“That he is,” Philip agreed. “But we both know there’s no room for pride where love’s concerned. And make no doubt, it will be a love match.”
Bernard cast a doubtful look out the window. “How can you be so certain? From what you say, they’re barely speaking to one another.”
“Ah, but that’s the beauty of it, my friend. Soon enough, they’ll be doing more than just speaking.” Philip followed Bernard’s gaze and said, “What have we here?”
“It’s James,” Bernard said. “He’s brought a hat for Francie. How very thoughtful of him.”
“No, no, no. Don’t you know anything about this love business? Think again,” Philip said, as he watched Francie. “James wouldn’t bring Francie a hat without someone telling him to do so. He wouldn’t even know she wasn’t wearing one. But someone else would. Someone who’s been so distracted he can’t think of anyone or anything else. Even when he tells himself he’s not thinking of her, he’s thinking of her.”
“Alexander.”
“Exactly. Alex sent James outside with the hat. Alex is the one who’s concerned Francie will catch too much sun. Alex, my friend, is becoming thoroughly besotted.”
Bernard thought a moment. “Hmmmm,” he mused. “And Francie?”
“Why, can’t you tell by the way she’s looking at the windows, trying to catch a glimpse of someone, that she’s wondering who sent the hat? And all the while, you can bet she’s hoping it’s Alex.”
“You don’t say.”
“I do say,” Philip declared, slapping Bernard on the back. “We’ll have a wedding in this house by Christmas.”
“What’s your next plan?”
“A ball for Francie introducing her into society. Even without a title, there’ll be a bevy of young bucks vying for her hand. Just wait and see. That will drive Alex insane. He’ll be beside himself, torn between envy and a desire to protect her from them. And from himself.”
“From himself?”
“Of course. Until he realizes marriage to Francie is what he wants, he’ll torture himself trying to be noble.” He laughed. “But that’s a few plans down the road. First, we need to start throwing them together at every opportunity.”
“I assume you have ideas on how to do that as well?”
“I do. Francie needs a new wardrobe. I’m sending her and Alex to Madame Druillard’s.”
“A carriage trip to London. Who will be chaperoning them?”
Philip threw Bernard a sly smile. “Mrs. Vandemeer, the widowed aunt from two estates over. I daresay, she’s old as Croesus, blind as a bat, and deaf to boot.”
“Do you think that wise?” Bernard’s bushy brows drew together. “What if...?”
“He won’t,” Philip said in a firm voice. “But he’ll be in hell for it, I’m sure. If my guess is correct, he’ll be half-mad with wanting Francie by the time he returns from London.”
“And then you’ll throw the ball and have all of Francie’s young suitors swarming about her skirts.”
“Exactly. Quite clever, don’t you think? Alex will be so jealous he’ll demand to marry her posthaste.”
“It’s risky, Philip. If either one of them finds out you’re plotting, they’ll be very upset.”
“That’s why they won’t find out, my friend. You and I are the only ones who know I’m giving them a little extra assistance.” Philip glanced out the window again. Francie sat cross-legged on the ground, face turned and half-hidden by the broad brim of her hat. “What the hell is she doing?” Philip murmured.
Bernard pointed a long finger toward the far end of the estate. “There. She’s looking out there.”
Philip could just make out a horse and rider tearing across the back lawn toward the fields. There was only one black horse at Drakemoor and Alex was the only one who could ride him.
“See? What did I tell you?” Philip grinned. “They’re made for each other.”
“Unfortunately, they haven’t been apprised of that fact,” Bernard added, shaking his head.
“But they will be, soon enough.” The earl’s voice filled with emotion. “Francie’s my daughter and I love Alex like a son. I’d never do anything to harm either one of them, but I don’t want to see them throw away a chance at happiness because they’re too proud to grab it.” His voice cracked. “I loved Catherine. Loved her with every breath in me and I want Alex and Francie to know that kind of love, too.”
***
“Father, are you sure you’re feeling all right?” Francie asked, clutching the earl’s large hand in hers. He was such a big man, towering was a better term, and yet at times like these, when he fell into coughing fits, he seemed more frail than James, a man half his size.
“Fine,” the earl coughed, raising a hand. “I’ll be fine.”
She scanned his flushed face, noted the beads of perspiration on his upper lip, and thought him anything but fine. Alexander said he’d been having these coughing spells for months now, had even seen a doctor, but had thrown the man out when he pronounced leeches for treatment. He’d refused to see another doctor, declaring he’d sooner cut his own wrists than let them cover him with slimy creatures who’d suck him dead.
And that brought an end to the discussion regarding medical attention. Francie had taken to mixing up poultices every evening and placing them on his chest. The relief, though temporary, provided a quiet time for them to spend together. It was during these nights the earl shed his jovial, gruff manner and looked at her with a sad tenderness in his blue eyes.
“You have your mother’s smile,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence enveloping them.
She’d been waiting for days, hoping against hope he’d say something about the woman he’d loved and lost. Francie’s smile deepened and she squeezed his hand. “Tell me about her.”
The earl heaved a sigh. “Oh, where to begin, child?” He closed his eyes and smiled. “She was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Eyes the color of emeralds, hair falling down her back in long black waves. I was mesmerized by her smile, captivated by her charm. I think I fell in love with her the first time I laid eyes on her. But it wasn’t just her beauty that touched me. She was a good person, a kind person with a quick wit and a laugh that made my heart smile. And such an innocent. Catherine believed goodness and kindness would always prevail. I remembered this, even when I had no reason to hope any longer, even when I looked upon each day without her as a curse.”
He opened his eyes and blinked the wetness away. “She was right. Goodness and kindness did prevail.” He reached up to touch her cheek. “They brought me Alex.” His voice softened. “And then they brought me you.”
“Where did Alexander come from?” She’d always assumed he was the orphaned son of one of her father’s friends.
“The stables,” he said, simply.
“Stables?”
“Alex was the son of Harry and Alice Bishop, my groomsman and scullery maid.”
“Servants?” she whispered. She’d sooner believe Alexander belonged to a descendant of the king.
The earl met her shocked look with his steady blue gaze. “It was all quite sad. His father was a no-good drunk, but I kept him on out of pity. One day he got himself killed trying to ride Baron’s father. Alex’s mother died within the month.”
Francie pushed past the lump in her throat as she pictured a young Alexander stripped of a father and mother. “And Alexander?” she breathed. “What happened to him?”
“He slept in the barn for weeks, no one to look after him, trying to carry on his father’s duties, eating what scraps the cook sent his way. Barely thirteen and forced into a cruel, harsh world with not a soul to care about him.”
Her heart ached for the little boy who had no home, no parents, no one to love him. She’d never known that kind of life. Her moments had always been filled with warm, nurturing swells of love and attention, plenty of food, fresh clothing, and a cozy bed. Alexander’s bed had most likely been a scratchy mattress of hay, his pillow a
balled-up shirt.
No wonder he’d become a staunch, proper perfectionist in his pristine cravat and elegant cutaway.
“That’s why he dresses the way he does,” she murmured. “Not a stitch out of place, not a wrinkle.”
“Exactly. When I found him ,his clothes were so filthy I had to have them burned.” The earl ran a large hand over his face. “Thank God for Alex. He gave me a reason to live after Catherine died. It was just the two of us, hurt and alone, him needing me as much as I needed him. I couldn’t love him more if he were my own son.”
“I think he feels the same about you.” A servant’s son. Orphaned and left to fend for himself. Her father’s revelation into Alexander’s childhood explained so many things. His clothes, his demeanor, his food. His food. Good gracious, his food! Now it all made sense.
“The meal the other night,” she began, not certain how to broach the subject. “When I switched the roast beef and pork…”
Her father chuckled. “Almost sent him into a fit of apoplexy. I took great pleasure in seeing his discomfort. Well done, child. Well done.” His tone grew serious. “Alex wants to control every detail of his life—his clothes, his food, his associations. He wants to remove all aspects of chance, deal only with the known. That’s why he wants pork on Wednesday and roast beef on Saturday. Eliminates the element of chance. Makes him feel safer.”
“It’s only food. As long as it’s well-prepared, why should he care?”
“Who knows? I’ve never gone hungry or lain awake at night wondering if I were going to be thrown in the street with the rubbish. I’ve never taken a beating from my father to spare my mother.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “That kind of fear claws at the most courageous of men, eats away at their core. I can’t imagine what it would do to a boy.”
“It turns him into a man who’s afraid to trust, afraid to believe in anyone or anything but himself,” Francie whispered, crying for the little boy who could not cry for himself.
“Perhaps,” the earl agreed. “But the right person could gain his trust and make him believe again.”
Francie listened but said nothing.
“I think you might be that person, child.”
Her father’s words hit her like a blast of frigid air on a frosty night, stealing her breath, making her heart skip a beat. “I…I don’t think so.” Alexander trust her? Look to her as something more than a nuisance he had no choice but to tolerate?
Memories of last evening darted before her, leaving her hot and cold all over. They’d been stealing into her thoughts, robbing her of sleep at night and common sense during the day. She couldn’t get him out of her mind. Alexander’s silver eyes burning into her, his strong, capable hands moving over her body, his lips searing hers in possession.
What had happened? They’d kissed. No, they’d done much more than kiss. Heat rose to her cheeks as she recalled the feel of his hands on her body, touching, exploring, pleasuring. And his mouth. She shivered. His mouth had stolen every sensible thought from her already addled brain every time his tongue dipped between her lips. And when he touched her breast, well, a whole new wealth of sensation started low in her belly and spread to the most private part of her body.
What would it be like to share those sensations with Alexander every night? To look into his silver eyes and see passion, desire, love. No, not love. He wasn’t capable of that emotion. Francie’s chest tightened. Love was a game of chance, a hope and dream at best, and Alexander Bishop was not one to wager on anything less than certainty.
What did it matter? Why should she care? The better question was why did she care? She didn’t know, but the horrible, undeniable truth was she did.
Chapter 10
“I hear you’ve a guest at Drakemoor,” Edgar Ashcroft said, stroking his beard. Alexander felt the earl’s beady little eyes studying him. He’d been doing it all evening, making bland, seemingly insignificant comments and then leaning back, one hand stroking his beard, waiting to see how Alexander responded. It was a game with Belmont, a test of wills requiring two people to participate.
Alexander refused to engage in the old man’s cheap form of entertainment.
“Father,” Claire Ashcroft whispered, a note of censure in her voice, “I’m sure Mr. Bishop does not care to speak of it.” She turned to Alexander and bestowed another of her dazzling smiles on him, the third in as many minutes.
He studied the woman beside him. Claire Ashcroft was indeed beautiful, her rich black curls gathered atop her head with a blue satin ribbon, save a few stray tendrils escaping in random disarray. The effect was stunning, the errant curls accentuating the long, slender column of her neck and trailing to the swell of her full, creamy breasts. She played with a black curl, her fingers brushing her breast in a slow, even rhythm, so casual that had he been a less experienced man, he might have thought it all quite innocent.
There was nothing innocent about Claire Ashcroft. The look in her deep blue eyes as she murmured in soft, demure tones, spoke of passion and lust, just as her painted red lips did each time she ran her tongue along them. She might be beautiful and titled, a lady by all accounts, but Claire Ashcroft couldn’t touch the bottoms of Francie’s serviceable brown shoes.
Thank God he’d spared Francie this scene. He could hear her getting on her high horse, telling him the woman possessed no scruples and less honor than a pickpocket.
And for once, he’d have to agree.
“Well?” Belmont repeated, a note of impatience in his voice. “Are you going to tell us about the girl or not?”
Belmont was not a man to be kept waiting and from the sour look on his face, he wasn’t pleased Alexander hadn’t yet answered him.
“Her name is Francie Jordan,” he said, toying with the curried rabbit on his plate. Today was Monday. Curried rabbit was always on the menu at Drakemoor. He didn’t doubt Claire Ashcroft took special care to investigate his preferences.
Why had they invited him here? He’d been certain Belmont wanted to discuss the stock market or, at the very least, inquire about a partnership in one of Alexander’s many enterprises. That would have been understood, even expected, as Alexander’s opinion was much sought after and well respected among the ton.
But two clarets and a bowl of turtle soup later, Belmont still hadn’t broached the subject of business. Rather, he’d sat back, stroked his beard with one hand, sipped his drink with the other, and let his daughter carry the conversation. They’d touched on all of the proper niceties and Alexander tolerated Claire’s coquettish remarks and sultry laughs, all the while waiting to glean the real reason for the invitation.
He had not expected Francie to be a subject of conversation, yet Belmont seemed determined to speak of her. Alexander cleared his throat and said in a guarded voice, “Miss Jordan will be staying on at Drakemoor, indefinitely.”
That comment drew a laugh from the earl. “I should say. After all, she is Montrose’s by-blow, is she not?”
“Father!” Claire Ashcroft chided. “How horribly indelicate.”
“It’s the truth. Everybody knows it, Claire. Bishop does, too. Whether he wants to admit it or not, he knows everybody’s talking about Montrose’s bastard daughter.” The earl leaned forward on his elbows, his icy blue eyes filled with curiosity. “Tell us about her, Bishop.”
“There’s really not much to tell,” Alexander hedged. “She came to Drakemoor a few weeks ago.”
And I kicked her out.
“And?” The old man raised a black eyebrow.
“And she’s brightened Philip’s days.” And I don’t know what she’s done to me, but I can’t think straight when I’m around her. “He’s thrilled to have his daughter with him.”
“Father,” Claire Ashcroft interrupted, “this is all very nice, but I really don’t think we need to be discussing Lord Montrose’s illegitimate daughter.”
“But you see, my dear, I find this all very interesting,” the earl said, sitting back in his chair. “Very interesti
ng, indeed.” He smiled at Alexander, a small twist of the lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I knew the girl’s mother. Quite well, in fact.”
“I see.” He knew about Philip and Catherine? How? And if he did, why the smug look? Alexander wanted to end the conversation now before he reached across the table and grabbed the old man by his neckcloth.
Belmont took a healthy swallow of claret and pointed a finger at Alexander. “I’ll tell you all about her mother. Eleanor was her name.”
Eleanor?
“Father! Enough!”
His daughter’s warning had the desired effect, because Edgar Ashcroft scowled and downed the rest of his drink without another word.
So old Belmont thought he had it all figured out, did he? Thought Francie’s Aunt Eleanor was her mother? Well, Alexander knew Philip’s one and only love had a different name. Catherine. Belmont’s dead wife. He’d sooner rip out his tongue than tell either one of these gossip-seeking vultures.
“Is she as beautiful as they say?” Belmont pried.
“How would Mr. Bishop know?” Claire asked her father and then shot Alexander yet another dazzling smile, more brilliant than all the others. “After all, they’re practically brother and sister. Isn’t that right, Mr. Bishop?”
He and Francie? Brother and sister? He had not one brotherly bone in his body where Francie was concerned.
“Mr. Bishop?” She arched a black brow just so and he wondered if she practiced that look in the mirror.
“Ah...yes...brother and sister.” The words almost choked him.
“See, Father? I told you, Mr. Bishop would have no knowledge of such things. Brothers never do.” She lowered her lashes and gazed in Alexander’s direction.
It was becoming damnably hot in this room. Alexander reached up to loosen his cravat a little. He wanted to get out of this blasted place. Now. Far away from this arrogant man and his lusty daughter. But he’d come with a purpose and he wasn’t leaving until he knew the relationship between Crayton and Belmont, and Belmont’s daughter, of course, though he had a feeling their association might well be of a more intimate nature.
A Taste of Seduction (An Unlikely Husband) Page 11