Code of Honor

by Andrea Pickens

  Alex had to stifle a grin. "Truly, she is not so addlepated as she just appeared. She is much more at home in the country where she is quite content with her life. She does not like London and feels intimidated by all the machinations of the Ton — her parents included."

  The earl looked at her questioningly.

  "Justin and Anne have known each other for ages and are in love. He would like to offer for her, but her father has bigger plans and won't hear of it. With his deep pockets, he is angling for a title — an earl at least though it appears he may have to be content with a mere baron."

  "I see."

  Alex sighed. "Yes, that's really the main reason we are here for the Season. Justin can't bear to give her up. Somehow he hopes to change her father's mind. But I fear it is rather hopeless."

  Branford frowned slightly as his eyes followed the young couple. He looked as if to say something, then merely compressed his lips and led her onto the floor as well.

  Miss Lockwood watched the earl lead Alex out. "How can your sister have the nerve to dance with the Icy Earl?" she whispered to Justin. "Why, I'm terrified just looking at him. So tall and dark and forbidding..."

  "Why, Lord Branford isn't at all like what they say," Justin found himself saying. "In fact, Alex finds his company quite enjoyable."

  Miss Lockwood looked at him doubtfully. "But it is said he... is ruthless and cold and, well, not a gentleman."

  Justin frowned. "Anne, I should hope you would have more sense than to judge someone by what the gossips say." He eyes strayed over to the earl. "I, for one, think he is a great gun."

  As the music started, Alex was more aware than ever of the light pressure of Branford's hand at her waist, of the faint warmth of his broad chest, of the strength of his hand around hers as he guided her through the lilting first steps of the waltz. What was the matter with her, she thought? She, who never fell prey to any sort of indisposition, was feeling decidedly odd again — perhaps she should not have had a glass of champagne earlier. That must be it.

  "It's back."

  Alex started. "What?"

  "The frown, Miss Chilton. I fear I am failing in my promise to keep your attention.

  "Not at all."

  "Why, with that black a look, I should hope I am not in your thoughts."

  "Why should you be?" she muttered.

  Branford laughed softly. "Why indeed." Then he quickened the tempo, giving neither of them the chance to speak for the rest of the dance.

  The musicians put aside their instruments for a short break and people began to drift towards the game room and the refreshments. As Alex and Branford paused to allow an animated group of young couples to jostle their way off the dance floor, a tall, voluptuous blond, her gown cut very low to reveal her obvious charms, motioned her partner to go on while she stopped in front of the earl.

  "Why, Sebastian dear, it has been an age." Her fan of hand-painted Chinese silk tapped lightly on his shoulder and she left it there so that her hand remained touching the immaculately tailored black serge.

  "Lady Cameron." Branford nodded slightly.

  The lady ignored Alex and stepped closer to him. "Lady Cameron, indeed!" she said in a low, throaty voice. "Why, there is no need to be so formal, Sebastian. I do hope you will call at Grosvenor Square sometime very soon." Her thick lashes lowered demurely. "George is off on the Continent with Wellington again and it can be so very lonely without one's special friends."

  Branford merely bowed a fraction, and in the process managed to dislodge the hand from his shoulder. "How very rag-mannered of me," he said pointedly. "I don't believe you are acquainted with Miss Chilton."

  Lady Cameron's gaze slowly raked Alex from head to toe.

  "How delightful," she said, her voice indicating it was anything but. After a slight pause, she added, "I take it you are new in Town. If you would like a recommendation for anything — such as a modiste who is acquainted with the current fashions — I should be happy to oblige." The sneer was barely suppressed.

  Alex gritted her teeth to avoid snapping an angry retort.

  Lady Cameron unconsciously smoothed the lush figured silk of her exquisite gown. Without another glance at Alex, she turned her attention back to Branford.

  "Do not be a stranger. You know you are always welcome. Anytime." With a slight toss of her golden ringlets and one more playful tap of her costly fan, she moved gracefully towards the crowd milling around the punch bowl.

  Alex had to stifle the urge to plant a well-aimed kick on the provocatively swaying derriere.

  The mood of the evening suddenly changed for her. The glittering lights of the myriad candles seemed too glaring, the scent of the roses too cloying, the notes of the violin too flat, the conversations too shrill.

  Her teeth set on edge.

  Branford regarded her silently for a few moments. "Are you feeling out of sorts this evening, Miss Chilton?"

  Alex was about to let fly with a scathing retort, but instead an entirely different set of words came tumbling out.

  "Sometimes I wish I were more like... like a Lady Cameron."

  "Don't be an idiot," growled Branford. "You are much too sensible to think such nonsense as that."

  Alex was stung by his words. "I know I have neither the beauty nor the gowns,

  nor..."

  "That is not what I said," snapped the earl.

  Alex's chin came up defiantly. "Perhaps I am tired of being sensible. Someone like Lady Cameron has a certain charm..."

  "She is little more than a courtesan," interrupted Branford. "She offers her charms quite

  freely..."

  "Obviously you speak from experience."

  "That, Miss Chilton, is most certainly not a topic of conversation open to you." The earl's voice was dangerously soft.

  Of course he was quite right, she thought as she turned away from him. But to her consternation, she felt a slight stinging in her eyes.

  "Forgive me, my lord," she said coldly. "Naturally you are quite right. Your affairs are none of my concern." Now, if you would kindly return me to my friends, I believe I am engaged with Mr. Duckleigh for the next set."

  Branford's mouth set in a tight line as he offered her his arm. They walked across the in stiff silence and parted without a word.

  Charles Duckleigh greeted her warmly, throwing a dagger-like look after the earl as his broad back disappeared into the crowd.

  "I wish," he added in a low voice, "that you would not allow that blackguard to hover around you so."

  "And I wish that everyone would cease advising me on whom I should and should not speak with or what I should and should not do. I am heartily sick of it. I am neither an imbecile nor a child, Charles. At my age, I am perfectly capable of dealing with the Earl of Branford — or anyone else — without suffering any dire consequences."

  Her tone was perhaps sharper than she meant, for Charles reddened and began to stammer an apology.

  "Alex, I did not mean to imply..."

  She laid a hand on his forearm. "Forgive me, Charles, for shrieking at you like a harridan. I fear I have been rather... out of sorts this evening."

  Visibly relieved, he straightened his shoulders. "I'm sorry for oversetting you. It is only because... He let his words trail off. "Ah, perhaps you would care to take a walk in the garden instead of dancing?"

  Alex nodded gratefully. It seemed like an excellent idea.

  The cool evening air felt lovely after the confines of the crowded ballroom. They strolled along a graveled path, admiring the lush plantings which looked even more alluring in the silver wash of moonlight. Alex was so intent on studying a particular bloom of freesia that she didn't notice Charles had slipped his arm around her waist until he pulled her to a stop.

  "Alex! My dear Alex, I should say. I fear I can no longer contain my feelings..."

  If she were prone to headaches, she was sure she would have developed one now. What an evening!

  "Charles," she said gently, disengaging his
arm and turning to face him squarely.

  "Please don't interrupt me, else my courage may fail me!"

  "Oh, Charles. You are a dear friend, but I should not suit you at all."

  He looked perplexed. "But why? I don't understand."

  "I am too opinionated, too outspoken, for one."

  "I am sure you would learn to temper your feelings..."

  "I am sure I would not," she replied firmly. "I assure you, for a man in your position, who hopes to advance in the ministry, I would be liability."

  That gave him pause to think. "But Alex, perhaps..."

  "It is truly for the best."

  "I..."

  The sound of approaching footsteps curtailed any further discussion. A figure appeared from around a boxwood hedge, wreathed in the pungent smoke from a thick cheroot. Its progress was stopped short by the couple in the middle of the path. Alex hastily took a step back from her companion, pulling away from his encircling grasp as Branford exhaled slowly, forming a couple of perfect O's that drifted lazily away in the breeze as he regarded the two of them .

  "Is there a new country dance?" he inquired dryly. "One that entails jaunts down garden paths?"

  Charles stiffened. "I was just taking Alex — Miss Chilton — back to the ballroom. She was feeling a trifle... overheated."

  "Good. Then you may take yourself off while she finishes cooling off. I shall escort Miss Chilton back as soon as I have had a word with her."

  "I'll not leave Miss Chilton out here in the dark alone... "

  "She will not be alone."

  Charles stopped, nonplussed. "That is what I meant, sir. Alone with you."

  "You seem a trifle confused. If she is with me, she will not be alone," pointed out the earl.

  Charles was momentarily speechless, his face betraying a mixture of anger and consternation.

  "That's quite enough," snapped Alex, barely retraining the urge to stamp her foot. "How dare either of you discuss what I may or may not do as if I was not present and capable of making up my own mind."

  Charles flushed while Branford's mouth twitched at the corners.

  She caught his expression and threw a black look at him before speaking directly to Duckleigh.

  "Charles, you may return to the ballroom while I listen to what Lord Branford wishes to say. As a gentleman, he will naturally provide a proper escort back to my friends."

  Charles clenched his hands into fists but her words gave him no alternative. "If that is what you wish, Alex, then obviously I shall abide by your decision." He bowed formally to her and, throwing one last glare at the earl, retreated with as much dignity as he could muster.

  "Hmmmph," remarked Branford, casually blowing another smoke ring. "Your friend has more gumption than I would have given him credit for."

  "His emotions are rather out of check tonight. And no doubt it did not help matters that you interrupted when he was making his declaration..."

  Branford choked on a mouthful of smoke. "

  What!" he managed to sputter.

  "I said, he was asking me to marry him when you..."

  "That's ridiculous!"

  For the second time during the evening, Alex was stung by his words. "Oh, you think it impossible that someone would wish to marry me?"

  "What I meant, Miss Chilton, was that, in my opinion, it would not be a fortuitous match."

  "Because Charles lacks a fortune and I am plain?"

  "Because he is in awe of you and you would tire of it rather quickly."

  She was amazed at by how astute he had divined the very essence of why she had rejected Charles — but in her current mood, there was no way she was going to acknowledge it."

  "No, what you really meant was that you cannot conceive of a gentleman being attracted to anyone who does not have long lashes or a well-endowed...." She faltered, knowing she was being childish.

  "You seem intent on deliberately misunderstanding me this evening," said Branford softly. He dropped his cheroot onto the gravel and ground out the glowing tip with his boot. "Perhaps it would be best if I take you back to your friends." His eyes drifted from her stormy face down a trifle lower and rested there for a moment. "And you have no reason to be jealous of Lady Cameron's endowments."

  This time she did stamp her foot. "I am not jealous of Lady Cameron!"

  He looked at her curiously for a moment before taking her arm. They walked in silence, the only sounds the crunching of their steps on the gravel, until they came to the steps of the terrace leading up to the french doors of the ballroom. The faint sound of conversation and music wafted out.

  "By the way," said Branford, drawing them to a halt. "May I be the first to offer my congratulations."

  Alex looked at him as if he were speaking Hindu. "What are you talking about?"

  "Your impending nuptials, Miss Chilton. I mean to wish you happy."

  "Oh that. Of course I'm not marrying Charles."

  "Why not?"

  Alex thought for a moment. "That, Lord Branford, is most certainly not a topic of conversation open to you."

  He made no reply but there was laughter in his eyes as he led her back into the room to join her friends.

  Branford left the ball immediately Walking amid the crush of carriages, he located his own and waved it home without him. In his current state of mind, he preferred a long walk. If it were June, he thought ruefully, the evening's crosscurrents of emotions might be written off — as the Bard himself had done — as the effects of Midsummer Night's Eve. But in truth, he had no better explanation for the strange way he was feeling.

  She had been glad to see him, of that he was sure. He smiled briefly at the recollection of how her eyes had lit up with that mesmerizing mix of hazel and green. It was damnably nice to have someone look at you that way, he mused. But her mood had changed so quixotically! Whatever in the world had made her say such ludicrous things? How could she think to be jealous over a piece of baggage like Lady Cameron — his long legs stopped abruptly in mid stride.

  Jealous.

  He came to a halt, his walking stick tapping thoughtfully against his leg. Could it be that she... cared that Lady Cameron had all but invited him into her bed? He began walking again. He had to admit the idea had rather intriguing connotations. But remembering her next words was like a dash of cold water. She had made it quite clear his affairs meant nothing to her. He shook his head.

  Well, regardless of her feelings toward him something had been bothering her. Why else would she have made those absurd comments about not being attractive. At least her innate good sense had prevailed in rejecting that presumptuous clerk. The pup was no match for her — in any regard. She deserved... more. But why should he care about her affairs? That gave him pause to think. Because they had become friends, and friends cared for the happiness of one another. He merely wanted to see her with the chance of being happy. God knows, she deserved that, after all she had been through.

  Another ghost of a smile came to his lips when he thought about her parting words to him. The minx, to throw his own set-down back in his face! Throughout all the trying circumstances of her upbringing she had not lost her sharp wit and quick sense of humor. Why, she was the only person besides Henry and Cecelia that he looked forward to conversing with. He would miss that, he supposed, if she married some dull dog like Duckleigh. A dull dog who had the termidity to call her by her given name.

  Alex.

  He like the way it sounded on his own tongue. It would be nice to call her that.

  He looked up in surprise to see he was already close to his townhouse. Far from settling his thoughts, the walk had only kept his emotions on edge. It was a novel experience, not having them under rigid control. He found himself feeling the need of something — perhaps a large snifter of warming brandy.

  Or perhaps a warm bed. He realized with a start that he hadn't been with a woman since, well, since he had met Miss Chilton. Mayhap that was why he was feeling so agitated. He couldn't remember the last time h
e had gone so long without the pleasures of a female companion to warm his nights. And yet, though he would have welcomed the physical release, he had not the slightest desire to visit Lady Cameron, or any other lady for that matter. What was the world coming to?.

  He sighed, perplexed with himself.

  A glass of brandy would have to do.

  Hammerton paced back and forth over the expensive oriental carpet in his oak paneled library, his eyes narrowed in anger. He lashed out in frustration with a booted foot , sending a delicate Louis XIV sidetable crashing to the floor and the contents of a crystal decanter splashing over the rich brocade of a neighboring settee. Things were not going as he had planned. The Chilton pup was presenting no problem — he still suspected nothing. It was the damned sister who was proving too clever by half. Who could have imagined that a mere female would pose a problem?