“A rose is a rose is a rose,” Alaina returned. She then glanced at the Dowager. “Thank you, Ma'am. Um, I might be out of line, but I think it's too formal for you to be calling me, ‘Lady Alicia.’ Why don't you use my first name?"
Mother and son exchanged looks, but Alaina shrugged it away. Bad enough to be called another name, but to have “Lady” tagged onto it was more than she could handle.
“Certainly....Alicia.” The Dowager beamed. “That is a wonderful idea, isn't it, Richard?"
Alaina leaned back in her chair to study him. Richard. She liked the name; it suited him. Richard the lionhearted. King Richard, the despot facing a usurper to his throne.
He returned her gaze with such malice, she actually shivered. “Certainly, Mother. Alicia has not been a lady in years."
Alaina couldn't help sighing. Why was it that when she finally met a man who aroused strong feelings in her, the man in question absolutely loathed her? Or rather loathed the woman she pretended to be. Fickle, fickle fate.
But she couldn't allow his taunt to remain unchallenged. She delicately dabbed at her lips with the linen napkin. “That was a low blow, even for you."
Raising an eyebrow, he folded his arms against that massive chest and stared at her.
Nervously fingering her earlobe, she dropped her gaze. It wouldn't do for this man to discover her deception. It wouldn't do at all.
The Dowager dropped her napkin on the table. “Well, my dear Alicia, it is time for us ladies to leave Richard to his port.” Her comment made it plain that she considered her son to be behaving abominably.
The footmen assisted the Dowager and Alaina with their heavy pink chairs.
“And I have a request for you,” the Dowager continued as she adjusted the train on her gown. “I would be so pleased if you called me Wilhelmina."
“I'd be delighted to.” That was speaking God's honest truth. Alaina had come through her ordeal with flying colors. Neither mother nor son suspected their dining companion was someone other than Lady Alicia.
The Dowager touched her son on the shoulder before passing by. “We shall be in the White Salon when you are finished with your port."
“Yes, do join us, Richard,” Alaina said with sugar in her tone, following the older woman's lead. It was a heady feeling knowing she put Lord Saybrooke in his place.
Suddenly, he was out of his chair. He grabbed Alaina by the upper arm and glared hard into her eyes.
Why had her feeling of success lasted only one second? Fear sizzled her insides. God in heaven, what had she done this time? This man was a pressure cooker of emotions.
To the Dowager, he ordered, “Go to the Salon, Mother. Alicia will join you shortly.” He also dismissed Biddleton and the footmen.
Wilhelmina, or maybe her correct title was Lady Wilhelmina, and the servants slowly obeyed the order. As the Dowager complied, she sighed mightily as though she knew better than to question her son. The footmen followed the older woman to the door, obviously reluctant to leave an explosive situation behind.
Alone with her enraged host, Alaina looked up at the vaulted ceiling and prayed for inspiration. “You're hurting my arm,” she said matter-of-factly.
Instead of releasing her, he yanked her to an upholstered bench and shoved her down. He bent over her, legs astride and hands fisted on his hips. Actually, he was quite ... intimidating.
Rubbing her bare forearm, she frowned. She'd had just about enough of his abusive tactics. “Well, what do you want? Do you always use force on a woman, like some type of primitive?”
“Explain your behavior, Madam. What is the meaning of all this?” His hands gestured out to encompass Alaina from head to toe.
She moved to get up but he roughly pushed her back down. “Answer me. What devious plans are you conceiving?”
“I have no idea what you're talking about. You've no right to manhandle me.”
Lord Saybrooke dug his fingers in her shoulders, seeming to take pleasure in the action. “I have every right, strumpet. The thought of harming you, you unfaithful beauty, is very tempting. Very tempting, indeed. I should have done this six years ago.”
He shook her violently, causing her hair to escape from the chignon Dana had worked so hard on.
Alaina fought to keep her composure but it was hard to think, and physically, she was no match for this man. “Stop it! Please stop!” she implored.
The sound of her voice must have penetrated his Neanderthal mind for he abruptly released her. Clasping his hands behind his tail coat, he began pacing the patterned floor in front of her. It was several minutes before he spoke.
“My conduct is reprehensible. I beg your pardon,” he said stiffly. “I would appreciate an explanation of your inconsistent conduct.”
He lounged against the nearest fireplace—hard to believe the room had four of them. With his elbow on the mantle, right leg crossed in front of the left, and a superbly polished toe of his boot resting on the floor, he was a picture of unconcern. What a change from the ferocious fellow of a few minutes ago. His poise didn't fool her, however. The tightened cords in his neck betrayed his true feelings.
“To what, specifically, are you referring?” she asked cautiously.
He seemed annoyed with her mild demeanor. “What about suggesting my mother drop the title of ‘Lady'? After all these years, it is suspicious. Indeed, I believe that is why you married me, is it not, m'dear? An earl's wife has privileges similar to those your father's house accorded you.”
“I thought it a nice gesture. More friendly—nothing sinister in it, believe me.” So his rank was that of an earl. One more tidbit of information. But now that his temper was back on an even keel, her sense of humor reasserted itself. “You can still call me ‘Lady Alicia,’ if you like.”
“You are too kind,” he said sarcastically. “What about your tanned skin, then? You always went to great lengths to preserve its ivory color.”
“I went outside a lot when the sun was shining.” Weak explanation but that was all she could think of. “I think I look rather healthy, don't you?"
Hopefully that answer satisfied him about the difference in her appearance. But to divert his attention, she tried a frontal attack; it had worked before. “Don't you like my complexion?” She turned to him, wide-eyed, and fluttered her lashes. Gosh, this was fun!
Of course he didn't see it that way. “When have you ever considered my preferences?” he asked bitterly.
At that, her heart went out to him.
“What about your mode of dress?”
His disapproving tone erased her sympathy. She glanced down at her gown. White muslin, arranged in a classical style, and girdled under the breasts, fell full and long to the ground. A Greek motif was embroidered in gold about the hem and train of the gown, which fell in a straight line from the empire bustline. The neckline formed a “V” shape and the short sleeves puffed gracefully on her upper arms. A matching shawl completed the outfit.
“What's wrong with my gown? I think it's beautiful.”
It was the type of gown that made one aspire to be a Greek goddess. She'd been delighted with her appearance this evening. But evidently, Alicia's husband was not. First he caused her hair to tumble about her shoulders, then he criticized her dress. She spread the material out on the bench and glanced at her gold slippered feet peeping out from the bottom of the dress.
He sure could deflate a person's bubble, couldn't he? “Really, there's no pleasing you, is there?"
“Do not waste your time practicing your wiles on me, Alicia. I am immune to them. That dress was beautiful—over a decade ago. Now, it is an antidote. Your fashion sense is the envy of the ton. What would they say if they saw you now?” The inflection in his voice left no doubt as to what the ton, whoever they were, would think of her.
Eager for movement, Alaina stood and twirled around, throwing caution to the wind. The filmy fabric made an airy dance around her lower legs, then floated gently to the ground. “Oh, who cares? The t
on probably would say my fashion sense has gone on vacation! Anyway, this dress reminds me when I was young.”
College days to be exact. Toga party and all that.
This battle of wits invigorated her. It was quite a challenge to manufacture answers in response to Lord Saybrooke's questions. Of course, it was easy to make a false step, but so what? Until she did, she would let her imagination run rampant. Besides, her replies fueled the man's anger; she enjoyed that, she enjoyed that very much.
“Young? At seven and twenty, you are not yet in your dotage, Madam. Your words explain nothing.” He lowered his voice as if he was confused.
She could understand. None of this really made sense to her either. Then what he said sank in. Evidently, her “twin” was four years younger. Interesting.
With both elbows, Lord Saybrooke leaned on the mantle and observed her from his superior height. “Perhaps the strangest piece of the puzzle is you addressing me differently. I have known you many years, m'dear. You have never used my first name.”
For once, Alaina was stumped. She had called him “Richard,” following his mother's lead. Wasn't that his name? What else could her double have called him?
Then, very clearly, Alicia's words came back to her: “Saybrooke” she had said.
Slowly approaching the fireplace as if it was the lion's den, Alaina looked up into his face. How good-looking he was. Such a hard and lean jaw-line, smooth and square. His hooded eyes had brows that threatened to meet at the slightest sign of displeasure.
“Well, I decided I would get your attention if I called you ‘Richard.'”
Those brows moved together as she prophesied. “And why did you want my attention?” he asked dangerously.
She fidgeted with the folds in her dress. If only he would look at her with less disgust. Avoiding his probing eyes, she struggled to come up with a reason. “I hadn't seen you in a long time. I wondered ... if ... if....” Her voice trailed off. Her imagination finally failed her.
“You wondered if you could still make my life miserable.” He supplied the rest of the words. “Indeed, you can be assured on that count. As you have surmised, you retain that particular talent, m'dear.”
The Earl of Saybrooke made a small bow and quickly left the room, allowing the solid mahogany door to slam, giving evidence to the violence of his feelings. The echo was the only sound in the grand State Dining Room to keep Alaina company.
CHAPTER SIX
The next morning, Richard breakfasted early, hoping to avoid both his mother and his wife. Usually ice-cold in his dealings with Alicia, he was mortified that he had lost control. And to such a degree! The woman could incite turmoil in him—deadly turmoil. Intense emotions such as anger and betrayal burned within him last night, and to his shame, he had allowed them to have full rein over his actions.
He was still irritated at his loss of composure. All of his carefully rehearsed sermons and coolly expressed distaste for Alicia's activities had evaporated at the sight of her impure beauty. If she had only acted as he expected her to act. But, no. Alicia was not being Alicia. Now, or at least last night, she had been an unknown quantity. That unknown quantity threatened to unleash the unreasoning fury that he kept pent-up inside him. He needed more time to restore his emotions—away from his mystery of a wife.
The good Lord above knew he was no saint. And his wife, with her alluring ways and seductive smiles, could tempt a man to do his very worst. Perhaps she was playing some kind of game—torturing him by acting virtuously, in retribution for her exile here.
He plowed his fork into the pile of fried eggs on his plate. Devil take it, but the next few weeks at Saybrooke Hall were bound to be a living hell.
His mother entered the room, looking cheerful in a gown of peach brocade. “Good morning, Richard. I did not expect to see you so early."
“Much to do.” He shrugged. “I have been absent from the estate for the greater part of the year."
She gave his shoulder a motherly pat, then helped herself to the array of food arranged on the sideboard. “It is a lovely day—not too cold. Perhaps Charles and Nigel will arrive today."
Richard relaxed back in his chair. His brothers’ arrival was, at least, a safe topic of conversation.
“Nigel is truly applying himself at Cambridge,” she continued on in this vein. “I am so proud of him. Why, do you know, Lord Grumsbee told me Nigel has a natural aptitude for politics?”
Richard smiled indulgently at his mother. During their journey to the Hall, she had related the news about Lord Grumsbee and his youngest brother several times. “I always knew Nigel was a downy one, Mother.”
The Dowager accepted the compliment for her “baby.” Buttering a hot biscuit, she glanced at him from under her lashes. “Neither you nor Lady Alicia joined me in the White Salon last night.” She then abandoned the demur tactics and stared hopefully him. “Did you two get your differences sorted out?"
“Just Alicia, remember?” he corrected, his tone heavy with irony. “No, we fenced with words as usual. But I must confess, she baffles me. She must be hatching a scheme.”
“You are a pessimist, Richard. Perhaps this exile you imposed on her has changed her for the better. Let us hope so, for Terrence's sake.”
The Dowager took a sip of coffee. “You must know that I never rise early, but I was so convinced that you both would come to an understanding. I hardly slept last night, anticipating the good news.” She raised a plump wrist to her forehead in a theatrical gesture. “You cannot comprehend how happy that would make me!”
Richard sighed. Sometimes his mother excelled at manipulation. He and his brothers had felt her subtle pressure many times before. “The past six years cannot be erased by one night's tête-à-tête.” He shook his head at the very thought. “Besides, Alicia's sins run too deep for forgiveness, even if she were to turn over a new leaf. Which she is not, believe me.”
A sudden thought occurred to him. “Is Terrence becoming a bother, Mother? Is his governess, Miss Kerns, not controlling him properly? I could have him reside with me at Fishbourne.”
Throwing her napkin down with indignation, the Dowager exclaimed, “Nonsense. That boy is a delight! And, I might add, he is my only grandchild. I have given up hope of you siring another child. Adding insult to injury, I do not have expectations for Charles and Lucinda either. Regrettably, we both know which way the wind is blowing there, after two years of marriage. Nigel is, of course, much too young to consider the state of matrimony.”
She picked up the napkin and sniffed into it. “Terrence will be the only comfort I have in my old age.”
Richard was wisely silent during his mother's discourse.
“No, Terrence is no problem, no problem at all. It is not as if I am not familiar with raising boys, you know. Not with three of my own. And as for you taking him, what kind of life would he have, living in nasty conditions on those archaeological sites? I will never understand why you bother with those heathen ancient Romans, Richard. What excitement can you possibly find in digging up broken bits of floor tile, pottery, and ... bones?”
As they had already discussed his favorite pursuit of uncovering Roman artifacts and the lack of human bones found, he again allowed his mother to unburden herself.
A shudder traveled through the Dowager's frame. “What I desire is for you and Alicia to reconcile and provide a home for Terrence so that he can be with his parents. That is what he needs.”
Richard stood and took a deep breath. Although inwardly he still seethed, he took care to school his features to look indifferent. “I know what my son does not need. He does not need a lightskirt for a mother. I would appreciate no more words on the subject. If you want me, I shall be spending the day in the Library with my business agent.”
The Dowager glanced at him with tears glittering in her deep blue eyes. “I do hope I have not pushed you too far, Richard. But it would be heavenly if things worked out. I can dream, can I not?"
Before he could commen
t that his mother's dream would be his nightmare, the breakfast room door opened. Biddleton entered, then announced, “The Honorable Charles Cransworth.”
Charles swept into the room like the whirlwind that he was. “Mater! You are in shocking good looks! Richard, good to see you again. Mind if I help myself to these treats on the sideboard? I am famished.”
Modishly dressed as always, Charles began filling a plate without waiting for anyone's reply. He then flung a well-muscled leg over the mahogany Chippendale chair, and proceeded to stuff his mouth with a pork sausage.
Richard delayed his escape to the Library to sit down again at the table. He hadn't seen his brother in almost a year, however tales of his indiscretions had reached his ears even in Fishbourne.
“Charles, Charles, you are too impulsive,” the Dowager scolded fondly. “Why, look at you eat! One would think you are eight and ten instead of eight and twenty and a married man.”
“'Tis my devilish boyish charm! Nigel will be down in a trice, I know you are agog to see him.” Charles knowingly directed his mother's attention to her youngest son.
Richard smiled at his brother's ruse to get her attention away from him and onto the favored son, Nigel.
“I was not aware that you arrived, Charles.” Richard casually studied his brother's strained face. His blue-green eyes seemed hardened while the corners of his mouth drooped downward. “How is your wife?"
Charles’ frown deepened. “Lucinda took to her room as soon as we arrived—sick as a dog.”
The Dowager's eyes lit up, probably thinking her daughter-in-law had morning sickness.
Her son dashed his mother's hopes with his next words. “Doesn't travel well, that girl—not up to snuff. So tiresome.”
If the Dowager looked cheerful when she had entered the room, she certainly was not cheerful now. Her lower lip trembling, she stood and pointed her finger at both her sons. “Truly, it is monstrous unfair that you two have unhappy marriages. It is ... more than a mother can bear!"
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