It will be interesting to see her tonight. If he played his cards right, he could pull a few tricks of his own
Chapter 24
Edward saw the moment Alexandra attempted to slip into the soiree without being noticed. Looking utterly beautiful, it was a futile effort. She wore a satin dove-gray gown with a low square-cut neckline. Her white-blonde hair draped around her shoulders like angelic curls. He was again struck by how lovely and grown up she looked, since he really hadn’t seen her clearly since he regained consciousness—at least not fully clothed.
Her eyes casually scanned the room. When she found Edward staring at her, their gazes locked. He continued to hold her gaze and she blushed. He was reminded of her blushing as she waded out of the pond, her entire body glistening, pinkened from the cool water. A surge of heat washed through him. He lifted his champagne to his mouth and took a sip, refusing to look away.
“There you are, my dear!” Bertha called, dressed from head to toe in glaring citrus green. She sailed over to Alexandra and tugged at her arm. “Come, I have some guests you simply must meet.” Wrenching her eyes away from Edward, she allowed herself to be dragged away by Bertha.
Alexandra smiled and nodded as Bertha led her around the room, but she hardly heard what anyone was saying. Edward was here. He had looked at her strangely, holding her gaze, as if he had never truly seen her before. Her face felt hot. She wanted to dash over to him and fling herself into his arms. But she was no longer Gabrielle Demerre. And she was definitely not her twin brother. She was back to being Alexandra, the termagent.
Edward looked impossibly handsome in his captain’s uniform. His dark blue jacket was trimmed with red and gold, over a white waistcoat with a white cravat, and buff colored breeches. Several medals were pinned on his jacket. At his side, he wore a decorative sword.
His face was more chiseled than she remembered. She really hadn’t gotten a good look at him in Paris without his mask. And then later, he had been unconscious. But tonight his rich brown eyes sparkled, bringing the fierce life to his face she had always adored.
This would probably be her only chance to see Edward in this festive setting. She was sure he would not attend her debut—not the termagent’s debut, not for her. For that reason, she had asked Ashford not to let Edward to know of her role in his rescue. Edward would probably go shoot himself again if he thought he was alive because of her.
Tonight she would face him as a grown woman, cool and serene. She would be polite to him, set her obsession of him behind her, and attempt to begin a new chapter in her life. Tonight she would not allow him to set off her temper. She was an adult woman now and she could do this. Tonight she would be Lady Alexandra Weston. This entire effort was moot anyhow because he would surly avoid her like the ague.
To please Aunt Bertha, she gave her best effort to be a proper lady, attempting to recall all her lessons from Miss Hatfield. She hoped she could remember everyone’s name, especially since Lady Bertha had drilled her on the guest list the day before. She tried to force Edward from her mind so she could focus on the soiree. But he continued to dominate her thoughts.
“Alexandra, dear!” Lady Bertha said in her trilling voice, pulling her out of her reverie. “I would like to present you to the Earl and Countess of Falcourt.”
She remembered to curtsy and forced a nervous smile. “How do you do?”
The earl, a dashing man in his mid-forties, lifted her gloved hand to bow over it. “Enchanted, my dear.”
The countess added, “My, but you are a lovely girl. No doubt your debut will be a splendid success.”
Bertha beamed. “We are thrilled to be presenting her next week.”
“You must meet our daughter, Elizabeth,” the countess said. “She will not come out until next season, but I am sure the two of you would get on famously from the lovely things Lady Devon has said of you.”
“I would be delighted to meet her,” Alexandra replied.
A young man not much older than Alexandra approached them and requested an introduction.
Bertha’s face crinkled into a broad grin. “But of course, my dear boy. Lord Wallingford, may I present you to Lady Alexandra Weston.”
“How do you do?” she said. She recalled from Bertha’s drilling that Stephen Helmsley was heir to the Duke of Wallingford. What she had not been informed of was how handsome and charming he was. At six feet tall with sandy blonde hair and moss-green eyes, he was the kind of young man every debutante would set her cap for, and every mother would aspire for her daughter to marry. Wallingford lifted her hand to his lips, and held it there a moment longer than was proper.
Then it was announced that dinner would be served.
“May I accompany you to dinner?” Wallingford asked.
“I would be delighted,” she replied with a sudden easy smile.
He looked at her intensely for a moment. “Forgive me for staring, but your smile is amazing.” He placed her gloved hand in the crook of his arm. “I would venture to say you are the loveliest lady here tonight.”
Alexandra gave a doubtful huff. “I daresay, I am most likely the only young lady here tonight. I fear most of our guests are from Lady Bertha’s circles.”
He laughed at her candor. “I assure you, that fact in no way diminishes my compliment; you would be quite lovely in any circle of society.”
He reminded her of Francois—only more sincere. “You are most kind.”
They strolled together into the dining room and Wallingford took a seat beside her.
Alexandra was disappointed that she could not see Edward very well at dinner. He was seated farther down the long table with Bertha, Ashford and Winston.
Ian had not been able to attend. For once, his absence was caused by his work rather than his poor health.
As the Guest of Honor, Edward was constantly being congratulated on his recovery as well as questioned about further progress with the war.
Wallingford recanted funny stories and appeared to take a genuine interest in her. He seemed to make a special effort to put her at ease. Much to her surprise, Alexandra decided she liked him.
After dessert, the men retired to the oak room adjacent to the dining room for cigars and brandy. The ladies adjourned to the drawing room for sherry.
Alexandra’s face ached from smiling so much, but at last the evening was winding to a close.
Bertha pulled her aside. “Alexandra, dear, could I trouble you to fetch Ashford’s pipe? He mentioned he forgot it in the gallery. In the desk, dear. Top drawer.”
“Of course, Ma’am.”
Bertha smiled. “The soiree is going well indeed! You are such a dear.” She turned and rejoined the group of ladies.
Relieved to have an excuse to leave, Alexandra slipped out of the drawing room. She tugged off her gloves and strode down the hall to the gallery, grateful to find a few moments of solitude. Edward had left the party, probably to retire, and she had no further interest in socializing tonight. She was unaccountably exhausted.
She entered the spacious gallery, carefully closing the door behind her. This was her favorite room at Devonwood Hall, with all the relics from historical Ashfords on display. Since staying in London, she missed coming in here.
Several candles were lit, but the room appeared empty. Oddly, the furniture had been moved near the walls, leaving a large vacant area in the middle, much like a ballroom. She strolled over to the display case which held the Ashford sword and shield collections. But as she examined the display closer, she saw two swords were missing.
“That’s strange,” she murmured to herself. “What could have happened to them?”
Heavy footsteps approached her from behind, and she turned to face the open space in the middle of the room. There stood Edward, casually radiant, looking at her with bold a smirk on his face.
“Hello, brat.”
His words echoed through her. She felt the blood drain from her face. He knew.
“How convenient of you to appear j
ust as I was admiring these fine swords,” he drawled, grasping the hilt of a shiny blade in each hand. “Think quick!” He tossed a sword to her.
Instinctively, she caught it by the hilt, as only one very comfortable handling a sword could do.
His brown eyes blazed at her and he arched a smug brow.
Resigned and feeling devilish, she gave the sword a flip in the air, recatching it for good measure.
His eyes narrowed. “I see you haven’t lost your touch. You’ll have the advantage since I’m using my left hand—with my right shoulder injured you see.”
She snorted. “You were always as capable with your left hand as with your right.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “You remember, eh? Let’s see if you remember how to fence…En garde!”
Chapter 25
Alexandra’s face lit up at his challenge. She kicked off her slippers and took her stance. They each began with a quick formal salute, tapping their own foreheads with the flat of their blades, as was their tradition. Then she adeptly blocked his thrust, returning one of her own.
He forced back his weakness and barked out a wicked laugh. “So, I hear ole Teach is still giving you lessons.”
“Not bloody likely. I give him lessons now. This ship is under my command!” she announced, narrowing her eyes.
“Not if I blow it to bits, it ain’t,” he retorted.
They inched across the room, their blades colliding against each other’s with echoing clangs.
Edward noted that her technique was masterful.
“You don’t have the guts,” she challenged, advancing toward him with a swift thrust.
He pushed her harder. “I’m takin’ you prisoner, you bloody traiter. You and Old Teach both, ha-ha!”
“You’ll have to kill me first.” She jabbed back at him as she had done hundreds of times in the past.
He parried and circled around her. She skirted past him. They clashed swords in what could have been a ritualistic dance. She held her own, moving gracefully and even aggressively, although she lacked the strength and was at a disadvantage in her gown.
Edward took great pleasure in watching his brat come to life in the form of this beautiful, tall, daring girl. Although he still had difficulty believing the brat was truly was Alexandra.
Then his shoulder burned, protesting for him to stop. He let out a scalleywagging snarl. “I’m takin’ you as my prisoner, you deserve no less!” With a quick flick, he knocked the sword out of her hand and it fell to the floor with a reverberating clink. He stood in front of her with his blade pointed straight at her lovely throat. His eyes narrowed. “I should skewer you for your deception.”
She glanced at the sword against her creamy throat and leered at him. “Perhaps you should skewer yourself for falling for it.”
His eyes flared at her taunt, and part of him yearned to run her through. But he dropped his sword next to hers, and could not help but admire her impertinence.
“I daresay you’re right.” He stared directly into her lovely face and solemnly pronounced, “I’ve missed you, brat. Ian hasn’t been the same since I’ve been living in the town house. I knew something was not right, but I didn’t know what until I saw you this morning.”
Her brows furrowed. “This morning?”
His gaze held hers. “Look at you, Alexandra. You’ve grown up. And you’re beautiful.” He eyed her once up and down. “Once I recovered from the shock of seeing you rise out of the water like the birth of Venus this morning,” he teased, but then paused, hotly remembering. His voice grew huskier. “Once I recovered from my shock, I knew there was something familiar about you. I recognized your style. You always had an unmatchable energy and spirit. Only the brat can ride the way you do, and swim the way you do.”
Alexandra stood before him, obviously dumbstruck by his confession. Her mouth opened and closed as she tried to talk. “I thought I heard another horse at the pond for a moment, and then dismissed it,” she murmured. But then her face reddened and her back stiffened. Her hands balled into fists at her sides. “Are you saying that you peeped on me? You bloody spied on me?”
Oddly, her rage gave him a devious thrill. Edward’s mouth twitched into a grin, and he shrugged. “Ian was never very comfortable around me, yet at least he manages to keep his clothes on.”
Alexandra’s face turned scarlet. She stepped closer and narrowed her eyes. “You horrid filthy lecher!”
Edward shook his head and chuckled. “I called myself the same thing this morning. But can you just imagine my surprise at discovering that my old sidekick, the brat, has been pulling the wool over my eyes all these years?” His eyes taunted her. “Don’t worry,sweetheart, I forgive you—the view was worth it!”
Alexandra took a step forward to lunge at him, flexing her hands most likely to strangle him, but then she pulled herself back and merely leered at him. She took a deep breath to regain her composure and pushed back her shoulders. Her lips pressed together and she crossed her arms. When she began to tap her toe, Edward almost laughed.
“Well, Edward,” she said in her sweetest controlled voice.
Oh, hell. After five years, he still knew that tone. Her voice was far too sweet. It was the Alexandra viper-tone.
A slow, tight smile stretched across her face. “I daresay the score is now even. Hmm.” Her finger pressed to her cheek. Her brow furrowed in false confusion. “Or does being first make me the victor? I suppose I must let you decide.”
His jaw twitched and hackles rose on his neck. He forced his voice to remain calm and unconcerned. “You’ll let me decide what, Alexandra? Are you implying that you have bested me at something?”
Her brows arched in a challenge. “Since you are asking, I do believe I have. If you were in my place, you would most certainly claim a victory.”
His shoulder throbbed, but he ignored it. Her fury and wit were glorious as she waited to snare him. He knew she would succeed, but still he took the bait. “Enlighten me.”
Alexandra paused to gloat, savoring her sure win. She sighed and gave an exaggerated sheepish look. “When you were shot. I must admit I…”
His eyes narrowed. “You what?”
She took a step closer and looked up at him shamelessly, “I peeked.”
Edward’s eyes flared as he comprehended her meaning. “You what?”
Her brows rose. “Do I win? After all, I did see you naked first.”
He towered over her and looked down into her damnably gorgeous eyes. “Am I to understand that while I was lying helplessly unconscious, you looked down my drawers?” Part of him was truly impressed by her sheer nerve to taunt him with this, but since it was Alexandra doing the taunting again, his blood began to boil.
She took a step closer. The corners of her mouth lifted into a grin. “You were positively filthy. I, uh, helped the nurse bathe you. Edward, I must say that once you are cleaned up, you are quite a manly man.”
“Why you—termagent. I should strangle you!” Before he realized it, he was gripping her shoulders.
“Except you won’t,” she countered, her defiant face an inch in front of his. “Because you know if our places were switched, you would do precisely the same thing—which you certainly proved at the pond.”
For a brief moment, Edward was stunned to silence. The little viper had struck again. His throat constricted as he struggled to rein in his rage. His hands dug into her shoulders and he deliberately willed himself not to strangle her.
But yet…his hands were on her shoulders; he wanted to touch more of her.
Looking down into her violet-blue eyes, so full of life, so full of passion, his rage dissipated. “I fear you might just have me blushing, brat.” His voice cracked as he recovered his wits. “Oh, Alexandra, what am I to do with you?” His lips hovered over hers. What he really wanted was to kiss her, to taste her.
Suddenly, the pain in his shoulder was raging and he released her as if he was burned.
Did he glimpse a shadow of d
isappointment behind her eyes?
His head felt cloudy and his legs were shaky. He looked at Alexandra and felt the blood drain from his face. He took a step and faltered. “Brat, I need to sit—.” His body swayed.
”Edward!” she screamed, grabbing his arm. “Lean on me!” Her arm reached around him, trying to support him.
Edward collapsed to the floor. The room was whirling, but he struggled to remain conscious. He found if he closed his eyes and lay very still, the room didn’t spin so much and the pain subsided.
“Oh, no, Edward, no! This is all my fault. Don’t do this. Don’t die.” She dashed to the door, calling out, “Someone, fetch James! Come help!”
In the next moment, she was on her knees beside him, gently tapping his cheeks. She lifted his head into her lap and tenderly stroked his hair away from his face. Her touch felt like an angel’s.
“Oh, Edward, please wake up. You cannot die after all of this.” She tore open his shirt and her fingers nimbly probed his bandages as if she had done it many times before. “At least you’re not bleeding,” she murmured more to herself. Then her palm covered his forehead. “And thank God, no fever.” The fear in her voice pierced his heart.
His eyes fluttered open and he strained to focus upon her face. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks from watery violet-blue orbs. How odd, there was a faint white line below her cheek bone. He recognized that mark. He had seen it on enough of his men, and owned a few himself…She had been grazed by a bullet.
Then he knew. The knowledge struck him like a deluge of icy water. Horror shot through his heart when he realized the danger she had been in, when he realized the risk she took to save him.
“It was you!” he whispered hoarsely. “It was your voice I heard on the battlefield, on the ship. Your voice kept calling me back, refusing to allow me to die. I thought you were a dream. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you despised me,” she replied. Her voice caught with a sob.
James quickly entered. “Good God, Mister Edward! Are you all right?”
Leigh Sparrow Page 14