She snatched her hand back and glared at him. Andrew gave her an unrepentant half-smile-half-smirk, and then she identified what had made her uneasy. Not so much that he was a mad genius and powerful, but that he seemed to lack the requisite sobriety for such a mantle. This truly was sport for him.
At twenty and one, he could hardly be expected to comprehend the realities of cause and effect. His careless way with other matters illustrated that shortcoming, in her estimation. No one knew Andrew quite like she did, so was she the only one to see it?
She tried to dismiss the feeling of ill-abode but couldn’t see it any other way but dangerous. Perhaps not Friday, when Stanley Miles realized he was a pawn in Lord Preston’s game of subterfuge, but eventually that sort of high-stakes gambling would catch up to Andrew.
She couldn’t even imagine what would happen when it did.
Chapter Three
If it be a sin to covet honor, I am the most offending soul.
King Henry V, William Shakespeare
Alysia paused as she heard a thumping on the door, then the sound of a man’s boots on the marble floor. Lord Preston called, “Lizzie? Lizzie! I need you. Alysia? Where are you?”
Wiping her hands on the toweling, Alysia raced to the door of the dressing room. Andrew had already passed through the bedchamber. She stopped him in the doorway and gave him a backward shove.
Lady Elizabeth and Lady Remington squealed and scrambled for their dressing robes, spattering gray and pale yellow paste about the room. Andrew caught a glimpse of his sister and the baroness, and gasped. They wailed in indignation as Alysia led him away and shut the door.
“What in blazes happened to them?”
“Hush!” Alysia led him out of his sister’s bedchamber.
“Were they attacked by an artist bent on casting them in plaster? What on earth was that? And the smell!” he complained, too loudly.
“Andrew.” She sighed. “You really must stop behaving like a barbarian. It’s not for you to know, but I was assisting Lady Elizabeth and Lady Remington with their beauty regimen. Men are not meant to witness such things.”
“But what were they doing? I am truly frightened!”
“An oatmeal, honey, and sea salt scrub for the skin; and an egg and ale treatment for the hair.” She couldn’t help a smile at his bewildered expression. “It is thought to improve the complexion and make one’s hair glossy.”
“Oh.” Andrew was baffled. “And you don’t do it too?”
“No. It smells terrible, as you said. Why did you come in here? There must be some disaster…”
He broke into a smile and tugged one of the curls hanging down her back. “That must make her wild.”
“What?”
He mock-whispered, “Jealous, I mean. You are ten times lovelier than Princess Pomeranian, without the beauty treatments.”
“That’s a pretty speech.” She folded her arms and resisted tapping her foot.
“I just paid you a compliment.” He rubbed a thumb under her chin, and she shot him an impatient look. “Women are odd creatures.”
“You had an emergency?”
He furrowed his brows. “Well, yes, I need you. It’s Christian.”
“He has been harmed?”
“Oh no, not at all. But he has put me in a quandary, and I came to Lizzie for aid, but I think you will do even better.”
“A quandary?”
“Yes. Well.” Improbably, his cheeks colored a little. “He is in one of his scientific moods. He sincerely wants to know about… well, babies. And I know my parents will be of no help.”
“Then tell him, Andrew. You know the facts yourself, far better than I.”
“Hmm, no, I think. He wants to know how children are born.”
“Lisa?” Elizabeth called from the next room. “What does Andrew want?”
Alysia excused herself and went inside to explain. No, Lord Preston hadn’t seen them covered in muck, she lied. Their bewildered sighs turned to shocked gasps as Alysia relayed his request. Unsurprisingly, Elizabeth declined the task. Alysia came back out and closed the door, flustered, with the sound of giggling behind her. “Lizzie sent me, Andrew. Best get it over with.”
He led her to the library, where they found Christian bent over an encyclopedia amidst several other volumes surrounding him. He held his book sideways, studying a diagram. He screwed his face into a puzzled expression then turned the book right side up.
Alysia glanced pleadingly at Andrew, who shook his head and tightened his grip on her arm.
“Why don’t we find him a pregnant goat or cow? At one of the village farms? Let him see for himself.”
“You know Christian. He has specific questions and won’t be satisfied until you have explained thoroughly.”
Alysia groaned. “Fine. You win, Andrew, but you owe me.”
“Anything you want!”
“Hello there, Chris. I see you are studying anatomy today.” She approached Andrew’s twelve-year-old brother, who sat up and beamed a grin at her.
“Yes! Did you know human blood is colored blue until it is exposed to air? And there are twenty-six bones in the human foot? Well, twenty-eight if one includes the sesamoid bones at the base of the big toe.” He leaned forward in a posture more suited to a serious older man. “But I am glad Andrew fetched you. I find the reproductive process most puzzling. And I can’t make this out.”
Christian turned the book to show her the illustrated diagram. Andrew stifled a snicker, and Alysia almost ran from the room. “Yes. Well.” She looked sideways at Andrew. “Do you not have some pressing duty you must attend to, Lord Preston?”
“Oh, no. Not at all. I am quite at leisure.” He pulled a chair forward for Alysia then set his own right next to hers. The front legs of the chairs crossed and the seat cushions butted together. When he sat, his thigh pressed along the length of hers, and she had to wedge her shoulder against his arm. He seemed untroubled that his boots burrowed in her skirts.
She took a deep breath, determined not to allow Andrew’s overbearing presence to rattle her, although the heat of his body already warmed her entire left side.
Alysia pointed a finger at the diagram. “Christian, I believe the illustration on the left is a lateral dissection. See? That is the outer half of the pelvic bone.”
She had tutored Lord Christian for years, and notwithstanding the discomfiting subject, they were at ease in the role of teacher and pupil. “And on the right is the front view, from the horizontal perspective.” She flashed a sideways scowl at Andrew, daring him to misbehave.
Wisely, he remained composed. He only wagged his knee back and forth, fidgeting unlord-like as he always did when not on display.
Christian nodded and understanding crossed his face. He consulted another open book and flipped it sideways to study it. “Then the baby pushes out downward… but upside down?”
“Yes. Ideally. It can sometimes be delivered feet-first — called breech — but not without risk. Typically a doctor will attempt to invert the baby inside the womb instead.”
“Truly? Fascinating!”
“Not so much for the mother.”
“It says here this diagram is to scale.” Christian grimaced, “How ever does a baby fit through?”
“Gradually, and not without difficulty. The human body is a remarkable creation.” She went on to explain about labor and delivery as delicately as possible, but it was the grisly details which fascinated him most.
Christian shook his head. “No wonder a woman cries out. I don’t think I should like to see such a dreadful thing.”
“On the contrary, the birth of a baby is miraculous to witness. It is sweet to welcome a new life.”
Andrew’s hand reached under the chair arm to trace the piping along the waist of her dress. Alysia repressed a shudder every time his finger derailed and ran down her thigh.
She swallowed then added to Christian, “I have seen a happy mother greet her child. It was joyous.” Her voice caugh
t on the last phrase as Andrew dragged his hand across her belly and patted.
She whipped her head around to glare at him, but the dark look he shot from under his eyebrows stupefied her for a moment.
Not amusing, she mouthed.
He bounced a brow and winked, then squeezed her waist again.
Thankfully, Christian was oblivious to the exchange. “But so many do not live,” he argued, still scowling at the diagram.
“True, Christian. There is sacrifice for a mother — more for some than others. The Bible tells us Eve has her sorrow in conception. It is the natural order of things.”
Christian couldn’t see Andrew grazing his hand up and down along her side, wandering scandalously over her backside and lingering as though he had every right. His other hand fisted innocently against his temple. Except for his naughty right hand, he appeared relaxed and a little bored.
Then she made the mistake of meeting his gaze. Gorgeous fathoms-deep, chocolate-brown eyes boring into hers. His expression made her breath seize and her womb clench. Her biological instincts alerted — a male who looked at a female in such a manner meant business. She could hardly string two coherent thoughts together with her heart hammering and her pulse thrumming in places she preferred not to think about.
“Yes. And that is another thing.” Christian tapped the page. “I understand the concept of a man’s seed, and that it grows into a baby in the womb, but how does it get inside the woman?” He sighed. “I am most bewildered.”
“Get used to it, chap,” quipped Andrew.
Alysia shot him an exasperated look. “And that is an excellent question for your brother, Chris. He can answer it far better than I.” She resisted the urge to dash from the room. Her left side burned everywhere Andrew’s hand had touched.
It had been a long time since she had daydreamed about being the mother of chocolate-eyed babies. A diverting fantasy to her romantic adolescent self, but the full-grown Andrew tantalizing her with his unspoken, white-hot invitation? Positively dangerous.
****
It was easy to avoid Lord Preston after dinner. Alysia heard his mother and Lady Remington consulting him about the latest fashions of the ton and London gossip. Lady Elizabeth joined them. The Duke of Belmont was deep in conversation with the marquess about some insidious plot, judging by their expressions.
After spending the obligatory half hour with the family in the drawing room, Alysia slipped away and hid in the library. A secluded corner near a window had a lamp on the table nearby. She reclined on a chaise lounge with a thick volume of Shakespeare, the leather worn and the pages edged with frayed fibers from frequent contact with hands. It was her favorite, and she contemplated stealing it when she left Ashton.
A summer rainstorm beat a consoling patter against the windows. The water dropping and rolling down the glass panes reflected strange patterns in the lantern light.
She heard no approach under the sound of the rain; an artful tenor voice murmured behind her, “O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou! That, notwithstanding thy capacity, Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, Of what validity and pitch soever, But falls into abatement and low price, Even in a minute! So full of shapes is fancy, That it alone is high-fantastical.”
Alysia sighed, making an effort to show no surprise, though the voice sent an icy chill through her. “False of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand, hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey.”
“Not an admirer of Romeo and Juliet?” he complained. “Then… No sooner met but they looked; No sooner looked but they loved; No sooner loved but they sighed; No sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason; No sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy.”
From As You Like It, she knew. If she wasn’t so annoyed and revolted, she might have been impressed; typically she enjoyed sparring lines from Shakespeare. She didn’t want to encourage him but couldn’t resist the quote she had open on the page, “From the extremest upward of thy head to the descent and dust beneath thy foot, a most toad spotted traitor.”
A pale hand with long, thin fingers reached from behind the chaise lounge and stroked her shoulder as he said, “And I do, ardently, seek the remedy.”
She sat up and clutched the book to her chest. “Belmont.”
“Come, Miss Villier. Put down that dreadful King Lear. I am not finished with you.” Flashing what he must have thought was an irresistibly debonair smile, he sat next to her. She edged away.
****
Andrew wondered why Belmont had wandered away, and when he realized Alysia was not in the drawing room either, he couldn’t ignore his instincts. He followed behind the duke, hanging back. Belmont entered the library and shut the door behind him.
Andrew slipped inside and heard voices; Belmont spouting romantic lines of Shakespeare and Alysia countering with insults from King Lear. Good girl. Andrew rounded the corner of a bookshelf in time to see Belmont leaning over the back of the chaise lounge, peering down Alysia’s bodice.
She sat up and darted back. “But I am through with you.” She added through clenched teeth, “Your Grace.” She turned to flee, but Belmont took her wrist and murmured something Andrew couldn’t hear as he kissed her hand.
Andrew practically stomped as he approached to catch their attention. Belmont startled and dropped his arms. Andrew said cheerily, “Oh, there you are, Alysia.” He raised his head as though he had just seen them.
“Preston,” the duke nodded stiffly. Andrew ignored the greeting.
He fished out a lie, “Alysia, I was helping Lizzie plan the menu for next week, and we agreed we should consult you. Can you come?”
Belmont shot him a look of annoyance. Andrew squared his shoulders, glaring down at the duke, silently promising fire and brimstone if he didn’t back down. Finally Belmont gave a shallow bow and walked away.
Once he heard the door click shut, Andrew commented, “Well, that was enlightening.”
“I know you expect me to thank you, Lord Preston, but I am rather embarrassed.”
“He was about to force himself on you!”
“I had the situation under control.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize you wanted him to debauch you on the library sofa. Pardon me for interrupting your tryst!”
The furious crackle of her eyes was the only warning. Alysia drew back her fist and hit him hard in the jaw. His vision jarred, and jolts of pain shot through his teeth.
“Ow, Lisa. That hurt!” He rubbed his jaw. “Who taught you that nasty right hook?”
“You did, my lord.”
“Lisa! Stop calling me lord, or I will give you some horrid pet name, such as Baby Cheeks or Sweet Lips and use it at the dinner table.”
“Oh? Then if you do, I will tell Lord Courtenay what actually happened to his gemstone globe.”
“No one would believe you. My word against yours.”
“Yes, but there is that incriminating scar on the inside of your left forearm in the shape of the west Indian coast.”
In any other situation he would have laughed. But at the moment, he was livid. “Never mind. Lisa, what did Belmont say to you?”
“Well…” She looked around the room, stalling. He stared back impatiently. “Lady Elizabeth has invited me to accompany her on the honeymoon—”
“And the duke wants you to go!”
“Naturally, I refused!”
Andrew led her from the library back to the drawing room despite her resistance, all the while cursing under his breath at his shameful brother-in-law to be.
****
The lake was as warm as bath water in the top twenty or so inches. The current below it cooled until her toes kicked through chilly water. Alysia ducked her head under and swam away from the bank. In the deeper water, free from the tall reeds and floating lily pads, the surface of the lake sparkled in the silver moonlight, a blurry map of reflected stars. She watched her hands make soundless ripples as she treaded water.
Liberating, to sneak out of the house in the middle of the night and swim in the moonlight. The warm and cold water swirling over her skin was like a caress. It soothed her scattered mind. Warm, cold. Elated, miserable.
It was entirely possible to feel opposite poles of emotion simultaneously, she thought. Cautious, reckless. Chaste, wanton. Dutiful, selfish.
Alysia grew weary of catering to the demands of everyone at Ashton. Ten days remaining. It was already difficult keeping the duke at bay, but now with Andrew and finally Lady Remington at Ashton, she sensed a collision coming. She didn’t think she could maintain the uneasy harmony much longer. One of the delicately balanced conflicts was bound to slip into chaos.
Relief, panic. Lady Elizabeth would soon go away with the duke. Then Lord Courtenay would send Alysia to Viscount Harringer. With any luck, Andrew would go back to London beforehand; he wouldn’t like it. She hoped he would not make a scene.
Andrew. She wished he hadn’t returned, only to make her discover that he still meant the world to her. Women like herself lacked the wherewithal to indulge in romance, but he was persuasive.
It didn’t help that he was so careless, content to flirt and provoke her. She didn’t doubt he would take her to bed, mindless of the consequences. At worst he would have to placate his family, and then he would carry on. She, on the other hand, would be haunted for the rest of her life at best, and be the ruined mother of his illegitimate child at worst. She neither wished to snare him into an obligation he would regret, nor tarnish the memory of their happy childhood together.
Alysia let her legs rise to the surface and floated on her back. With her ears submerged, the deep muted sounds of the water occupied her senses. The only noise was the occasional whisper of the reeds near the bank and the strangely distorted calls of night animals. The current carried her toward the narrowing stream that rambled away across the estate and eventually to the sea. She fluttered her hands to propel herself toward the other side of the lake instead, where the stream fell over a crop of rocks, covering the entrance to a shallow cave like a hanging sheet. Ancient willows surrounded the inlet, a secluded hideaway Andrew had first shown her. She had been eight years old then, and he eleven. The year she came to Ashton.
The King of Threadneedle Street Page 4