by Olivia Drake
But Violet wasn’t listening. She had glanced at the bow window, where a youngish man in a top hat and brown coat was trudging past. “Oh, no! There’s Frederick now. I must go quickly, else he’ll see you and ask awkward questions. Perhaps I can find an excuse to visit soon so that we might talk further. In the meanwhile, pray do give Lord Copley a chance to redeem himself. I always envied you for the way he looked at you. Good-bye!”
Violet offered a quick hug of farewell and scurried out the door. The overhead bell tinkled, and then she was gone.
Walking slowly across the shop to rejoin Lady Josephine, Laura brooded over her friend’s parting words. Give Alex a chance to redeem himself? Because of the way he’d once looked at her?
Never.
Yet she acknowledged the seductive pull of memory. Deep down, she did crave the pleasure of his touch. The interlude in the barouchet the previous evening had awakened her to that undeniable truth. Nonetheless, it would be wildly imprudent to succumb to the man who had been instrumental in the downfall of both her and her father.
Better she should use Alex for her own purposes.
* * *
“Well, now, this is a rare event,” Roger Burrell said. A toothy grin on his florid face, he started to rise as Alex stepped into the parlor.
“Pray don’t leave your chair,” Alex said with a languid wave of his hand. “Far be it from me to disturb a man at his leisure.”
“Come and join me, then.” Roger plopped back down and propped his booted feet on a side table, ignoring the ottoman only inches away. The action was indicative of the man himself, an untidy bachelor tending toward corpulence, the buttons of his waistcoat straining at his mid-section. A pall of smoke hung in the air from the cigar that dangled from his fingers. It brought to mind the many times he and Alex had puffed on stolen cheroots behind the dormitory at Eton. “Haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays,” Roger went on. “Care for a smoke?”
He pushed a wooden humidor toward Alex, who selected a cigar and brought it to his nose to inhale the fragrance of fine tobacco.
“I daresay it hasn’t been as long as that,” he said, bending down to light the tip at the flame of a candle. “We met at Newmarket only a fortnight ago.”
Roger loosed a bark of laughter that startled the spaniel lying on a cushion by the fireplace. Her soulful eyes flicked back and forth between her master and the four half-grown pups gamboling on the hearth rug. “So we did, by gad. How could I forget? I lost a bundle on the favorite in that last race—while you raked in a fortune.”
“It’s your own fault for not realizing that Tempest was slightly off the pace.”
“Off the pace, bah, ’twas your blasted Copley luck, that’s what. Though I still can’t believe you’d risk such a vast wager on a horse named Long Shot.”
Alex avoided the maze of puppies as he proceeded to a wing chair and sat down. “Not luck at all,” he said coolly, taking a draw and blowing out a smoke ring. “I merely make a habit of observing the horses in the parade ring.”
“Don’t we all, by Jove? Yet no one else but you thought the damn bay could place, let alone win. You’ve the Midas touch, that’s what.”
Alex gave a self-deprecating chuckle as his thoughts flitted to Laura. If only a touch could erase her enmity toward him. Thus far, except for a brief moment in the carriage the other night, he’d been soundly rebuffed. It would take patience to convince her that he was not the evil brute she believed him to be. Patience—and a plan, which was why he’d come here.
“I’ve made my share of blunders,” he said. “A man can only calculate the odds, act accordingly, and hope for the best.”
For a few minutes they discussed the merits of various racehorses, then Roger said in jest, “Speaking of thoroughbreds, Lord Copulate, are you still bedding that French opera singer? What was her name?”
“Bianca, and she was Italian. No, we parted ways some months ago.”
“You cast her off? With that hourglass shape! That bosom!”
“That temper,” Alex countered, reaching down to scoop up a puppy that was trying to latch its teeth onto the tassel of his boot. He scratched the floppy ears, but instead of growing calmer, the bundle of fur batted at his gold watch fob. “Bianca took umbrage at my refusal to shower her with carriages and jewels. Having perfume jars and dirty crockery lobbed at oneself from upper windows can grow tiresome.”
Roger burst out laughing. “The price of pleasure, I suppose.”
“You may take her with my blessing, provided she hasn’t been deported for bad manners.”
“Oh, not I! Too much bother. I prefer ’em tamed to the saddle. In and out with no irksome drama.”
Alex set down the puppy and picked up another that was not so feisty. This one melted happily at his petting, so he let it settle into his lap. “Perhaps you should marry a shy little wallflower, then.”
“What—me?” The cigar stub in Roger’s fingers held a column of ash, which he flicked into an empty glass, narrowly avoiding a stain on the Turkish carpet. “Enjoying my bachelorhood too much. No nagging wife to make me dress for dinner or drag me off to the shops.” He paused to cast a baleful eye at Alex. “What brings this up? I heard you were at Scarborough’s ball the other night, eyeing the flock of nymphs. You’re not considering the leg shackle yourself, are you?”
Alex allowed a slight, mocking smile. It wouldn’t do for anyone to guess just how much his aunt’s new companion occupied his mind. For years he had believed himself recovered from losing Laura. But that illusion had ended upon seeing her in his aunt’s garden. Now he was determined to have her in his bed no matter what the cost. “Not quite yet. Though I will have to wed eventually.”
“Damn bother, being a peer,” Roger said with a pitying shake of his head. “Well, better you than me, old chap. Now what brings you to my humble abode this night? Some devilish scheme on the brain, eh? I recognize that look on your face.”
“Not quite devilish.” Stroking the puppy’s silken coat, Alex gave his friend a keen stare. “However, I do have a favor to ask of you.”
Chapter 12
Laura slid the tufted footstool underneath Lady Josephine’s high bed, pleased to see that it fit perfectly, along with several others. As she twitched the gold-and-blue coverlet back in place, Mrs. Samson came bustling into the bedchamber with an armload of linen towels. The housekeeper paused to take in the scene.
On this gloomy day, with rain pattering on the windows, Lady Josephine reclined on a chaise, leafing through a book of nature drawings. The vast bedchamber with its celestial ceiling had an airier appearance now. A wide swath of floral carpet was visible, for Laura had spent the afternoon rearranging and storing several small pieces of furniture.
Mrs. Samson hastened forward. A sour expression pinched her lips. “What mischief is this, Miss Brown?”
“I’m making space for her ladyship to walk freely,” Laura said, meeting the woman’s snapping dark eyes with a calm stare. “It should be easier for her to maneuver with the cane now.”
Mrs. Samson set down the linens on a chair and stooped to look under the bed. “What are all those items doing there? You can’t be moving things around willy-nilly.” Bypassing Laura, she addressed Lady Josephine. “My lady, do you not wish for the master’s footstool to be kept by the hearth where it’s always been?”
“Why, certainly. It should be ready for dear Charles when he comes home…” Lady Josephine stopped in sad confusion. “But he’s gone, isn’t he?”
Laura went to kneel beside the chaise, rubbing the back of Lady Josephine’s age-spotted hand. Some days were worse than others, and ever since awakening that morning, her ladyship had been in a state of fuzzy bewilderment. For that reason, Laura had instructed the footman to turn away all callers, and she’d canceled plans for her and Lady Josephine to attend a musicale that evening.
“Yes, your husband is indeed gone,” Laura affirmed gently. “But I can assure you, he would not wish for you to trip and fall.
The footstool can be fetched quickly if ever it’s needed.”
Lady Josephine gave her a smile. “You’re such a sweet girl … what did you say your name was, my dear? Norah?”
“Laura, my lady. Now, would you like for me to pour you another cup of tea?”
“That would be most kind.”
Mrs. Samson harrumphed, grabbed the stack of linens, and, after giving Laura a glare, vanished into the dressing room for a moment. She was gone out the door again before Laura had finished filling the teacup and placing it on the table beside the chaise.
Laura had decided not to be bothered by the woman’s enmity. From gossip below stairs, she had learned that the housekeeper had never married, her title of missus having been conferred in honor of her status in the household hierarchy. Mrs. Samson had ruled the staff here for the past five-and-twenty years, so perhaps she needed time to adjust to having her authority challenged. How lonely it must be to have no family, no one to love.
Then Laura was struck by the similarity to her own situation. For ten years, she and Papa had lived quietly with only minimal contact with other people. They’d dared not make friendships for fear of someone discovering Papa’s true identity. Now, at age twenty-eight, she was firmly on the shelf without any prospects.
Would she end up alone and bitter like Mrs. Samson?
Laura refused to let melancholy take root in her. There would be ample time to decide her future once she’d solved the mystery of Papa’s death. Her low spirits were merely an effect of the rainy, overcast day. That, and her frustration at being unable to do any sleuthing while her mistress was indisposed.
Lady Josephine had dozed off on the chaise. Laura carefully removed the heavy book from the old woman’s lap without disturbing her. Wanting to stay busy, she began sorting through the glut of knickknacks on the shelves and tables, the highboy and the writing desk, even the windowsills. Surely some of the items could be put away without being missed.
Picking up a small statue of a fat cherub, she had a sudden memory of a tiny foot kicking her belly when Violet had hugged her close. How strange and wonderful it must be to carry a baby inside one’s body. Would she ever know that experience? Of course, first she would have to acquire a husband …
Without warning, her thoughts strayed to Alex. At one time, she had waited with breathless anticipation for his proposal of marriage. He had given her every reason to believe her affection for him was reciprocated. She’d been naive not to see through the veneer of his charm. Nevertheless, she felt a nostalgic ache for that blissful, idyllic time of innocence.
I always envied you for the way he looked at you.
Violet didn’t understand that all Alex had ever felt for Laura was a shallow physical attraction. There had been no true love in his heart. His devotion to her had not been strong enough to induce him to listen to her pleas to spare Papa. Nor had it been enough for him to trust in her judgment of her own father.
Alex had shown no mercy. He had treated Papa like a common criminal. He had revealed his true loyalty by siding with his godmother, the Duchess of Knowles, over Laura.
Had he known about Papa’s debts? Was Violet even correct about the state of Papa’s finances? Or was it just a rumor bandied about by a society determined to condemn him?
A sudden rapping on the door startled her. Afraid that Lady Josephine would be disturbed, Laura set down the cherub statue and made haste to answer the summons. She opened the door, expecting to see the footman with the late-afternoon post on a silver salver.
Instead, her heart took a mad leap.
As if conjured by her thoughts, Alex loomed on the threshold. He looked breathtakingly handsome in a cobalt-blue coat tailored to fit his broad shoulders and a pair of tight fawn breeches. The long scar on his cheek lent him an aura of piratical wickedness that Laura found perversely appealing. Even his scent was tempting, with a hint of deep spice that made her want to tuck her face into the crook of his neck—never mind that she disliked him immensely.
His perfect grooming made her conscious of her own drab attire: the mousy gray frock, spinster’s cap, and round spectacles. She might as well be a peahen beside a dazzling peacock.
What was he doing upstairs without being announced?
“May I come in?” he asked, craning his neck to peer past her. “I’d like to visit my aunt.”
Laura held the door partly shut. “Lady Josephine is resting at the moment,” she murmured. “The footman ought to have told you that she isn’t receiving visitors this afternoon.”
He frowned. “Is she ill?”
“She’s been somewhat confused today, that’s all. Perhaps you should return on the morrow.”
“No, that’ll be too late. I came to bid her a happy birthday.”
“Birthday?”
Alex took advantage of Laura’s surprise to nudge open the door. As he brushed past her, she was too stunned to stop him. Today was Lady Josephine’s birthday? Laura wished that she’d known, for she would have arranged some special treat for her mistress.
Then she noticed two things in quick succession. Alex was toting a large, lidded basket at his side. Second, peculiar scratching and whining sounds emanated from inside the container.
He leaned over the chaise and gently shook Lady Josephine’s shoulder. “Aunt Josie? Do wake up, darling.”
The old woman stirred, blinking her bleary eyes at him. “Who…? Oh! You’re…”
“Alexander.” He bent down to kiss her wrinkled cheek. “Your favorite nephew.”
Looking confused, she reached up and traced his scar. “My dear boy, what happened to your face?”
His gaze briefly cut over to Laura as he replied, “I was bested in an altercation a long time ago. It doesn’t matter anymore.” He stepped back, a faint smile crooking one corner of his lips. “Now, it’s your birthday and I’ve brought you a surprise. Would you care to see it?”
Laura stared dubiously at him. What did he mean, the scar didn’t matter anymore? The offhand comment left her wary and wondering. Was he trying to convey the message that he didn’t resent her for it? That he was willing to let bygones be bygones?
Well, he could keep his magnanimity. She didn’t want his pardon for something he’d well deserved.
A smile wreathed Lady Josephine’s round face. She wriggled up straight on the chaise. “My birthday? Oh, my. Are you quite certain?”
“Indeed I am. I could never let such an important day pass by without a proper celebration. Allow me to present you with your gift.”
He placed the basket on the floor, knelt on one knee, and undid the strip of leather binding that held it closed. Curious, Laura went to stand beside the chaise. She had to admit that it was decent of him to have remembered the occasion.
The binding fell away and Alex removed the lid. Instantly, two tiny paws appeared on the edge of the basket and a small black-and-tan head with long black ears popped out. The spaniel surveyed them all with alert dark eyes and then attempted to climb out of the basket, only to fall back in a heap and try valiantly again.
Charmed in spite of herself, Laura laughed at the sight. “Oh! Do help the poor creature.”
Alex reached inside and scooped up the half-grown dog, and it regarded him with adoring eyes, wriggling in an attempt to lick his hands. “Behave yourself now,” he admonished the animal. “I won’t tolerate any misconduct.”
The pup cocked its head as if listening, then calmed down.
He gently deposited the dog in his aunt’s lap. “There you are, Aunt Josie. He’s already house-trained. I recall when I was growing up, you always kept a lapdog, so I had a hunch you might like him. But if you don’t…”
“Oh, I do, indeed!” Lady Josephine cried in delight. She gathered up the puppy and cradled it on the shelf of her large bosom. “What a dear, precious little darling you are.”
Tail wagging furiously, the dog lapped her ladyship’s chin. Then it wriggled into the crook of Lady Josephine’s neck for cooing and stroking.<
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Laura couldn’t resist patting that silken little body. She glanced at Alex. “It appears he’ll be quite pampered in this household. Where did you find such a pretty pup?”
“An old friend had a spaniel with a litter, and he was good enough to let me have first pick. I chose the most docile of the four.” Alex paused, his brown eyes keen on her. “I trust you won’t mind the extra work that might be involved.”
Laura flushed under his scrutiny. Perhaps it was the fact that he was still kneeling as if in supplication, but he actually seemed concerned for her opinion. “I don’t mind in the least. You’ve made Lady Josephine happy, and for that I must thank you … from the bottom of my heart.”
“Only the bottom?” he murmured with a faint smile. “Well, that’s something, anyway.”
Laura flushed, ignoring the fluttery sensation that stirred to life inside her. She turned her attention to the puppy, which clearly had shifted its loyalty from Alex to Lady Josephine. The pair looked to have formed a mutual adoration society.
“I daresay you should choose a name, my lady,” she said. “He does have beautiful markings, but Spot is far too common for such a handsome animal. Perhaps something royal … like Prince.”
“Or godly like Adonis,” Alex offered. “What do you think, Aunt Josie? Have you any ideas for a name?”
The old woman gave him a bemused look before returning her attention to the fawning dog. She cuddled it close, kissed its black nose, and then pronounced, “Charles.”
Laura and Alex exchanged a startled glance.
“Perhaps Charlie might be better,” Laura said tactfully. “Just so you don’t mix him up with your husband’s name.”
“Charlie.” Lady Josephine cuddled the puppy close. “Yes, I like that. My sweet baby Charlie.”
The little animal wagged his tail in approval.
“Well, that settles the matter,” Alex said, rising to his feet. “I’ve brought a lead if Miss Brown will be agreeable to taking Charlie out for a walk on occasion.”
“I’d be happy to do so,” she said.