“Help me stand, James,” Edward said.
Edward was hauled back to his feet, and James helped him to the settee.
Alexandra sat beside him, reaching for his arm as if she was afraid he would collapse again. When she attempted to rebutton his shirt, he took her hands and raised them to his mouth, placing tender kisses on her palms. She let out a small gasp and he felt inordinately pleased.
His eyes probed her beautiful face. “Alexandra, I think it is time we call a truce, you and me. Will you consider it?”
She closed her eyes and nodded.
“James, it is time for me to retire. Please escort me back to my room.”
“May I help?” Alexandra asked.
Edward thought he would drown in the wondrous pools of her worried eyes.
“I’ll be fine. Go back to our guests. We’ll talk again soon—very soon.” He brushed an errant blonde tress off her cheek and smiled softly. “You must know I don’t swoon over just any girl,” he teased. Then James ushered him out of the library.
Chapter 26
The following week was a blur for Alexandra, with all the final fittings, lessons and general uproar for the upcoming debut. In the daytime, she hardly found time to think about Edward. But at night in her bed, she longed for him, and wondered if she dared to hope. He said they needed to talk. Now that he knew more of the truth, would he have regrets?
Bertha accompanied Alexandra while she was presented at court, a necessary rite of passage for all debutantes of the ton. The whole procession was mostly waiting in an antechamber at St. James Palace, and then a final presentation before the queen which seemed to be over in a blink.
Then the night of her debut arrived.
Alexandra eyed herself, standing in front of her full-length mirror. Her own reflection eerily transported her back to the night in Paris. Her gown was again ice-blue satin with a low rounded neckline, delicate cap sleeves, and an old-fashioned dropped waist flaring into a full skirt. She couldn’t help herself; she simply needed to wear this color again. Bertha’s couturier had agreed that the gown was uniquely stylish in a classical sort of fashion.
Around her neck Alexandra wore a delicate sapphire and diamond necklace that was her mother’s. Matching drop earrings adorned her lobes. Her hands and arms were encased in long white gloves up to her elbows.
She had not seen Edward again since the soiree, now eight days past. Bertha was adamant that she have no gentlemen callers at all this week, not even Ian.
As she descended the stairway, both Bertha and Ashford, in their formal attire, waited in the foyer. Ashford flushed with pride when he saw her.
“You look utterly stunning, my dear girl,” Ashford declared with wistful affection. “I daresay you have grown up before my very eyes. Your parents would have been very proud indeed. And my Jane would have burst with delight to see you so lovely.”
Alexandra gave him a heartfelt hug. “We all miss her so very much, Uncle Ash.”
A flash of sadness passed over his eyes.
Bertha wore a purple satin cloak over her burgundy silk gown, with an exotic arrangement of peacock feathers in her hair. She eyed Alexandra in a final inspection. “You are a vision, my dear. And you were quite right about the gown. The blue is perfection.”
Henrietta draped a cloak of blue velvet trimmed with white ermine over Alexandra’s shoulders.
“Berwick’s is only a short ride away,” Bertha announced, glancing at the clock. “But I do suggest we get cracking.”
When Alexandra stepped out of Ashford’s ducal coach at Berwick Hall, she saw everyone turn to look at her. Ashford took her hand on his arm and escorted her through the grand entrance of towering columns. “Your brother is waiting inside. He is especially anxious to see you.”
She had missed her twin. This was the longest they had been separated since she returned from France.
Their cloaks were taken by a footman. Then she heard their names announced. “The Duke of Ashford, Lady Bertha Devon, Lady Alexandra Weston.” This time she couldn’t hide behind a mask or a false name.
Alexandra nervously glued a smile on her face and approached the grand staircase into a magnificent marble ballroom with Uncle Ash at her side for her entrance into society. The ton was more intimidating than the tavern full of drunken sailors in Calais.
Violins softly sang in the background, sweetly threatening. All eyes were upon her for the moment, like daggers. As she descended the stairs, hushed whispers circled the room, like sharks before a feeding frenzy. She heard the faint shatter of a glass and jumped slightly. Ashford lifted a brow and gave her a reassuring smirk.
Ian stood elegantly tall, full of pride, at the bottom of the stairs. When Alexandra reached the last step, he took her hand and bowed over it. “My God, Alex, you look amazing! Do I get the honor of your first dance?” Then he whispered teasingly, “Don’t look so terrified.”
Alexandra gave him an adoring smile and dipped into an elegant curtsy. She wanted to hug him, but knew it was not proper at the moment. “I vowed to dance with no one else until I danced with you, my dear brother. By the bye, you look quite dashing yourself!”
Ian gave a taken-aback expression and she laughed. He wore a black superfine tailcoat and trousers, with a white shirt and jauntily tied cravat under a navy blue brocade waistcoat. His blonde hair was neatly trimmed and slicked back.
Winston stepped up behind her. “I say, my lady, you look quite tolerable.”
Alexandra turned, dipping into another curtsy. She grinned at him. “Why, thank you, kind sir, do you think I will do?”
He bowed deeply in front of her and chuckled, flashing a quick ogle at her bosom. “Never fear, my dear. You shall have no need to fish for compliments tonight. And please allow me a dance after Chesbury.”
Quickly scanning the room, she saw Edward was not present. She swallowed her disappointment. Of course. Why ever would he come? How had she fooled herself into thinking he might have softened towards her?
Then Bertha was beside her, beaming. “Come, my dear. I shall introduce you around. You are not to dance with anyone at all until I give you the nod.”
Bertha presented Alexandra to those whom she deemed the most consequential in sending a young debutante down the correct social path. Exuding her utmost hauteur, Lady Bertha Devon was in her element and this was her moment. She seemed exceedingly pleased with how things were progressing.
Alexandra recognized several people from the soiree the week before at Devonwood Hall. The Earl and Countess of Falcourt were again present, as well as The Duke and Dutchess of Wallingford, whose son, Stephen, had escorted her to dinner that evening. She pasted on her brightest smile as they chatted with her, and was much relieved she could recall their names properly.
She was also introduced to other debutantes, including Lady Marjorie Pickford and Judith Tisbury.
Marjorie asked in a friendly voice, “Is that your brother who greeted you earlier?”
“Yes,” Alexandra replied proudly, then suddenly realizing Ian would be considered fair game tonight. “He is my twin, The Earl of Chesbury.”
Judith added, “I do hope you will present us to him tonight.”
“I will be delighted to do so,” Alexandra replied. But she would never introduce them to Edward, if she was ever given the opportunity. Of course, it really was not an issue since Edward had not bothered to attend.
“So lovely to see you looking so radiant, my dears,” Bertha chimed in to the other debutantes. “I’m quite sure you will have a better chance to become more acquainted later. Do come along, Alexandra. You simply must meet Lord and Lady Glochester.” With her hand on Alexandra’s elbow, Bertha towed her along. “Keep smiling, dear!” she said under her breath, “You are debuting most splendidly.”
Chapter 27
Edward was fetching a drink at Berwick’s refreshment table when he spotted a stunning woman descending the grand stairway across the room.
It was Gabrielle.
&
nbsp; His heart lurched to a halt and he dropped his glass, shattering it on the floor. He apologized quickly to a footman who rushed to clean it up. Then he took another step towards her to see her from a better vantage point.
She was a vision. Breathtaking. Her white-blonde hair was piled high on her head, sparkling under the candlelight. Her creamy complexion glowed. And, oh hell, her gown was…blue.
It was that same-as-in-Paris blue.
All of a sudden, he couldn’t breathe. His throat constricted and his heart froze in his chest. He sucked in a deep breath and struggled to focus on what his eyes were seeing. He couldn’t bloody believe it.
He had kissed her in Paris in a beautiful moonlit garden, and she had been wearing that very same gown…Or was it? Squinting, he took a step closer. The style was somewhat similar, with a full skirt. It was slightly bold, but still demure. But the resemblance was uncanny. What the deuce could Gabrielle Demerre be doing here in London at Berwick’s, of all places? She wasn’t a debutante!
Lord Banks stepped up next to him. “Jolly good to see you out and about, Captain! How’s the shoulder faring?”
Edward blinked and looked at him, then forced a smile. “I’m well, Sir.” He reached out and shook his hand and then glanced quickly back at the woman.
Banks chuckled. “She’s lovely indeed, isn’t she? Ashford is strutting like a peacock with that lovely ward of his on his arm. Can’t recall the girl’s name.”
His peered closer and his face paled. She was not Gabrielle. “…Uhh, Alexandra?” She was walking on his own father’s arm. It could only be Alexandra.
“Ah, yes. Lady Alexandra Weston.” Banks lifted his drink to his mouth. “The mind slips when you get old, you know. I used to never miss a name. I must say, you normally don’t make a showing for these type of affairs. Thought you avoided them like the pox. From what I hear, the gaming houses are more your preference.”
“I was coerced here. Ordered by my Aunt with dire threats.”
Banks shook his head and chuckled. “Ahh. I’d rather face the gallows than the ire of Lady Bertha.”
Edward watched Alexandra smile up at Ashford and his father was beaming. It was indeed Alexandra. Edward’s heart immediately glowed with pride for her. She was exquisite.
But wait a goddamn minute. With that gown and her white blonde hair piled high on her head, she was the spitting image of Gabrielle that night in Paris. Her gown was similar, the same blasted color, and her blonde hair mirrored Gabrielle’s white wig. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. His mind must be playing tricks on him. Or was he simply going mad? His dreams must have melded the two of them together into a desperate deluded fantasy.
He pinched himself. Ouch, damn it. He wasn’t dreaming. Merely desperate and delusional. Edward snorted and tried to remain collected, yet hot rage and confusion were building in his gut. “She reminds me of someone I recently met in Paris.”
“Paris, you say?” Banks asked, pulling out his quizzing glass to examine her. “Impossible! The chit is too young and Paris is too perilous.”
A sinking suspicion settled in the pit of his stomach. He watched as Aunt Bertha introduced her to the ton. Oddly, Alexandra seemed a bit nervous. There was a vulnerability about her, yet she was chatting and smiling with grace and charm, dipping occasionally into an elegant curtsy. He was pathetic, staring at her from a distance like a besotted reprobate.
Banks slapped him on the shoulder. “She’s quite a looker, that one. If only I was thirty years younger, she’d be the one I’d choose. If I were you, I’d use your family connections and not allow the young bucks to steal her away.”
Edward glanced at him. “Are you saying I’m old?”
Banks cleared his throat. “You seem old.”
They watched Ian escort her onto the dance floor for her first dance. A quadrille. She and her brother looked wonderful together. And different—not identical! How could he not have known it was her rather than Ian? Seeing them together, it was quite obvious which one was the brat.
But she did look exactly like Gabrielle Demerre, whom Edward had been dreaming of and mooning over for weeks like a sick hound. When she smiled at Ian, his blood chilled. It was that same mesmerizing smile he had seen beneath her jeweled mask. Those lips. They were the same beautiful lips he had kissed in the garden. He would stake his good shoulder on it.
“No, I’m sure I met her in Paris—at LaCroix’s.”
“Oh, come now, Captain. Everyone there was masked.” Banks waved a hand in dismissal. “She probably looks similar to someone who was there. That ball was crawling with insurgents. No place a young deb would be, indeed not a sordid place like that.”
Edward straightened and sharply inhaled. Bloody hell, had he actually made love with Alexandra in Paris? Had she known it was him? And to think what a damnable fool he had made of himself. Was this her twisted form of a practical joke?
Then the analytical, spy-master part of his brain took charge. Examining the facts, it could not be possible this was merely a jest. Alexandra must have somehow found her way to Paris under the guise of Gabrielle Demerre. She arrived at the LaCroix Ball on the arm of Francois Jonteau, one of the most treacherous men in all of Paris. At the time, Edward was sure she was Jonteau’s latest whore—or a French spy.
“It was the night I went there to investigate Jonteau. The night before the raid on our crew. She looks like the woman who came with Jonteau.”
At the mention of Jonteau, Banks looked at him steadily. His tone dropped into intelligence mode. “After these past five years, I’ve learned never to dismiss your instincts, my boy. You can smell a rat a league away.”
Jonteau was a known dissident and loose cannon. There were speculations he was being positioned to be the next leader of Les Noveau Liberterres, an underground revolutionary group with no loyalties to the new or old regime. When Gabrielle left alone to go on the terrace, Edward hoped for an opportunity to talk to her, to discover who she really was, and perhaps to give her false information to take back to Jonteau.
“If you say she is suspicious, perhaps indeed we should look into her,” Banks added.
Oh, Edward intended to look into her indeed. The attraction he had felt for her was instant and intoxicating. She could have been an assassin out to kill him. If not for the disturbance at the masque, she could have easily succeeded. Ah, but of course, she then identified her missing lover for whom she was searching as the Black Swan, dispelling any of his doubts that she was indeed a spy.
This was all too bizarre to be a coincidence. Apparently Alexandra was a master of disguise. She got plenty of practice, being the brat all those years. She must be in trouble right up to her pretty little ears.
The waltz ended and Winston came to claim a dance with her. Winston was smiling down at her like a lech. Deuce take it, Winston was the one who had first introduced Edward to that notorious fleshpot, The Flaming Flagpole, when he was fifteen. Winston was a well established rake and cad, a fact Edward himself knew only too well.
Banks nudged him with his elbow. “I daresay, you’ve got competition already—from your own brother.”
Oh hell. Winston was ogling Alexandra’s breasts right in front of the whole ton. Edward looked around and noticed several other men staring at her.
Stupidly, he felt for his sword at his side. It was only there for style. But at this moment he truly wanted to skewer Winston and any other man who came near her.
Edward wanted to approach her, but hung back behind the crowd, not wanting his jaded reputation to damage her. He had to admit, he wasn’t exactly a prize society catch, due to one or two unfortunate escapades in the gaming houses. The ton had a memory like an elephant’s. That incident with the two jealous mistresses at the Gurgling Gander hadn’t helped matters. Especially when it made the broadsheets. That was the day Ashford invented a whole new catalogue of curses.
“Perhaps you should ask the girl to dance, Captain. Ask her some questions,” Banks said thoughtfully. “It
could dispel your suspicions.”
Should he dare dance with Alexandra? She would dance with him, wouldn’t she? She must not dislike him quite so much any more, hopefully, since she did go to all the bother of saving his worthless hide. However, it made him a worse a cad for lusting after his own father’s ward. Yet, now Winston was lusting after her too. He would put that business to an end at once. He was jealous as hell for the first time in his life and he was not bloody happy about it.
“I’d hate to tarnish her spotless reputation,” Edward replied with a hint of ire.
“Bah. Your brother’s notoriety is nearly as bad. She’s dancing with him, and no one seems to care.”
“Indeed, she’s so beautiful the men won’t care. But the society ladies will rip her to shreds.”
Banks lifted a bushy brow. “If you are suspicious of her, you should speak to her. A dance seems the most logical approach.”
Looking around the ballroom, Edward noticed many peculiar guests were in attendance for merely an ordinary debutante affair. Military guards were milling about. Usually it was only like this if a member of the royal family attended. No royals were here. He recognized some faces from the War Office. He assumed Banks was here tonight due to his long friendship with Ashford. But Banks was also one of the most brilliant strategic military minds in England. He was as wily as an old fox. Apparently tonight was business.
Edward’s jaw tightened. “You’re expecting trouble tonight.”
Banks scowled. “We’re hopeful for no…incidents.” He shook his head and his face became terse. “As I mentioned, your instincts are uncanny.”
“What’s going on?” Edward asked.
Bank’s mouth tightened. “Nothing. Yet.”
The hackles rose on the back of Edward’s neck. Those hackles had saved his skin on more than one occasion. Trouble was brewing. He would wager Alexandra was mixed up right in the middle of it.
What sort of game was she playing tonight? She had purposely worn that color. He knew it in his gut. They really did need to catch up.
Leigh Sparrow Page 15