Lord Alexander reclaimed his seat and reached for a partially empty bottle of brandy. He tipped it and proceeded to fill his empty glass.
Imogen widened her eyes. Why…why… He intended to sit and indulge in spirits. Here. Now? And refer to her by her Christian name? “But…”
He paused mid-pour and gave her a questioning look. “Yes, Imogen?”
By the teasing glint in his eyes, she knew he expected her to scold him for his high-handedness. Imogen gave her head a slight shake, tired of being the boring, predictable, lady. “Nothing at all,” she bit out, resenting it perhaps as much as she detested the pitying glances she garnered from everyone except her still gleeful mother. Oh, how disappointed her late Papa would have been of his wife’s mercenary grasping for that coveted title. Loyal to a fault, he would have been almost as disappointed in his wife as with Rosalind’s behavior; gloating over the title duchess she’d snared, uncaring that her elder sister’s heart had been breaking. That was the true pain that remained of the hasty marriage between the Duke and Duchess of Montrose.
“Dare I ask what has you ladies hiding away in the library?” Lord Alex asked, giving his glass a slow swirl.
“Nothing,” Imogen said quickly. It brought his head up. Too quickly. She trained her gaze on Chloe. They’d been friends so long they often gleaned one another’s unspoken thoughts.
Chloe stooped to rescue their collection of scandal sheets. “Oh, we’re merely pouring through the gossip columns,” she said. Apparently, her friend didn’t know her quite as well as she’d hoped. Imogen gave her a silencing look. “We’re trying to ascertain the least popular events to attend.” A silencing look her friend studiously ignored.
“Indeed,” he drawled. Fortunately, Lord Alex sounded about as interested as if his sister had announced their intentions to take their vows in the church and have him serve as witness.
“Oh, yes.” Imogen fought back a groan. Please stop talking. “We’re taking care to avoid the crushes.” She waved a hand about. “Those events where all the most popular gossips are in attendance. You see, that has been my clever plan to—” Imogen stepped on her toes. “Did you just step on my toes?” Chloe asked it with the same shock as if Imogen had turned her puppy into cherry tarts.
“My foot slipped,” she muttered, that slight, now none-too-subtle gesture.
Lord Alex attended them with real interest, now.
Splendid.
Her friend gave her long, commiserative look, which bordered too close to that pitying kind. She glanced away.
“Well?” Lord Alex prodded. “Out with it.”
Chloe firmed her lips and shook her head once. Now she would be silent? Well, there was something for at least belated awareness.
In one effortless move, he leaned across the sofa and plucked the copy of The Times from his sister. Imogen’s breath caught as his well-muscled forearm brushed her shoulder. “Thank you,” he said under his breath. He proceeded to skim the front page.
Embarrassment drove back the momentary lapse in sanity his innocuous touch had roused as he skimmed the pages of the scandal sheet that documented her shame. Imogen shifted back and forth on her feet, making a show of studying the room. Her gaze collided with Chloe’s.
Sorry, her friend mouthed, and then turned with a flounce to her brother. “It isn’t really well-done reading the scandal pages,” she said the way a nursemaid might deliver a set-down.
“No, it isn’t,” he murmured, not taking his eyes off the page. “You really should refrain from that.” Then Lord Alex looked up from the page. He met Imogen’s gaze square on. She tipped her chin up a notch. Daring him to say a blasted thing of the dastardly duke and her duplicitous sister. All of it. Any of it.
“Here,” he tossed the paper over to his sister who effortlessly caught it. “All rubbish, that.”
Imogen swallowed hard. Lord Alex was correct. At his unspoken defense, warmth slipped into her heart and, for the first time in a long time, she acknowledged the truth of that. It was all rubbish. Every last bit of it. After months of dwelling on the hurtful gossip, there was something freeing in that sudden realization.
“That is all you’ll say?” her friend exclaimed, cutting into this momentary weakening of the shockingly gallant gentleman.
“Chloe,” she began. She appreciated her friend’s loyalty, but she also craved her discretion. Even if the bounder before them was only her brother, the indolent Lord Alex.
“Oh, uh, yes. Well, then.” Chloe gave a flounce of her curls, this time correctly interpreting Imogen’s silent pleading.
“What would you have me say?”
Nothing. She’d have him say nothing about the scandal, or her broken betrothal, and assuredly nothing about His Grace, the Duke of Montrose.
Both ladies exchanged a look.
He took another swallow of his brandy. “I suppose I could say any lady would be fortunate to avoid marriage to the arrogant fop.” With that, he tossed back the remaining contents.
That. I would have you say that. Chloe laughed and spared Imogen from finding words. Her heart quickened. He could say that particular something about her humiliation. Lord Alex returned his gaze to her; a dark glint in his cynical eyes. Then the warm, fluttery sensation in her chest was extinguished with a reminder of the truth—with his glib tongue and right words he was no different than any other rogue. It would be silly to serve as voyeur to this exchange between Lord Alex and Chloe and form any opinion but the one she’d gleaned of him over the years.
“I daresay I’d rather wed a mere second son than a lofty duke who’d break a lady’s heart,” Chloe said, in a bid to be supportive.
Imogen’s cheeks flooded with heat.
Lord Alex gave a mock shudder. “Egads, that will be a dark day, indeed, when young ladies decide to turn their attentions upon the lesser second sons.” He winked. “After all, avoiding the parson’s trap is the sole benefit of being that lesser, second son.” Even with the crooked grin, the hard twist of his lips spoke of a cynical rogue who avoided any hint of respectable misses.
“Oh, hush, Alex. Why, someday you shall fall in love and I will quite gleefully remind you of what a foul fiend you were,” his sister said giving him a slight shove. “Isn’t that right, Imogen?”
A rake with his chiseled cheeks and noble jaw likely had any number of women falling in love with him on any given day. She shifted. “Your brother has the right of it,” she said softly. Another tug pulled at her heart; a wish for more.
He trained his stare on her once again, in that bold, assessing way.
Did he expect she’d look away? She met his gaze squarely. She’d been the subservient, deferential, young lady once before. Never again. Imogen angled her chin up.
Alex made to take a sip of his brandy and then froze, the glass midway to his lips. Imogen met his gaze with a boldness he’d not expected of a miss of nineteen, twenty years? The blues of her eyes may as well have been a mirror to his own dark cynicism on the sentiments of love and yet, he glimpsed past that, to the emotion in the sapphire depths. He didn’t make it a habit of noticing anything where a young, unwed lady was concerned. With a silent curse, he tossed back a long swallow, grimacing at the trail it blazed down his throat. The chit had the widest eyes and the most generous mouth, full lips made for sin, and…
He choked on his brandy. For the love of God, what madness possessed him that he’d do something as insensible as lusting after Lady Imogen Moore?
“Oh, dear,” Chloe exclaimed, a suspicious glint in her eyes. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” he gritted out. With her temerity in all matters over the years, he knew she’d not be content with that succinct utterance.
She leaned forward and squinted. “I do say, your face is all flushed. Do you notice, Imogen?” Chloe poked him in the cheek and he swatted her hand away.
Imogen’s lips twitched and the lady’s unfiltered amusement softened her face. All thought fled as he was sucked in by the smile
on her full lips. She tipped her head and made a show of studying him. Only, if she truly studied him, she’d see the havoc she now wrought on his senses. “I daresay your brother will be just fine,” she assured his sister, not appearing the slightest bit concerned with whether he did, in fact, end up just fine.
And here he’d been mooning over her and—he shuddered—her innocent smile? Madness, indeed. He bristled, unaccustomed to being so dismissed by a lady. Why ladies young and old clamored for his notice; for reasons that had nothing to do with a title and everything to do with the reputation he’d earned behind chamber doors. With a frown, he finished the remainder of his drink, deliberately ignoring the two vexing misses.
Except Imogen touched a finger against the tip of her lower lip, drawing his attention once more to the lush mouth…
And he choked on his swallow.
She creased her brow. “Oh, dear perhaps there is, in fact, something wrong.” Though the light twinkle in her eyes indicated the lady was having a good deal of fun at his expense.
Which young ladies assuredly did not do. They had fun with him, in ways that would make this teasing vixen’s cheeks burn with shocked outrage and certainly not in any way that was respectable.
“I assure you, I’m indeed fine,” he drawled. Alex set his glass down. He really should leave. Instead, he wandered around to the back of the sofa. He glanced down at the piles of scandal sheets scattered about the floor and toed the copies. They really had amassed quite the collection. “I daresay I’d expect you’d be so thorough as to have The Tons Tattler in your pile,” he said dryly.
Chloe gasped. “How could I have failed to procure a copy?” She sprinted toward the door.
“Where are you going?” he called after her.
“To have one of the footman secure a copy,” she shot back without breaking her stride.
He gave his head a rueful shake and looked down once more. His lips twitched and when he picked his head up, Imogen’s cheeks were red like a summer berry. Which only roused delicious images of the young lady upon satin sheets while he dipped berries in champagne and…With a silent curse he kicked at the untidy stack. “Quite a bit of reading you ladies are doing.”
She smiled. “Your sister’s idea.”
Once more he admired Imogen’s generous smile, noting the faintest dimple in her right cheek which transformed her from something ordinary into someone really quite…extraordinary. “If it is my sister’s idea, it is assuredly a bad one,” he said at last and wandered over to fetch his bottle of brandy and empty glass. Imogen stared and smiled with a woman’s cheek and yet blushed like a young girl just from the schoolroom.
If he was noticing Lady Imogen’s smile, he needed a drink. He filled his glass.
“Do you make it a habit of drinking at this early hour?”
He’d have to be deaf to fail to hear the trace of disapproval in that question. “Yes.” He took a long sip.
She pursed her lips. “Do you also make it a habit of drinking spirits in front of unwed, young ladies?”
God, the termagant was tenacious. He preferred her smiling. “No,” he said solemnly. He gave her a slow, seductive grin. “I make it a habit of avoiding unwed, young ladies altogether.”
She muttered something under her breath.
He would have wagered the allowance his brother now threatened him with that she’d said something about “those fortunate, young ladies”. And standing there alone with Lady Tart-mouth, it occurred to him the lady did not like him. Hmm. This was interesting, indeed. Of course, preferable, as he didn’t need innocents seeking his favor, but still interesting.
Alex propped his hip on the arm of the sofa. “You don’t like me much, do you, Imogen?”
“I don’t know you, Lord Alex.” He gave her a look. After all, she and Chloe had been inseparable through the years. “That is, I don’t really know you,” she added quickly. Too quickly. Imogen cast a hopeful looking glance toward the door, likely praying for his sister’s swift return.
He, on the other hand, wished Chloe all manner of delays in her quest for the scandal sheet he’d sent her in search of. “Come, Imogen we’ve known each other some years now.” The young lady had gone to finishing school with his youngest sister. He’d made a studious point of avoiding the giggling, chatting, young ladies over the years. Beyond Imogen’s scandal with Montrose, he knew nothing more about her.
“No.” She shook her head wildly, dislodging a burnt red tress. “I’ve known your sister for years. You, I know not at all.” Nor did she sound at all enthused about furthering an acquaintance. The stern rebuke underlining her words only roused his dawning interest in the lovely Lady Imogen with her sunset curls piled atop her head.
Alex shoved himself from a position of repose and wandered close. “We are, in the very least, family friends.” He stopped a hairsbreadth from her, until Imogen was forced to retreat or glance up. “Enough that you should call me by my Christian name,” he whispered, unknowing why he should find such interest in the disapproving minx.
She took several hasty steps backward and ran her palms over the front of her skirts. “I would not…it would not be appropriate.” The word appropriate had no place on a mouth such as hers.
The telltale tremble to her long fingers drew his attention and spoke to her awareness of him. Awareness from the bold widows he took his pleasure with was welcome. Awareness from the flush-faced, white-skirt wearing innocents was dangerous.
He set his glass down on the table and continued his advance. “It would only be appropriate considering you’ve given me leave to use your Christian name, Imogen.”
This time she remained rooted to the floor. She tossed her chin up. The movement dislodged another orange-red tress. “I did not give you leave to use my Christian name. You stole the use of it by tricking me.”
He caught the two strands and tucked one behind her ear. “Yes, yes I did.” The other silken lock he rubbed between his thumb and forefinger. If one could capture a sunset, this would be the feel. Hot and silken. Alex blinked several times and released her quickly. He stumbled over himself in his haste to be away from her.
“Is everything all right, Lord Alexander?” Concern filled her eyes, once more affirming the staggering, if humbling, truth. The chit was a good deal less aware of him than he’d believed.
“Alex,” he corrected.
Imogen hesitated. “Alex,” she said at last, the one word syllable utterance, his name seeming to be dragged from her. Still, for the caution there, her low, husky tone wrapped about him.
He jerked his chin toward the stacks of scandal sheets containing the lady’s name. “And what of this plan my sister spoke of? I gather it pertains to Montrose.” She really was no different than any other English lady captivated by a duke, longing for that coveted title.
Imogen blushed, dropping her gaze to the pages behind the sofa. “It’s really not polite of you to speak of—” She clamped her lips tight, leaving the thought unfinished.
And then it occurred to him…“Never tell me you fancied yourself in love with the man,” he scoffed.
The lady met his gaze. A glimmer of pity shone from the depths of her blue eyes. “I’d not expect one of your reputation to understand.”
Annoyance stabbed at him. No man preferred to be the object of pity, particularly not where a fiery-haired beauty such as Lady Imogen Moore was concerned. “I understand a good deal more than you believe.”
“You do?” She fluttered a hand about her chest, momentarily bringing his attention to the generous swell of her décolletage. How had he not ever before appreciated those full breasts?
“Undoubtedly,” he managed to dredge up a response. “What lady doesn’t aspire to the title duchess?” Or really, any titled lord, but never that second son.
“Is that what you believe?” her question, a barely-there whisper, floated to him.
“Is there any other reason to desire a conceited fop like Montrose for one’s husband?” The glitte
ring world of their Society had proven women faithless, fickle creatures who’d make the most advantageous match and then take their pleasures where they saw fit. Usually in his bed.
Fire lit her eyes and threatened to set him ablaze with the intensity of her stare. “That is hardly proper discourse for a lady and a gentleman, and one who is practically a stranger.”
“A family friend,” he reminded her. “And if you are this polite, it is no wonder that he—”
Imogen shot a hand out and cracked him on the cheek with her palm.
The force of her blow sent his head reeling to the side. He flexed his jaw. Well, the lady could deliver quite a blow, and if he were being truthful with himself, it was a well-deserved one.
Horror filled her face. “I… Oh my… I …” Usually such stammering and incoherence was reserved for behind chamber doors. Though he suspected he’d have more of a likelihood of rousing such sentiments in any one of the most staid matrons at Almack’s than this disapproving, young lady.
He waved a hand. “No apologies are necessary, my lady.” Imogen, with her proud indignation, rose in his estimation. “That was uncalled for on my part.” He’d not debate the veracity of his words with her on the merits of ladies of the ton who carefully guarded their reputations and, when they eventually married, sought out the spare to an heir.
“It was,” Imogen said unapologetically. “Rude of you, that is.” She clasped her hands together and studied the interlocked digits. “Still, it would not do to hit you, Lord…Alex,” she amended at his pointed look.
“I have it!”
Their gazes swung in unison to the door. Chloe brandished a copy of the scandal page, a triumphant glimmer in her eyes. Then her smile died. She looked back and forth between him and Imogen. “What is it?”
Alex sketched a low bow. “Imogen was merely saying how anxious she was to begin your plan.” Whatever cracked scheme his sister had concocted.
Imogen’s eyebrows shot up.
A Heart of a Duke Collection: Volume 1-A Regency Bundle Page 70