“I thought it was time I stopped lazing about,” Edward muttered. He was out of breath and felt like he had just scaled a mountain.
“Are you sure you’re feeling well enough?”
Edward sighed. “Devil take it, I am weary of being a damned infirm. I need to get about and do something.” Edward shifted in his chair and stretched out his legs. “I have a question, Father.”
Ashford looked at him with a hint of foreboding in his eyes.
“Who was the girl?”
Ashford arched a brow. “I assume we are not discussing one of the upstairs maids?”
Edward leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together across his chest. “The girl who cared for me. Apparently she nursed me on the journey from France. I don’t remember her exactly, but I wanted to thank her.”
Ashford cleared his throat and rubbed his chin. He glanced away for a moment and then looked back at Edward. “Ah, yes. That girl. The one who saved your life. Lovely thing, really. Umm…She asked me vehemently not to tell you her identity. Perhaps she was concerned about her reputation and such. You know, a young unwed girl alone with a notorious rogue such as yourself.”
Edward swallowed and stared at him. He was filled in an incredulous sense of disbelief. “Really? She truly does not want me to know who she is?”
“I’m sorry, Son. I did express my heartfelt gratitude to her on behalf of the entire family. Indeed, we are all truly indebted to her for saving your life. The very least I could do was honor her request.”
“I see.” Confusion and regret tore through him. He wished he could refute his father’s logic, but he knew he couldn’t. To press the servants or even McPhee on this matter would dishonor her request.
They sat quietly for a moment in their own thoughts.
Then Ashford looked at him and smiled. “On a lighter note, how do you feel about attending a party?”
Edward arched his brow. “I don’t think I’ll be waltzing the night away just yet. Why?”
“My sister wants to give a soiree in your honor as soon as you’re well enough.”
“Why would she do an idiotic thing like that?”
Ashford rolled his eyes. “When it comes to women, I gave up trying to understand them years ago. She means to have it at Devonwood Hall. Insists her monstrosity of a house is too bloody small. Oh, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have company at Devonwood for a change. Haven’t entertained there in years. Are you up to it?”
“Perhaps in a sennight or so.”
“Splendid, because she is planning it for the Thursday after next.”
Edward shifted in his seat. “Oh, is she indeed? And what if I am conveniently not feeling fit enough to attend?”
Ashford shrugged. “How would I know? Knowing her, she could very well bring everyone here into your bedchamber, the eccentric old bat. Frankly, I think she’s doing it for Alexandra. She has become quite fond of the girl, you know. She probably wants to give her a practice run before her debut the following week. You are merely an excuse.”
“It’s heartening to know I’ve been reduced to an excuse. Perhaps that means I won’t be required to attend.”
“Oh, if you can walk, you will attend, or you’ll never hear the end of it. She’s calling in all her markers. Besides, I have to attend. And if I do, so do you.”
“Oh that’s capital. Great logic, Father. How old are the twins now?”
Ashford furrowed his brows. “Twenty-one, I think.”
“Do they still look alike?”
Ashford snorted. “Oh, yes, and they’re still twice the trouble. Never a dull moment with those two.”
“Why have I not seen Ian around? Is he not staying here in the townhouse with us?”
“Oh, yes. He’s still here. But he spends most of his time working at the War Office. Lord Banks has taken quite a shine to him. For that matter, so has Winston. Takes him to White’s. Good to see those two chaps getting on so well. Surprisingly, the city quite seems to agree with Ian.”
“That’s strange. I always thought Ian preferred the country.”
Ashford chuckled. “Who the devil knows? At their age, they change their mind every other day.”
“Well, next time he’s in, tell him I inquired about him. Tell him I was asking for the brat.”
“Oh you did manage to get his goat with that name.” Ashford coughed. “How about joining me for luncheon? Higgins is just setting up. I’ll tell him to put out another plate for you.”
“Splendid. I could eat a horse.”
“I daresay you look like you need to eat a horse—and an ox. By the bye, some rather unusual visitors came calling while you were lazing about upstairs.”
“Indeed? Unusual in what way?”
“Some interesting looking chaps whom I have never met before came round asking for the Black Swan. I have their names here on my desk somewhere.” Ashford shuffled through the scattered papers. “Hmm. Yes, here…Who the devil is the Black Swan? Sounds like the name of some bloody pirate.”
“That would be me, Father. On both counts.”
Ashford leveled his eyes at Edward. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”
Chapter 22
Lady Bertha was deliriously in her element, directing all the machinations for the soiree to be held at Devonwood Hall that evening. Ashford drove out from London with Edward that morning. In order to escape his sister, Ashford locked himself in his study.
Edward decided a gentle horse ride was in order, just to see how he held up. He was tired of everyone fussing over him and he craved some solitude. “I’ll be fine,” he assured Jimmy at the stables, insisting he wanted to go alone. “If I’m not back in an hour, come search for me. I’m taking the east trail.”
Edward had forgotten how much he loved this place. He smiled, realizing he didn’t feel that pit of loneliness, his constant dark companion since he had been arrested. It grew into a heinous monster while he was in that black prison cell. The lashes of the whip were welcoming, ironically, as he preferred the searing pain to the macabre isolation of that particular hell. During those times, he had pled with God to remove him from the darkness and he thought he saw his mother’s face waiting for him to die.
But he clung to the images of the sparkling seas as he sailed his ship, and the lush rolling hills of Devonwood Hall. He envisioned the faces of Winston and his father, laughing at dinner over some ribald joke Winston was famous for. But most clearly, he saw the brat. Ian’s spirit and energy had inspired him to hang on during those darkest hours, and had kept him from completely giving up. It was strangely freeing not to feel the darkness at the moment.
Now here he was, back astride his trusty stallion, Midnight. The late morning sunshine warmed the dewy September day. The pungent scent of green grass, damp earth, and fresh air filled him with cheer. In a far field, workers were harvesting corn, loading entire stalks to wagons drawn by stout horses. Birds screeched above as they soared and floated on the breeze.
Edward glanced down at Midnight. “Well, old boy, did you miss me?” His hand stroked the horse’s graceful black neck. It reminded him of a sleek black swan’s. He guided Midnight along his favorite path and tried not to jostle his shoulder.
Edward thought back to his childhood adventures with the brat. Oddly, Ian didn’t seem the same now. They used to be such fast friends, in fact he could hardly be rid of him. Now Ian never had time to even look in on him in the London town house. Yet, Ian and Winston got on famously, which Edward was happy to see, but Edward felt that Ian had completely forgotten him.
Admittedly, Edward had never really taken time to come back to visit in these last five years. He had been too involved with his own affairs to return home to see anyone, even his father. He simply was never able to get away from the overwhelming demands of the war.
Perhaps Ian was angry with him.
As Edward reached the crest of the hill a vast vista of green grass interspersed with colorful wildflowers spread out before him. It rolled off i
nto gentle hills and lush dark forests in the distance. He had always loved this view and paused to take in the sight.
Giving a little nicker, Midnight pricked up his ears and began to prance. Edward looked around to see what was exciting the stallion. Off in the distance, a horse with a small rider tore across the meadow like a demon on fire. Good Lord. Was it Ian? Look at him ride! His form was perfection as he rode in his usual balanced half-seat, leaning forward, crouching low over the horse’s shoulders. The stirrups were short and tucked in close. The horse and rider moved gracefully together as if they were one.
Edward smiled with pride. It would have to be the brat. Even though he hadn’t seen him ride in five years, his unique hell-fire style was still evident. No one else he knew rode that daringly or skillfully. And the chestnut brown horse decidedly looked like the brat’s horse, Traveller. Edward wanted more than ever to catch up with him, and Midnight tugged at the bit to do so, but he knew his shoulder was not ready. He should turn back soon.
A moment later, the horse and rider disappeared into the trees. Edward recognized the place as the direction where the pond was located. It was where he had taught the brat to swim, where they had sailed their toy ships—where the brat had often cheated by ramming his ship into Edwards. Perhaps Ian went there to rest his horse and give him a drink. Edward decided the pond would be a far enough ride before turning back. Midnight might appreciate a drink from the pond anyhow.
When Edward approached the pond, he could not see anyone. A horse nickered from a clump of trees and he recognized Traveller tethered to a low hanging oak branch.
Gingerly, he slid off Midnight and tethered him next to Traveller. He ambled toward the pond and smiled when he heard splashing. The brat must be swimming.
Edward found a sunny mound with a wide overview of the water. He eased himself down onto a fallen log. Squinting to reduce the glare of the sun, he peered out over the pond to see if he could spot Ian.
The sun warmed Edward’s face and its bright rays sparkled over the water, almost blinding him. Soon his eyes adjusted and he spotted a wet blond head pop out of the water for a gulp of air and dive back under. A few moments later, he saw Ian surface for another breath, and plunge again beneath the surface.
Edward wished he could swim today as well. The day was beautiful. He was alive and home and felt like a lad. Soon enough, he told himself. In another few months, his wounds should all be healed, the shoulder as good as new.
His eye caught the rumpled pile of a shirt and breeches heaped over some tall riding boots on a flat rock at the water’s edge a small distance away. He chuckled. The brat’s clothes. Perhaps he should hide them.
The swimmer emerged from the water closer to Edward this time, rising higher slightly to dive back in.
Edward inhaled sharply and froze. Icy disbelief numbed him and he could only stare out over the water. Holy hell. That was not Ian. The swimmer was a female who merely looked like Ian.
It must be…Alexandra.
Spellbound, he watched her long wet legs kick through the water. She was incredible. Even though he felt like a wretch for spying upon her, he could not look away. She had grown up to be a beauty. She was too far away to observe very closely, yet he could still tell by the way she swam with long reaching strokes that she was athletic and agile.
Then she swam nearer toward her clothes and emerged from the water. Edward was mesmerized. She waded out of the water. He broke into a sweat.
As if suddenly sensing someone was near, she stopped in ankle-deep water and peered in his direction. She blushed as if someone had caught her, yet she squinted and didn’t seem to see him with the sun glaring behind him.
Edward devoured her with his eyes. Her nude body glistened. She was surprisingly all woman, with soft curves, beautiful breasts, a tiny waist and long sleek muscular legs. And taller.
Searing hot need pulsed through his body. His cock grew rock hard. His fingers dug a white-knuckled grip into the log where he sat.
Alexandra waded over by her clothes and sat on the edge of a large flat rock while the water dripped off her body. She tossed her head back and lifted her face to the sun. She leaned back on her hands and stretched out, extending her long legs in front of her.
Edward could watch her no longer. His head reeled with confusion. And he felt like a lecherous wolf.
This was Alexandra, the girl he despised, his nemesis. Now he was gawking at her like a randy schoolboy.
As quietly as he could manage, he made his way back to his stallion and heaved himself into the saddle. His shoulder throbbed. He reined Midnight back to the trail. By the time he returned to Devonwood Hall, his body ached with total exhaustion.
Chapter 23
Edward stared at the fire flickering in the hearth of his bedchamber, trying to subdue his temper. He was reclined on his bed, unable to sleep. Business letters were spread out in front of him, but he could not read the words. He flung his letters to the floor and flinched at the pain he caused his shoulder.
The vision lingered in his brain of a beautiful girl with flashing violet-blue eyes, rising nude out of the water. She was breathtaking and his immediate reaction even now was pure lust. As he thought back to her expressions and demeanor, the sharp stab of recognition was undeniable.
She was exquisite.
But even beyond that, she rode like only one person he knew.
She rode like the brat.
The brat had a unique style that would be very difficult to duplicate, even for a twin brother. She swam with an energy that was what he so admired about the brat. It had to be her.
It would also explain why Ian was so distant now. He had always been distant! It had always been her.
Edward couldn’t decide whether he was more furious at her or at his own gullibility. She had thoroughly duped him and he felt like a bloody idiot.
Grimacing, he realized he had always been a rather self-absorbed lad and rarely thought of others unless there was some advantage to himself. His temper was easily set off—predominately by her. He hoped he had somewhat outgrown that trait now. Alexandra had cleverly taken advantage of his self-absorption, allowing her to take on a role using the dictates of society as her disguise.
He sat up too quickly, jarring his shoulder. Gingerly, he rose and walked over to the basin, splashing his face with water. Reaching for a towel, he patted his face dry.
He thought of all the times he had wanted to throttle Alexandra. He wanted to throttle her right now. They could never be in the same room together without an argument.
But could it really have been this young slip of a girl whom he had taught to swim and shoot and use a sword? Was it she he had raced with like demons across the meadows on horseback? It was unfathomable to think Alexandra was really the embodiment of his childhood. Then he realized soberly, it was she whom he had thought of in his black prison cell.
The more he encompassed the whole scenario, the more it oddly made sense. She would have been bored with the other girls. He had watched the brat fidget too many times, impatiently tapping her toe. He knew when he saw those violet-blue eyes flashing, she was envisioning more pirates to capture, highwaymen to slay, and horses to race. It was that indomitable spirit he recognized. He cherished her for it then and admittedly still now.
Cringing, he remembered a brawl they got into with some other lads. He allowed her take some punches, thinking it would toughen Ian up. But it was Alexandra! And she took the punches like a man.
Yet things were now completely different. He had seen her unclothed. She was magnificent and he wanted her. Thank heavens she wasn’t his blood relative. He already felt like a filthy lecher for lusting after his own father’s ward.
Oddly, even their animosity held a certain logic. They were always too aware of each other. He resented how a slip of a girl could dominate his thoughts by merely entering the room. What he thought was anger could have actually been passion. Actually, he always felt intensely alive when they were arguing.
He needed to rest for the soiree tonight. What would he say to Alexandra? It was inevitable they would see each other.
Despite his anger at being duped, he also admired her because he knew the brat so well. It was a bold feat to take on the role of her brother, even through all their mock swordfights and battles. She hadn’t once let down her guard. It has always been her, of that he was certain. If it had been Ian even part of the time, he would have picked up on their differences, however subtle. On occasion, he did think the brat was a rather effeminate lad.
Edward frowned and gently stooped to gather his letters off the floor, placing them in a neat stack on the side table by his bed. The missing pieces of his memories weighed on him. Now he also had the puzzle of Alexandra.
The real issue he needed to face was whether he could finally forgive her for the tragedy. Because Alexandra was alive. Yet his wonderful mother, Jane Devon the Duchess of Ashford, was dead.
Bending forward, he cradled his head in his hands and forced himself to think back to that horrid day. He and Alexandra were both children, she was ten and he was twelve.
They were returning from a short holiday in Brighton when a sudden storm overtook them. He could still hear the rumbling thunder and sharp cracks of lightening as icy sheets of rain pummeled their conveyances. The roads became nearly impassable. They decided to wait out the storm at the next inn. His mother and Alexandra were in the first coach. He was following in the second coach with Ashford and Winston. In horror, he watched his mother’s coach slide off the road over a ledge...
His valet entered the room. “Did you sleep well, Sir?”
Edward blinked hard and shook his head. “Not really, James, but I did get some rest.”
James nodded. “It is time for you to dress for the soiree. Guests will be arriving soon.”
“Of course,” Edward answered, rising stiffly from his bed. “I hear Lady Bertha has outdone herself.”
“Indeed, Sir. And all in your honor.”
“Oh, no.” He chuckled. “I have it on good authority that I am just the excuse. This occasion is really for Lady Alexandra.”
Leigh Sparrow Page 13