Alice felt as though he’d looped an arm around her middle and yanked her away from Georgette. Since Georgette had leaned close to her brother to whisper something to him, she was forced to face her fiancé and answer, “Yes, I’m certain it will be lovely.”
She attempted to turn back to Georgette, but Count Camoni went on. “I remember from the house party this summer that you have a particular fondness for dahlias, so I have incorporated quite a few in the display.”
Alice blinked. “I’m surprised you remember.”
“How could I forget?” he asked with a smile.
As handsome and warm as his smile was, it made her uncomfortable. It was too sensual, held too much promise. It was like a drop of honey placed in a trap to draw in a fly for the kill. The mad thought that her father had put him up to it hit her. Not that there was anything she could do to save herself. She was doomed to be nothing more than a pawn in her father’s marital machinations.
“Lady Alice,” the snowy-haired matron on her right interrupted the conversation Count Camoni was trying to have with her. “I understand that you attended Lord and Lady Herrington’s infamous house party this past summer. What was that like?”
Alice could have wept with relief at being given the excuse to ignore Count Camoni without seeming rude. She launched into a thorough description of the house party as her fiancé looked on, remaining silent. The matron, one of Georgette’s aunts, nodded and smiled, laughing at all the right places, enjoying the story. Alice couldn’t have been happier. It meant she didn’t have to converse with, or even look at, Count Camoni for the rest of breakfast.
It did, however, mean that she wasn’t given the chance to speak to Georgette to warn her not to give in to her father. So as soon as the company finished breakfast and made their way to the greenhouse, Alice did everything she could to avoid Count Camoni and her father to slip up to Georgette’s side.
“Lady Georgette,” she began once the two of them stepped through the wide doors at the back of one of the larger parlors to cross the dormant garden and make their way to the greenhouse, “I must speak with you on a matter of utmost importance, right away.”
“That sounds exciting,” Georgette said, looping her arm through Alice’s and marching to the greenhouse at a brisk pace. “It’s about Fabian, isn’t it?” she asked with a conspiratorial wink. “The way he was looking at you all through breakfast gave me palpitations. You’re such a lucky young woman.”
Alice couldn’t help but cringe at her new friend’s words. She was as unlucky as could be to find herself firmly snared and on the verge of being married to a man she barely knew. “It’s not my marriage that concerns me at present,” she said as they stepped through the door into the greenhouse.
As soon as they entered the humid, verdant space, Alice lost track of what she was saying. She’d seen many greenhouses before, but nothing half as grand or beautiful as the space she’d stepped into. All around her, the scent of rich earth and greenery filled the air. Blooms and blossoms from all parts of the globe were arranged in neat displays that served both a practical use and pleased the eye. But in the middle of it all, a wide circle had been marked out that was surrounded by chairs. Several tables that looked like gears in one of the newfangled machines that was taking over industry surrounded a glass armonica, which was being played by an artistic-looking man with a somber expression. On the outer edge of the circle, just in front of the chairs, a series of miniature fountains sprayed and danced in ever-changing patterns.
Alice gasped along with the rest of the guests at the sight. She dropped Georgette’s arm and approached the central display with the wonder of a child. The man playing the armonica ended his song and began a haunting rendition of Bach’s Christmas oratorio that had the hair standing up on the back of her neck.
She barely noticed when Count Camoni swept past her, strode around the back of the display, and stepped into the center by the armonica player’s side. “Please, come closer,” he said, looking right at her, though Alice had the feeling he was addressing everyone. “There’s so much more to see.”
Alice did as he asked, sitting in the chair at the front that he indicated. Georgette was suddenly the furthest thing from her mind. She clasped her hands in front of her and drank in the sight of the fountains, the sound of the armonica, and the wonder of it all.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Count Camoni said, a twinkle in his eyes. “I give you the dance of the dahlias.”
He leaned to one side and turned a crank, all the while watching Alice with a smile. Instantly, the entire display came to life. The small, round tables began to move, rotating themselves, turning around each other, and swirling in one grand circle around Count Camoni, the armonica, and its player. A hundred, bright dahlias had been fixed to the table somehow, and as the whole thing turned, they appeared to be twirling and dancing, like village girls in bright skirts at a festival.
Alice’s breath caught in her throat at the sight. It was magical in so many ways, and judging by the way Count Camoni watched her, hers was the only reaction he cared about. Had he truly made the entire display just for her?
That beautiful thought was squashed a moment later as her gaze slipped to the side and she spotted her father taking a seat beside Georgette. He leaned scandalously close to her and whispered something in Georgette’s ear that made her giggle.
Dread and rage filled Alice, dampening any enthusiasm she had for Count Camoni’s display. She wasn’t ignorant enough not to guess that her father had his sights firmly set on Georgette now. Georgette was the ideal prey for him. Her father was rich, she was young and pretty, and with his daughters all married off, she would make exactly the sort of wife he craved. Alice absolutely could not let it happen.
The armonica player finished his song and a hearty round of applause broke out among the guests. Georgette and Alice’s father clapped as well. Alice merely swallowed, writhing with anxiety.
“There’s much more to see,” Count Camoni announced, coming around the display once more to stand before it. “Please feel free to wander about the greenhouse to see everything I’ve done, at my mother’s request. Though she is not the only woman I hope I have impressed today.”
As soon as the other guests rose from their seats and began to mill around the vast greenhouse, Alice jumped to her feet as well. But she didn’t turn to Count Camoni, not even when he took a step toward her. Instead, she dashed to the side, desperate to stop her father from whisking Georgette away.
Fabian’s mouth hung open, the conversation he’d been about to start with Alice fading before he could say a word. She leapt from her chair as though stung by a bee and sped away from him. His shoulders dropped as he watched her dodge around a few guests and chairs, heading for her father and Georgette.
“Count Camoni, that was amazing,” Lord Harrow, one of his mother’s guests, rushed to speak to him before he could chase after Alice.
“Thank you, my lord.” Fabian shook the man’s hand, glancing over his shoulder so that he could keep an eye on Alice. She had been stopped by Lord George Percival, one of Matthew’s friends, who was staying for the week. George seemed particularly eager to speak to her.
“I must commission you to redesign my greenhouse,” Lord Harrow went on. “Although I hear your services are in extremely high demand.”
“I am fortunate to have gained a reputation for horticultural excellence,” Fabian said with a nod. His frown deepened as the conversation between Alice and George continued. Alice seemed overly emotional and gestured toward one of the more secluded paths within the greenhouse.
“So what do you say?” Lord Harrow went on. “I can pay you whatever you ask to update all of my gardens.”
George said something, Alice nodded, and the two of them started down the path.
“If you will excuse me for a moment, my lord,” Fabian said distractedly, stepping away from Lord Harrow.
He didn’t see how the man reacted. Urgency pushed him to follow Alice, and a hot stre
ak of jealousy demanded he discover what the connection was between her and George.
The greenhouse was extensive, but the wonders it held weren’t enough to hold most of the guests there for any length of time. At least half of the company had already headed back to the house by the time he traced Alice’s steps and found her standing at the end of a long row of particularly bushy ferns. George was nowhere in sight, but that didn’t mean the bastard hadn’t ducked through the greenery to make himself scarce. Alice darted a worried look around, as if in the hope George had made it to safety before his appearance.
“Is there something I can help you with?” Fabian asked, approaching Alice like a panther stalking his prey.
“N-no, my lord,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her and looking down. She bit her lip in a manner that suggested guilt.
“What happened to your friend?” he asked in a flat voice, moving to within feet of her.
“I don’t know,” Alice sighed, letting down a fraction of her guard. “I have to…I was trying…my father….” She gave up whatever she was trying to say with a heavy breath, then glanced warily up at him, as if just realizing he was standing too close.
A thousand questions flashed through Fabian’s mind. Was something illicit going on between her and George? At the house party, she’d been sweet to the point of girlishness, but a lot could have happened in five months. Perhaps she and George had met and become much closer than they should have. Fabian knew that plenty of married women took lovers when they were bored or felt neglected by their husbands. Perhaps Alice had gotten a head start on cuckolding him.
“How did you like the display?” he asked, pulling himself to his full height and scrutinizing her to see if she showed any signs of infidelity.
“It was lovely,” she answered, glancing anxiously around, as though her lover would pop out of the ferns at any moment. “It’s just that….”
She continued her search but not her words.
Fabian decided to face the problem head-on. “Marriage is a daunting business,” he said. “It would be a shame to enter one ill-advisedly or to start off on the wrong foot.”
To his surprise, she turned her full attention to him and said, “Yes. Exactly. One’s choice of partner can bring joy or utter misery, which is why….” Again, she swallowed the end of her sentence, her cheeks flushing.
Fabian clenched his jaw. She was hiding something from him. It had to be a lover. She wouldn’t have been so short with him if she hadn’t given her heart to another. Practically every woman he’d ever met had fancied him, or at least treated him with the respect his fame brought with it, except those who were already in love with someone else.
“Your father strikes me as a man of exceptionally good taste,” he said, trying another angle. Lord Stanhope was the one who had suggested the two of them marry, after all. Perhaps he knew about Alice’s affair and was in a hurry to palm her off on some unsuspecting suitor.
As if to prove him right, her eyes went wide and she gazed up at him suspiciously. “My father never did anything selflessly in his life, and this…this is beyond the pale.”
Fabian’s frown darkened. From the sound of things, Alice didn’t want to marry him at all. He could see the trepidation in her expression. It only seemed to prove she wanted someone else entirely.
“You think so?” he asked in stilted tones.
She didn’t answer. He didn’t give her a chance to. Whether it was his wounded pride or some other, darker force, he couldn’t let her insolence go unchecked. He stepped toward her, scooping an arm around her waist and tugging her flush against him. With all the power of a conquering general, he slanted his mouth over hers, kissing her mercilessly.
Her body stiffened against his for a moment before relaxing as a deep moan sounded from her throat. His lips devoured hers, and when she parted them, he thrust his tongue along hers, tasting and exploring and taking what he wanted from her. He swore he could feel a shudder pass through her as she clutched his sides, digging her fingertips into his flesh.
As forcefully as their kiss had begun, it was like heaven. She submitted to him fully, letting him ravish her in a way that had him hard in an instant. He shifted one hand to cradle her ample breast, rubbing his thumb over her nipple until it was a taut peak. She whimpered under the onslaught of his mouth but didn’t try to pull away.
Only a hussy would let a man who wasn’t her husband kiss her so thoroughly. An innocent maid would shriek and run screaming from a display of passion like that. She had to have a lover. That was why she’d been so cold to him.
Those thoughts sparked through him in an instant. Before he could act on them or say anything, though, Lord Stanhope stepped suddenly toward them from the end of the aisle of ferns.
“There you are,” he said, a note of triumph in his voice.
Sense and embarrassment closed in on Fabian and he let go of Alice, stepping respectfully away from her. What had he been thinking to kiss her like she was a strumpet for hire?
He’d been thinking she was a strumpet for hire, of course.
“Lord Stanhope. Forgive me,” he said, bowing to the man.
To his surprise, instead of telling him off or demanding the wedding take place that instant to preserve his daughter’s honor, he merely grinned. The expression sent a chill down his back, especially when he glanced past Fabian to nod to his daughter. “Well done,” he said. “I knew you were a good, obedient girl underneath it all.”
Fabian opened his mouth to ask what the devil that meant, but Lord Stanhope stepped around the corner, disappearing as quickly as he’d appeared. He frowned, shaking his head, then turned back to Alice.
His heart dropped to his stomach at what he found. Alice stood with her shoulders slumped and her head bowed, the picture of defeat and misery. Her cheeks were bright pink with shame, and even though he couldn’t see them fully, he had a feeling her eyes were brimming with tears. The pitiful sight had him questioning every conclusion he had just come to.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, sniffled, then launched forward, pushing past him. She clapped a hand to her mouth as she turned the corner in the opposite direction her father had gone.
Fabian was left standing alone, a puzzled frown growing deeper on his brow. Something was terribly wrong. Did Alice have a lover or not? What had her father meant by calling her obedient? Was he walking into some sort of trap that was closing in around him? He couldn’t make heads nor tails of the whole thing. All he knew was that he had to get to the bottom of the mystery, and the sooner, the better.
Chapter 3
Alice was desperate. Try as she did through the afternoon, she couldn’t catch Georgette alone to warn her about her father. Her father had most certainly decided Georgette was the perfect prey…or rather, the perfect wife. Alice stood by helplessly as he courted and flattered Georgette through an afternoon of parlor games, and as he chose a seat beside her at supper. Every time Alice tried to intervene, something had happened or someone had drawn her into a conversation about how delighted she must be to wed the famous Count Camoni.
Count Camoni was her other problem. The way he’d kissed her in the greenhouse had driven all sense straight from her mind. His body had enveloped her with heat and power. His lips and tongue had drawn a passion up from her soul that she hadn’t known existed. It could have been August rather than December for all the heat that pulsed through her as he held her, caressing her curves. An ache had formed in an unmentionable part of her body with his kiss. That ache renewed all through the afternoon whenever she spotted Count Camoni watching her. And he seemed to be watching her constantly with a slight frown that left her breathless, with too many emotions to count.
But Count Camoni was a distraction she couldn’t afford. Not when the future happiness of a nice young woman was in danger. Alice lay awake that night, tossing and turning and fretting over what she should and could do. Her bedsheets tangled around her legs and her shoulders bunched with tension as she mul
led over the problem. It didn’t help one bit that her concern for Georgette quickly became mingled with memories of Count Camoni kissing her. She could still taste him. His scent still filled her senses. The memory of the way he’d touched her breast was so powerful that she fondled herself to see if she could recreate the sensation.
“It’s no use,” she growled at last, kicking off the covers and twisting to sit. “I have to do something.”
She rose from the bed with a determined huff, crossing to the table and lighting the lamp that waited there. With that light, she found her dressing gown and threw it over her shoulders. Then she fetched the lamp and tip-toed out into the hall.
Holly Manor was silent in slumber. Not a soul was awake, not even the servants. Alice crept down the hall, studying the doors she passed with a frown. Her father had been given a room on a separate hall, but there was no telling who might be behind the doors on her hall. She breathed a slight sigh of relief when she reached the stairs and climbed up a floor. Georgette had told her where the family quarters were located during the brief tour she’d given a group of guests the day before, and she’d pointed out which room was hers when they were outside briefly. Alice was confident she could locate her new friend’s room, steal in, and give her the warning that was so desperately needed.
Once she was in the family wing, she stole along, counting doors and making calculations in her head. Georgette’s room had to be the third one on the right. She reached the door, contemplated knocking, but decided that was too risky. Instead, she tested the handle.
The door was unlocked and swung open with a slight creak. The room beyond was dark and the curtains were closed to keep the heat from the embers left in the fireplace contained. With a squeeze of triumph in her chest, Alice hurried inside, then turned and shut the door behind her.
“Georgette,” she whispered, barely audible.
She was greeted by the deep sound of someone breathing in their sleep under the pile of quilts on the bed. She would have to be louder to wake her friend.
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