiding. The trip was long, arduous, and boring. The last couple weeks, life had become more interesting because of the Prescott sisters—and not just Blythe alone. He would have to make do for a while on the money he had left.
And he would somehow have to find out why these men were his enemies. Summoning a justice of the peace would be useless, because there were no witnesses, and the thieves had already fled.
But they’d be back, and he would be ready for them.
Two days passed as Alex concentrated on finding his enemies. He looked over his shoulder constantly, and found himself awakening at the sound of every rat scurrying behind the walls.
Finally he realized that he was ignoring Blythe and allowing Edmund free reign in their wager. He would merely wait for his enemies to show themselves again. Meanwhile, he had to find a way to be alone with Blythe, without spending much pocket money.
Lady Morley gave him the perfect opportunity by inviting him to an outdoor party being held at her country home the next afternoon. He well knew Lady Morley’s reasons for inviting him: she had a marriageable daughter, and her other suitors would look better beside him and whatever scandalous behavior he could create for her guests.
He could start the first small scandal by inviting guests of his own: the Prescott sisters. Oh, he would try to invite only Blythe. But if Emmeline found out, she would also come; he was counting on that. She was much more amusing than her sister. He hired a boy to take an invitation to Blythe, then sat back and waited for curiosity to do its work.
When Emmeline heard about the invitation from Alex, she could only fume. Could he possibly have known her schedule? It was the one afternoon a week when the council on exploration met at Whitehall, and she so enjoyed observing their meetings.
Worse yet, the fine weather had yet to ripen, and they would freeze!
Blythe kept insisting that a few maidservants were all she needed to accompany her, but Emmeline knew Alex could outwit any of them with a wink of his eye and a slow grin. No, she would have to attend this silly gathering, for she could not dissuade Blythe, who thought it perfectly wonderful to be invited somewhere by a man.
Emmeline told herself she was not averse to the outing because of Alex himself. She knew she could control her proclivity to watch him; she would pretend she didn’t feel…unsettled when he was too near.
Yet when she stood in the arched doorway of her home and watched him ride his black gelding toward them, her breath caught, and her heart began a strange rhythm. Under the bright blue sky of an unusually warm spring day, he was so handsome in a sleeveless leather jerkin over a brilliant white shirt. His breeches were striped red and black, and he wore high black leather boots up to his knees. Why did she imagine that he smiled at her before he looked at Blythe?
Emmeline turned away and mounted her own horse sidesaddle. Then she allowed Blythe to ride in the lead at Alex’s side, while she rode behind with their groomsman. The roads were not so heavily traveled on the outskirts of London, where farmers’ fields still competed with the building of mansions along the Thames. Soon the houses were few, and they
even rode past a village green with a duck pond in the center.
She tried to enjoy the lovely day and the serenity of the ride, but she kept straining to hear what Alex and Blythe were discussing. She only caught occasional words, while she watched his broad gestures and the uninhibited way he laughed. For a moment, she felt absurd and small-minded worrying about Blythe’s future with such a man.
But her sister was an innocent, and who knew what Alex’s true purposes were? He was a scoundrel, as everyone made sure to tell her.
Lady Morley’s home nestled between two small hills in the valley, and was made of a light, pretty stone, with high windows along every wall. It glittered like a jewel in the sun, and Emmeline shaded her eyes to see it better. Alex guided his horse along the gravel path that led to the rear of the estate.
As Emmeline rode up to Blythe’s side, she couldn’t help the little gasp of pleasure that escaped her. It reminded her of her father’s gardens in Kent, which she missed terribly. Lady Morley’s gardens were really a park, with orchards and a kitchen garden in the distance, and ornamental flowers and trees scattered around a fishpond. In the distance more ponds were connected by footbridges. And everywhere a green hue was returning to the earth, and primroses and daffodils gave new color.
It took Emmeline a moment to realize that Alex was speaking to her. With a start, she tore her gaze away from the peaceful garden, and saw that Blythe’s horse was trotting forward as she waved to friends. The groomsman followed her, as Emmeline had instructed him, and she was left behind with Alex.
Chapter 8
Alex was staring at her, and his expression seemed to soften.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said in a low voice.
He wasn’t looking at the garden, which made Emmeline uncomfortable. Bother her face for so easily blushing.
“It is lovely and so peaceful,” she replied cautiously. “It was good of you to invite Blythe. As you can see, she already feels at home here.”
Alex glanced briefly to where small colorful pavilions had been set up to give the ladies shade. But again his gaze returned to her, and there was a moment of silence that seemed too long.