Heartbreak and Honor (14 page)

Lucan peered expressly at their empty hands. He didn’t refer to their reading choices, but the rumor mill fodder they fervently gathered wherever they descended like harpies from hell.

Huffing their displeasure, they scurried from the gallery, whispering furiously the whole while. By evening, all London would know an embellished version of what had transpired.

Probably some outrageousness along the lines of Alexandra being the bastard daughter of a diseased Whitechapel doxie, as well Alexandra willingly sharing her favors with the Scottish barbarians who abducted her.

After dancing nude as a nymph.

On a tabletop.

In a brothel.

Oh, and foxed-to-the-gills, Renishaw and Lucan had engaged in a drunken public display of fisticuffs. In their shirt sleeves and stockings, no less.

A few moments later, Lucan handed an admirably poised Alexandra into his carriage. Seemingly unaffected, his petite gypsy possessed a great deal of gumption, yet he couldn’t help but wonder what went on inside her pretty head.

She hesitated and then slid onto the unoccupied seat where sprigs of heather lay wrapped in paper and tied with a wide purple ribbon. Upon spying the flowers, her gaze swerved to him, and a sweet smile curved her kissable lips. Her unpretentiousness endeared her to him all the more.

Too bad he had instructed the servants to ride with them. He might have enticed a kiss of gratitude from her if they’d been alone. Now, however, he would do well to not erupt into a cold sweat as he endured their four bodies crammed into the coach and knocked knees with Jules.

What possessed him to invite the footman and maid?

Ah, propriety.

He sucked in a labored breath and eyed the window. Wouldn’t look respectable, he supposed, poking his head out the window during the short jaunt to the Needhams’ as he had the last leg from Scotland.

After giving the driver directions, Lucan lifted the bouquet and settled into the remaining seat. Fully aware of Jules’s and the maid’s curious gazes, he handed the spray to Alexandra. “I had a devil of a time finding heather in London, I’ll tell you.”

Last night, she had mentioned she missed the Highland’s heather, so this morning, he and three footmen turned London inside-out searching for the stuff. He’d found the elusive plant at a perfumery and spent a tidy sum convincing the alchemist to depart with the sprigs.

“Thank you.” She pressed her face to the blossoms and inhaled. A shadow darkened the contours of her face for a fleeting instant. “They smell of Scotland.”

“The color matches yer eyes.” The perky maid grinned, oblivious to what transpired in the bookstore. She giggled. “That’s what Lord Mortimer said, too. The flowers he sent matched yer eyes, just like the duke’s do.”

“Mortimer sent flowers?”

Surprise launched Lucan’s brows high onto his forehead. “Not like the chap at all. He prefers dissecting botanical specimens.” Momentarily taken aback, Lucan folded his arms and relaxed against the seat. That others vied for Alexandra’s hand didn’t sit well. He’d not made his intentions clear enough last night, it would seem. “I suppose hothouse treasures and romantic odes have inundated the Needham household today.”

“Yes, though Katrina received more than I, and truthfully, some prose was a bit off-putting.” She laid the bouquet in her lap and raised her fine brows. Pointing to her eyes, she fluttered her lashes coyly. “Grape jelly.”

Lucan and the servants laughed before he nodded at the footman. “I meant to tell you, Jules. That was well done of you in the bookstore.”

“I regret I did not arrive sooner.” The footman slanted a guarded glance to Bindy.

Alexandra sniffed the heather once more. “Do not blame yourself. I told you to give me time to shop.”

“Did somethin’ happen?” Confusion settled over Bindy’s round face, and she wrinkled her bud of a nose. “I should have stayed at yer side, miss. I’m sorry. Me blister wasn’t bad—”

“Never think it.” Alexandra waved her apology aside and shook her head. A raven tendril slipped from beneath the bonnet’s confines and teased her cheek.

Envy seared Lucan that the wisp was granted the pleasure denied him.

“I found some delightful books.” Alexandra patted the tomes. “And the duke and Jules happened upon me as I prepared to make my purchases.”

The carriage jerked to a halt before a stately, yet tasteful house. No one peered from behind curtains to see who’d arrived.

He touched her arm. “Might I have a word with you?”

Alexandra cocked her head, again reminding him of an inquisitive kitten.

What he wouldn’t give to have her beneath him, purring from his touch. He crossed his legs to hide the embarrassing bulge his stray thoughts produced.

“Certainly. Jules, please tell my aunt I shall be in momentarily.” She passed the heather to her maid. “Put these in a vase in my chamber right away, will you? I shouldn’t want them to dry out yet. Nip a little off the bottoms first. They’ll stay fresher longer.”

Jules made quick work of exiting the conveyance and then of handing Bindy down. “Shall I leave the door open, miss?”

Commendable chap, taking his chaperonage so seriously.

“I’d prefer it closed.” Blatant lie, given Lucan’s dislike of enclosed spaces, but he required a private word with Alexandra. He shot a glance to the uncovered windows. “We are clearly visible from the street, and we shall be but a moment. My outrider will stand beyond the door.”

Jules shifted his attention to Alexandra. “Miss Atterberry?”

His willingness to defy a duke to protect his mistress raised Lucan’s estimation of the chap further. Might be the perfect fellow to take old Tibbs’s place at Chattsworth.

“It’s fine,” she said. “We’re as visible as a sandpiper’s white rump.”

Lucan bit the inside of his cheek. White rump, indeed.

She turned to Lucan expectantly as the door latch clicked home. “We must be swift, however. I promised my aunt to complete my errands by eleven.”

He flicked his watch open. “We’ve fifteen minutes.”

Leaning frontward, he searched the landscape as he pocketed his timepiece. His back to the carriage, an outrider stood as sentinel. Lucan gathered Alexandra’s hand in his, marveling at the fineness of her bones.

“Your Grace?”

She hadn’t donned her gloves, and her fingers, browned from the sun and in places slightly work-roughened, curled into his grasp. She didn’t attempt to pull away, but something more than guileless curiosity glinted in her lash-shadowed eyes. Her focus dropped to her hand clasped in his.

He gave her fingers a little squeeze and rubbed his gloved thumb across her palm. Did she tremble? “Alexandra, please forgive me for the abruptness and the inadequate location, but given today’s unfortunate events, I think it best we marry without delay.”

Chapter 15

A tiny burble of laughter escaped Alexa as she withdrew her hand from the Duke of Harcourt’s. To hide her discomfit, she laid her gloves atop one another, her lips bowed in amusement.

Not a man to mince words, was he? Not a proposal really, just an announcement.

“Marry. Without delay? How about tomorrow?”

He opened his mouth, but she plowed on.

“Heavens, why wait
that
long? This afternoon should suffice. I shall send a footman round to collect Uncle Hugo from the bank, and he can purchase a special license on his way home.” Chuckling again, she tucked her gloves into her reticule. “My, but you do have an irregular sense of humor, Your Grace.”

A proposal from him, even in jest, had never crossed her mind. Perhaps, he sought to put her at ease about the disagreeableness with Renishaw, which oddly enough, the duke’s casual quip had accomplished.

She almost believed he felt compassion for her, cared about her honor, and what would happen to her when the disgrace of her captivity, like a looming, storm-laden cloud, erupted and wreaked a tempest’s chaos.

She couldn’t think of another man whose wit she enjoyed more. Or whose company she took such pleasure in. The duke felt like an old, familiar friend—easy to talk and listen to, and she acted herself around him, as she had with Rígán.

However, her gypsy beau—God rest his soul, for she long-since abandoned hope he still lived—hadn’t caused her to obsess about his lips or set every pore to tingling with awareness.

Or make her wish—in the secret, most remote region of her mind—for something which couldn’t be, something she daren’t give a name to, so outlandish and improbable the fantasy. Yes, Harcourt was too attractive for her wellbeing—mind
and
body.

“We two, marry,” Alexa muttered, grinning and pointing her attention to the carriage ceiling, her forefinger to her chin. “Now, wouldn’t that be something to set the tongues flapping till next Season.”

She could no more do a duchess title justice than the devil could encourage sinners to repent. True, she found Harcourt dashing and deucedly attractive, and if he weren’t a duke, she might have considered his address.

Someday.

A union between them would be a complete disaster. A wholly, calamitous mismatch. They didn’t want the same things from life.
She preferred an unobtrusive, modest existence.

Accustomed to position and privilege, as well as the attention and whirlwind of activity his status mandated, he’d become resentful and embarrassed as she repeatedly bungled being a duchess.

A lifetime of humiliation and an embittered husband did not make for a tolerable marriage, much less a happy one.

“
That
would give the tattlemongers something to bandy about. Preposterous.” She formed a small
moue
with her mouth while she considered him from beneath the fan of her lashes. “I didn’t take you for the type to make a May game of someone.”

Astonishment registered on the duke’s face, his smoky eyes widening in incredulity. “I suppose it’s hard to believe, and I’ve quite blundered the suggestion. But I assure you, Alexandra—”

“Alexa, please, if you insist on addressing me by my given name, although I’m sure it’s most improper.” Wasn’t it? Another bothersome rule to keep track of.

“Very well, Alexa. I am serious. I’m obligated to acquire a wife by Christmastide, and given Renishaw’s ill-timed disclosure about your abduction, and the Hinton sisters’ penchant for rumormongering, your reputation will be in tatters by week’s end.”

The outrider tossed a peek over his shoulder before facing frontward again. Impatient? Or had he heard part of their conversation? Unfortunate if he had. Even the best of servants talked. She’d lay odds ten-to-one Jules and Bindy wasted no time warming the ears of anyone who would listen of Alexa’s bookstore escapade.

“The viscount and those spiteful tabbies can say what they please.” She shrugged, a spark of defiance causing her to narrow her eyes. “I wasn’t unchaperoned, as you well know. Lala and György never left my sight. Not for a second.”

“Be that as it may, I hardly think two young children constitute proper chaperonage. At least not in the
ton’s
eyes. No one will believe nothing occurred, Kitten.” He offered a gentle smile to temper his words.

Kitten
?
He called me Kitten
?

He touched her knee, and a jolt spiraled to her hip, its disturbing warmth spreading outward. “Wasn’t that why your aunt and uncle wanted the Blackhall business kept secret?”

“Yes, but I have nothing to be ashamed of. I’ll not hang my head, or cower, or hide in disgrace because barb-tongued busybodies spread false tales.” Alexa jutted her chin defiantly. “And make a match to stop the tongues of chinwags spewing malicious claptrap, I shan’t do either. I have a fortune at my disposal and have no need for a husband,
ever
, Your Grace.”

Despite her bravado, a hint of uncertainty did gnaw. If Renishaw spoke the truth, she mightn’t have a fortune at all. Her circumstance would change dramatically, for the worse, leaving her with few alternatives.

She needed to seek Uncle Hugo’s guidance at once.

“Please, call me Lucan, or if that’s too familiar, Harcourt.” The duke folded his arms and scrutinized her. “You should know, I still intend to present my suit to Needham, and I’m confident he’ll accept.”

“Aren’t you listening to me?” Twisting on the seat, she slapped her palm against her knee. Better that, than clobber him again. “I’ve no intention of marrying a stranger by Yuletide, especially a duke. I’d have to be mad or desperate, and I assure you, I am neither.”

The outrider turned to look again, this time boldly staring into the carriage.
Brazen fellow.
She bobbed her head in the servant’s direction. “Are all your retainers so forward?”

The duke cast his servant a contemplative glance and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “No. Warner was hired while I was in Scotland. It appears he’s in need of some further instruction regarding his position.”

Alexa needed to end this conversation and then prepare for the expected callers as well as send word to Uncle Hugo that she must speak with him at once.

As well as brace myself for the repercussions of Renishaw’s malicious chatter
.

Just how had he learned of her time with the Blackhalls?

Bah, she hadn’t spare minutes to ponder that disagreeableness.

Alexa lowered her voice, for once grateful the obnoxious bonnet hid most of her face. “My uncle can accept on my behalf until his hair falls out, but I am of age, and I alone shall make the decisions which affect me for the rest of my life.”

In silent challenge, she lifted her gaze to Lucan’s. “I don’t have a single doubt you can list dozens of eligible young women who’d be beyond thrilled to become your wife. Ask one of them. I don’t know a thimble’s worth about being a duchess. And, truthfully, I don’t want to learn the poppycock the position requires.”

The duke closed his eyes and chuckled, a delicious, melodious rumble caressing her senses and giving her the strangest urge to lay her head against his chest and listen to the vibration. A man’s laugh shouldn’t have such power.

“Actually, I do have a list—a frighteningly long one, truth to tell—my mother and sister contrived.” His smile turned charmingly sheepish, and her stomach toppled over. “However, the women listed—except for you—excite me as much as a leech bleeding me or the barber pulling a tooth.”

The list included her?

His silver-gray gaze probed hers, besetting her with a fluttery sensation in her middle again. “It’s you I want.”

“And I’m sure you always get what you want, Your Grace.”

The shrewishness of Alexa’s tone scraped her nerves raw—not typical at all. But, by thunder, when he’d revealed he had a list with her name, her hackles rose, sharp and taut. “Are the ladies’ attributes catalogued as well? Does the list contain a hierarchy noting which damsels make the best candidates for a duchess?”

Who did that? Compiled a registry of potential wives, as if going to market to buy a turnip or potato? Although, to be fair, the Little Season and the Season had always been a buyers’ delight.

“Yes, to the attributes, but no, to the hierarchy.” Laughter glinted in his eyes and shaded his words.

Alexa pinned him with her haughtiest look. A duchess would know how to do so with practiced perfection.

He brazenly grinned in return.

What audacity.

Though spared the expectations and unpleasantness of Polite Society thus far, she shouldn’t be astounded at the absurd activities of the
ton’s
denizens. Nevertheless, she wasn’t obligated to buy into the insanity, and neither had the Needhams. Not fully.

Alexa squared her shoulders and gathered her books, gaping askance at the servant half-turned in an attempt to eavesdrop on their conversation, blatant as a zebra’s stripes. She coolly returned his perusal until he angled away once more.

“I don’t always get what I want, Alexa, but in this, I must remain adamant.” His eyes crinkling at the corners in displeasure, Lucan partially lowered the blind when the outrider dared peek at the carriage again. “Insufferable. Better change his ways, or I’m dismissing him without reference. I cannot tolerate meddlers.”

“To prevent more scandal landing at my aunt and uncle’s doorstep or ruining Katrina’s chances of a good match, I’ve reconciled myself to leaving London.” Alexa jerked her hand, indicating the neat row of houses lining the street. “I’m a person of humble beginnings and modest desires, and I never wanted this life to begin with.”

When everything was said and done, she’d gained one family and lost another, traded a contented lifestyle for one completely foreign.

“Why are you in London, then?” He idly traced a path along his firm thigh, drawing her gaze to a portion of his anatomy she shouldn’t ever notice.

Were all men as generous
there
?

For God’s sake, Alexa, pry your gawking eyeballs from his loins.

And she’d fussed about men ogling her bum.

She dragged her errant gaze upward, scanning his lean form along the way, to find his attention fixed on her bosoms. What a salacious pair they made.

His gaze gravitated to her face. “I am heartily glad you are, but I’m curious. Why did you agree to leave Scotland?”

Growing pensive, she fingered her beaded reticule.

“For everyone’s sake, I was determined to make the best of what fate thrust upon me.” She’d little choice, but that was neither his concern nor business. “Now, it seems my tutelage and the efforts of my aunt have been for naught. I’d best prepare myself to have everything come crashing down. That’s easier handled more tactfully away from Town.”

“Where will you go, and how will you live? Until the Committee of Privileges settles in your favor, you don’t have the authority to do what you will with funds or properties, and I cannot see you living with your stepmother when Peterson resides there as well.” Lucan’s nostrils flared, and he clenched his thigh. “You shouldn’t trust the man. Not one iota.”

“Rest assured, I do not. He makes my skin crawl.” She hadn’t trusted Harrison from the moment she met him. If Renishaw personified a rat, Harrison embodied a snake.

The duke uncrossed his preposterously long legs and shifted to look at her more fully. “Do you intend to return to the Highland travellers or Craiglocky?”

Sighing, Alexa sagged against the squabs, feeling more lost and alone than when Father abandoned her. “No, I cannot rejoin the gypsies. For reasons no one has explained, I’ve essentially been exiled.”

The park-like setting visible through the far window, in no way compared to the Highland moors’ and crags’ wild beauty. How long before she ceased yearning for their familiar sight? “I believe there’s more to my childhood disappearance than I’ve been told.”

She returned her attention to the commanding man, lounging wholly at ease, opposite her. “As for Craiglocky, I’m confident Laird McTavish would welcome me, but I’d be worse than a poor relation, living off his charity. I may have been raised as gypsy, but I do have my pride, if naught else.”

Harcourt’s molded lips bent the merest bit. “I imagine it’s a mite hard to stomach, the forthcoming judgment and censure, and the choices you are being forced to make.”

Alexa released a loud sound, somewhere between a snort and a laugh.

Oh, that’s duchess-like
.
Good
.

Let the duke see just how unrefined and inadequate she was. “It would be if I cared a fig for what those pompous nitwits think. But even if I did, I wouldn’t seek the pleasures of your arms and bed solely to keep their tongues from wagging.”