Warned in the past not to dally with gently bred ladies, he'd heeded that warning—until now. There was something so sweet and so intriguing about Allie Pendleton, he could not help being drawn to her. He wanted her, but he wanted his freedom as well.
Deluding himself that he could have both was a dangerous game and his cousin's warning had been like dashing cold water in his face. He would have to give her up, for he could not, in good conscience, seduce the girl and then leave her ruined. It would not serve.
As though he could read Griffin's thoughts, Rothburn stopped and turned, placing a fatherly hand on the younger man's arm. "Women are the bane of a man's existence, cousin of mine. Can't have 'em unless we pay the piper. Whether 'tis a Piccadilly doxy or a drawing room miss, a man must pay in one way or another. If you find the one you want, be willing to wait, or pay the piper now."
"I've a long way to go before I think of paying the piper—at least five years. Can't expect a jewel like Allie to wait. Wouldn't be fair. Guess I'll be leaving early tomorrow, so I'll forgo the brandy if you don't mind." Griffin, feeling oddly bereft, patted the earls hand where it rested on his arm. "Give my excuses if you will—and say goodbye to Allie for me."
"Surely you can do that yourself. She would expect it, Griffin. Not good form to disappear. Come take your leave properly," Rothburn urged.
"Can't." His voice terse, a mere whisper of sound, caused the earl to lean closer to hear him. "Just tell her for me. Know I'm a coward. No help for it. Goodnight Rothburn. I'll be in touch after finals."
Rothburn stood in the dark for a long moment as his young cousin's footsteps faded into the distance. Sighing with something akin to regret, he turned back into the house, only instead of seeking Allie, he went straight to Lady Alana.
Rothburn knew he was not up to the task of confronting the girl.
Chapter Seven
~~
Alana looked up at his approach. It seemed she had become so attuned to his every nuance, she could sense his advance from across the room. She smiled and to her chagrin, noted the heat in her face that portended a blush. Blushing was not something she did. Raising a hand to her cheek, she tilted her head in acknowledgement of his arrival.
"Milady, a moment of your time?" Rothburn's eyes were serious, a hint of sadness lurking in their liquid brown depths. His mouth, normally so sensuous and relaxed, was pursed in a tight line, the corners drawn downward, pulling his face into a grimace that was nothing if not regretful.
He glanced at Allie, sitting near her aunt, and turned away, his gaze reflecting the tormented look in the young woman's eyes.
"Rothburn?" Lady Alana, feeling some alarm at the dismayed look upon his face, urged him to speak. "What is amiss? You look dreadful."
"I thought perhaps you would join me in the garden for a moment." At her raised eyebrows Rothburn hurried to explain. "It's a matter that requires some privacy." He glanced meaningfully at Allie and back again to Alana. "We should be gone only a few moments."
Without another word she rose and placed her hand on Rothburn's arm, allowing him to escort her to the terrace. As soon as they were outside, she turned toward him, tightening her grip on his arm in such a way that her agitation was evident.
"What is it?" She hissed urgently.
"Griffin has gone. Wanted you—ah, me, to tell the girl goodbye for him. Couldn't do it. Too sad."
His speech was jerky, so uncomfortable was he with the situation.
"Gone? Why, that's absurd. After dinner he spoke of a picnic tomorrow and attending Mrs. Beasely's soirée. I cannot believe he is just gone. Pray tell me, what has happened?"
Rothburn pulled her along to the bench and gently sat her there, continuing to stand, as he looked down upon her. "You are lovely in the moonlight," he said in a distressed voice. "I believe I have never hated a task as I dislike the one before me now."
"Whatever do you mean?" She sat straighter, dread tight in her throat.
"As you know... " he began in a faltering tone, then clearing his throat, tried once more, "Griffin... as you know, has developed quite deep feelings for Miss Pendleton. Evidently they were in the garden for an inappropriately long period of time and as you can guess—"
Alana turned to peer through the French doors and espied her niece's unhappy posture and downcast eyes. Leaping to conclusions, she stood, her mouth opened to exclaim. He urged her to sit with gentle hands upon her creamy white shoulders, feeling a current of electricity shoot through her at the contact of hands on bare skin.
The contact affected him as well, touching her softness driving that current straight to his loins. Determined not to be distracted by her charms, he spoke again, this time getting to the point. "They were just kissing but—well, Griffin has expressed to me that he had no idea that his feelings would be so instantly engaged and he has five more years before he can expect to offer marriage. Thought it best to disappear."
Holding up a staying hand as he saw Alana once more open her mouth to speak, he continued, "Cowardly, I know. But it is really better this way. Thought you'd tell her for me. Can't bring myself to look her in the eye. My cousin, you know."
"You mean, he's just going to go off and not tell her himself? How—how cowardly, indeed." Lady Alana drew herself up in fury, her eyes sparking anger as she leveled Rothburn with a chilly stare, the same chilliness invading her tone. "If your cousin is such a disgraceful character, I would not want my niece to be longer in his company at any rate."
Spewing her disappointment, she turned her full anger upon the luckless earl. "I will tell her myself as I can see that you have no talent for such things, but I will tell you something as well. If he should ever try to see her again I will have him run out of town! Mayhap I will have him dragged to the nearest tree and—"
Her voice stopped abruptly and her gaze softened as she looked up at him. A rather glazed look came into her eyes and her hand lifted to the flutter in her throat.
Rothburn raised an eyebrow in question, studying her bemused face. She appeared to have forgotten speech. Her lips parted slightly and she ran the tip of her tongue over them in a nervous gesture as he stared at her, his eyes roaming over her person and coming to rest on her mouth.
"Why do you look at me thus?" He was not displeased with her reaction, or the look in her eyes, a look that spoke a silent promise. Then she rose from her seat as though in a trance, and every nerve ending in his body burned with rampant desire.
Lady Alana lifted her hand, fingertips tracing delicately over his bottom lip, then onward to caress his rigid jaw line. A small moan escaped her as he drew her into his arms and she trembled against him, making him ache for her in ways he'd never imagined he could ache for a woman.
His heart pounding out of his chest, dizzy with the unexpected rush of blood from his brain, he could barely contain a primitive desire to throw the lady over his shoulder and run off into the darkness.
"Rothburn," she whispered, her voice a caress as she drew his name softly through her pouting lips. He watched those lips as she parted them, breathing his name yet again.
Rothburn dipped his head and drew her into an open-mouthed kiss, his tongue darting and withdrawing, at first playfully, then aggressively as she swayed against him. As she gave herself up completely to his embrace, their bodies melded together, straining to be closer even as their mouths caressed one another hotly.
His head came up and he looked down at her, whispering, "You are lovely when you are angry, makes me want to devour you." Then he dipped his head once more and caught her lips with his own, nibbling and caressing, the heat of her breath mingling with his.
She whimpered his name again, deep in her throat and accepted his plundering tongue once more, arching into his body as he pulled her closer. "Please, My Lord ."
"Please what?" He murmured against her mouth, running his tongue lightly over her lips.
"I—you—we—" Alana seemed confused, unable to bring her thoughts together enough to say what she wished
.
"Tell me," he commanded, resisting the urge to crush her closer. Reminding himself to go easy—aware she was completely vulnerable.
"I am not certain what I mean," she whispered. "Would that I could tell you, but it seems I cannot."
He stopped her murmur with another gentle kiss, deepening the contact as his body spoke to hers, hips thrust forward to move against her.
At the sound of footfalls, he stepped back quickly, guiltily. Lady Alana busied herself straightening her hair while he—somewhat in the same fix his cousin had been in earlier—sat abruptly upon the bench. He tugged at her hand, drawing her down beside him, but at a respectable distance. Clearing his throat, he whispered, "Just act as though we are discussing the constellations."
To reinforce that idea, he pointed his hand skyward.
"Yes, the constellations. An excellent suggestion." Alana sounded breathless.
"Ridiculous, I know," he whispered.
"Not at all," she whispered back, smiling dreamily.
He thought she looked a bit dizzy, with her lips swollen by his kisses, eyes unfocused. He hoped to distract their unwanted host until she could regain her normal poise. He shifted to face Sir Gordon, effectively shielding her for the moment.
"There you are Rothburn! Been looking for you for a game of billiards." Sir Gordon peered closely at both of them, his speculative gaze apparently missing nothing. Lady Alana's reddened mouth, Rothburn's slightly dazed appearance, the pair of them virtually quivering with the distress of unsatisfied passion.
Sir Gordon executed a small bow, laughter brimming in his voice. "I can see that you two are engaged in discussing something of high import so I will find someone else to challenge."
He looked at the sky, his eyes following the pointing arm of The Earl of Rothburn, and looked back at the pair, a rueful grin upon his face. "Do put your arm down old fellow, you'll get a cramp in your shoulder."
His heels clicked decisively on the cobbles as he strode away.
Rothburn dropped his hand. Returning to the original purpose of their tryst, he looked at Alana, who stared back with something akin to regret. The moment spun out until Rothburn could stand it no longer. Taking her hands, he kissed her fingertips, lingering to inhale the essence of her scent. Roses and lilac water, he thought—and something more.
Finally Alana spoke in a husky voice. "Rothburn, we cannot be alone together again. It simply will not serve. I am as lacking in control as you are and I would not have my reputation ruined—nor my life turned upside down. I shall explain to Allie and let her get on with the healing process."
She rose abruptly from the bench and turned back to the house, Rothburn's low voice beseeching, though he dared not follow her. "I am sorry, Alana. Should never have brought you out here. Should have told the girl myself."
Rothburn was comforted by the thought that he could depend upon her to aid him, even in so small a thing as this. Although he didn't really think it a small thing at all. Young love was slow to heal, as he remembered well. He truly liked both young persons and regretted their loss, felt their pain.
What he felt as well was his own deep burning pain. He wanted Lady Alana. Wanted her with every quivering fiber of his being. How then, could he extract himself from his mother's choice of bride? It was time for a straightforward talk with Sir Gordon. Past time.
Chapter Eight
~~
Alana searched the crowded ballroom for her niece, dreading the conversation they were about to have. She slowed her steps, not anxious to be the harbinger of bad news. Allie, while showing signs of maturity, still tended to fall into schoolgirl behavior under stress.
Damn that Rothburn! Leaving her to do this deed.
Though she tried to be upset, she softened toward him, knowing he had Allie's feelings in mind.. Recalling his obvious remorse lifted her spirits somewhat and she almost smiled.
She'd almost turned back to him, but had caught herself with a stern reminder it would not aid her peace of mind. Until something was settled between Lady Eleanor and Rothburn, Alana could not dare to hope. And so she searched for her hoyden of a niece, hoping not to break the girl's heart, but aware she most likely would.
To her great relief, Allie took the news of Griffin's defection with seeming aplomb, a credit to the girl's burgeoning maturity. No matter her breaking heart, the young lady refused to let anyone witness her distress.
The rest of the evening went without incident—if you could discount the looks of longing bestowed upon Alana by her so-called swain. Lord Rothburn appeared so stricken by Cupid's arrow he could scarcely take his eyes from her.
Guilt for having been in the garden with Rothburn made Alana squirm inwardly. Had they been seen, her reputation would be in shreds. She worked her Spanish lace fan so hard she earned a questioning look from her niece. Slowing the fan, Lady Alana attempted to look casual, hoping the heat in her cheeks was not another blush.
It was a great relief when the evening drew to a close and Alana went to her bed with aching feet and her face muscles stiff from holding a smile all evening—determined no one looking her way would find anything amiss in her conduct.
To Alana's further relief, Allie threw herself almost frantically into the numerous balls and tea parties, joining several outings to the country, and generally appeared unaffected by the loss of Griffin. Only she could know of the girl's broken heart and despondency. Aware that the period of frantic action could not last, she was unsurprised when, by the end of the week, Allie was closeted in her rooms, pining away.
Alana knew well the bottomless agony a young woman could experience at such a time. Unable to coax the girl from her room, she finally subsided into a despondency of her own as she contemplated Rothburn, the man who had become the center of her world. She'd fallen completely in love with him and burned with embarrassment each time the specter of her wanton performance in the garden came to haunt her. She had thrown herself at the man and he, of course, had responded. What he must think of her behavior was beyond imagining.
* * * * *
The pall of sorrow that fell over the Pendleton townhouse affected everyone. The servants crept about, speaking in near whispers. Sir Gordon could only guess at the cause of Allie's distress, for no one had told him the events that had caused Griffin to disappear. He surmised—and quite rightly—that the lad had trifled with Allie's affections and then gone back to Cambridge without a backward glance.
He was aware, however, of the reason for Alana's upsetting behavior and became quite disturbed when she did not revive, refusing two invitations in a row. Deciding it was time for another chat with Rothburn, he called for his carriage on the third day of Lady Alana's withdrawal to her rooms and went without preamble to the home of his friend.
"Sir Gordon to see you, My Lord," the butler intoned gravely, opening the door wider to admit the knight into the library. Wondering at the forbidding appearance of the normally jovial knight of the realm, the butler stepped back and closed the doors firmly, leaving the pair alone.
"Ah, Gordon! Just thinking of coming 'round to your place. Have something to discuss with you. Glad you saved me a trip. Port or ale?"
"Port." Sir Gordon grumbled, his eyes gloomy and his personage fairly quivering with some unnamed emotion. "Ale gives me heartburn."
Rothburn appeared chipper and content, not to Sir Gordon's liking at all. How could the man be so callous, leading Alana into the garden then breaking her heart? The fellow seemed unscathed by his cavalier behavior. Lord Rothburn's next words startled him out of that line of thinking.
"Been contemplating a visit to you. Holed up in my rooms these last few days. Brooding, pacing and quite miserable."
"Miserable?" Sir Gordon, thinking of Alana's misery, could no more keep the pleased expression from his face than he could stop the rain outside. He tried with little success to evince serious regard when his friend raised an eyebrow.
"No need to be so delighted," the earl said. "Been thinking things th
rough, and I've made a decision."
"What decision is that?" Sir Gordon hardly dared to hope he'd hear the words freeing him to pursue his own happiness with Lady Eleanor.
"Going to approach Mother, get released from the bond of this attachment to Eleanor and ask you for your Aunt's hand in marriage."
"I don't know what to say," Sir Gordon sputtered, taken aback by the very words he'd anticipated. "Quite speechless."
"Don't blame you. Rather a jump from merely wishing to seduce the lady and initiate a long-term affaire." Realizing what he'd just admitted to, Rothburn harrumphed in a manner that reminded Gordon of the man's mother. He barely concealed a snort of laughter.
Soon they were settled in comfortable chairs, facing the hearth, holding glasses brimming with Port. The pair stared at one another, speechless, then both began to talk at once.
"I expect you want to marry—"
"I want to marry as soon as possible—"
"What?"
"What?"
Falling silent, they looked at one another in surprise. Holding up a hand for silence, Sir Gordon spoke again. "I want to marry Lady Eleanor. I have long had tender feelings for the lady and since you are prepared to ask for Alana's hand in marriage, I see no reason why I should not further my acquaintance with one for whom I have the warmest sentiments."
Rothburn spoke, a twinkle in his eyes that was not lost upon Sir Gordon. "But what of my mother's plans?"
"No offence, Rothburn, but your mother's plans can go to the devil and you have already decided a course that will make it happen."
Sir Gordon fixed a quelling gaze upon the earl, who had begun to laugh merrily. He would not allow frivolity in regard to Lady Alana's reputation. He asked with some force, "Are you asking for her hand?"
"If she will have me I shall wed the lady with all haste. I find the bachelor state has rather paled before the—ah, delights of Lady Alana."
Rothburn, whose heart had not been this light and carefree in weeks, gulped at his Port and grinned foolishly at his friend.
"I say, you are serious, aren't you?" Sir Gordon, relieved of a great burden, looked with pleasure at the other man. "I think we'd best make plans—and quickly. Alana has moped around the house, keeping to her rooms, just as Allie has."
A Curious Heart (Love Vine: A Regency Series) Page 7