Heartbreak and Honor (19 page)

Most unduchess-like.

The tender sweetness exceeded anything she’d imagined, and for the briefest of moments, she yearned to be his wife, to know him as a woman knows a man, to carry his children in her womb, to risk everything to be his.

To say
yes
to his proposal.

She didn’t have the courage. Or the stupidity.

Turning her head away, she covered his lips with two fingers. “We cannot.”

He caressed her nape, his forehead pressed to hers. “I wish you would trust me. I want to marry you and no other.”

Alexa remained silent. It wasn’t him she didn’t trust.

She might fall in love with Lucan, perhaps halfway had already. Handsome, rich, educated, funny, kind . . . The sort of man a woman dreamt of loving. Yet, her love might destroy her. She’d have to turn her back on her identity and become something she never wanted to be.

Something she disdained and the thing he—his elevated position in society—required in a wife. She couldn’t risk that, and couldn’t jeopardize her inheritance for what might become a wretchedly unhappy existence.

“Marry me. I would strive every day, for as long as I lived, to make you happy.” Cupping her face, he placed a reverent kiss on her forehead.

This must stop before Alexa lost what little reserve she still possessed. She blurted the first thing springing to mind. “The solicitor said my father feared for his life as well as mine, and that’s why he sent me into hiding.”

Lucan stiffened and angled away, the planes of his face growing tense. “Then, you might still be in danger?”

“I honestly do not know. None of this makes sense to me. Why would my father suspect someone wanted him dead? What happened to make him think such a vile thing and take the extreme of hiding me with strangers rather than with my family?”

A dog barked, and she cast a disinterested glance to the garden. Sir Pugsley snuffled around the grass. The others must have found their way to the drawing room. How many callers had arrived since she’d dashed to her room? What excuse did Aunt Bridget give for her absence? Pray God Minerva and Harrison had left for Dorthea Hinton’s.

“Lucan?” She searched his dear face. “I cannot believe my aunt and uncle knew of this. They’ve been nothing but the epitome of kindness since they arrived at Craiglocky.”

“What did your uncle say when you asked him if he knew your father sent you to the gypsies?”

“I left before he answered.” Puffing her cheeks, she blew out a breath, and looked beyond the window again. “You know, Mr. Ponsby didn’t say gypsies. He said my father made arrangements, and in my distress, I assumed he meant the travellers.”

Sitting at the awkward angle caused the toes of one foot to fall asleep, and she kicked off her slipper to wiggle them.

Did duchesses go about in their stockings? Likely not.

If she trotted around barefoot, the ladies of
le beau monde
would collapse into a swooning frenzy. Sure as rain fell in Scotland, none of them had ever stepped in goat or horse dung while shoeless. The mental image brought a budding smile to her mouth.

“I wish I knew the truth, but to know for certain I must speak to Balcomb.” She pressed her palm against the warm glass. “You met him at Dounnich House.”

Lucan glanced to the door, as if he’d heard something. “Well, then, that’s what we shall do, find Balcomb and ask him. Do you know where the tinkers are this time of year?”

Alexa turned to Lucan. To know precisely what
Dat
knew would bring her great peace of mind and might answer the other questions this afternoon had sparked. “They generally venture near Inverness from October to January or February, depending upon the weather.”

He made a contemplative sound in the back of his throat.

She folded her arms against a chill. “Will we travel there? Not the best time of year for a journey to Scotland.” She frowned and worried her lower lip. “But, I don’t think he would come to London. Scottish Highland travellers are quite different from the Roma frequenting Gypsy Hill.”

“Hmm, let me think on it. Unless we’re married, we cannot travel together. Right now, Kitten, we need to present ourselves below—”

A soft rap preceded the entrance of the grand dame from the entry, leaning on her walking cane. “Forgive me for intruding, but we must make sure the young lady’s reputation remains untarnished.” She delivered a friendly smile and glided farther into the chamber, her deep scarlet gown rustling with the elderly woman’s stiff movements.

“Harcourt, dear boy, introduce us.”

Lucan rose and extended his hand to Alexa. Once she stood as well, he grinned. “My lady—”

“Speak up.” The elderly woman thrust her cane at him. “My hearing isn’t what it used to be.”

Lucan dutifully raised his voice a notch. “May I present Miss Alexandra Atterberry? Alexa, please meet my grandaunt Kathryn, the Dowager Marchioness of Middleton.”

The dowager angled her white head, her dove gray eyes twinkling and a smile hovering on her mouth. “Did I hear something about marriage? Are felicitations in order at last, Nephew?”

Chapter 22

Elbow on the settee’s arm, Lucan took a sip of the fine cognac Needham had poured while they waited in the drawing room for the women to join them for their jaunt to the theater.

Yesterday afternoon, when Lucan had extended the invitation to the Needhams to join him in his box, they’d decided to share a carriage as well. Mrs. Needham swiftly agreed. In fact, he couldn’t help but think she’d deciphered Lucan’s interest in Alexa and welcomed it. Good to know. He might enlist her aid in winning her niece over.

He’d half expected Alexa to beg off after yesterday. Her emotional upheaval, his grandaunt’s not-so-subtle hint, and the strain of entertaining a dozen callers for two hours would take the wind from the sails of a more robust person than his petite gypsy.

Again, she’d surprised him, informing his grandaunt the marriage business she’d overheard pertained to Alexa helping him find a suitable bride, and she’d also enchanted the Needhams’ visitors with her ready wit and graciousness.

Every guest left utterly entranced, and another mark in Alexa’s favor, sure to dilute the poison spread by less benevolent souls. Not generally given to smugness, nevertheless, he’d been hard put not to puff out his chest as she played the brilliant hostess.

Alexa might not know it, but she already possessed the qualities of a quintessential duchess—a decent, caring character, a frequent, kind smile, keen intelligence, and an instinctive ability to put others at ease.

And the most unusual, seductive laugh to ever tickle his ears. Low and throaty, it caused him to speculate what noises she’d make in the midst of passion and created the most disconcerting reaction in his pantaloons.

Yesterday, Grandaunt Kathryn had pulled him aside as Alexa bid the other callers farewell. He steered his elderly relative into an alcove, lest she raise her voice—as those hard of hearing tended to do—and her words carry to the others.

“That gel is a diamond of the first water, if there ever was one, Harcourt. She’s got a sensible head on her lovely shoulders and spirit in her blood.” She poked his arm with a swollen, arthritic finger while pointing her weak gaze at Alexa. “I like her. I do, indeed.”

Doddering Sir Baldwin kissed Alexa’s hand and found himself stuck in the half-bent position. He grimaced and grabbed his lower back. Smiling sweetly, Alexa said something that sent the old fellow to chuckling as she helped him stand upright once more.

Grandaunt Kathryn whacked Lucan’s leg with her cane.

Lucan wiggled his brows. Feisty old bird. “Did you want something?”

“Pay attention, young scamp.”

She threatened him with the confounded rod again, and he gave her a mocking salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

Gripping the carved ivory handle of her walking cane, she leaned heavily on the black cherry length. “Raised by Scottish gypsies and kin to the Atterberrys. What’s her stepmother’s name again?”

“Minerva Atterberry.”

“No, no. Her name before she married Atterberry. Widowed, wasn’t she? And she’s Scots too?”

“I believe so, but I have no idea what her name was prior to marriage. Perhaps Needham knows.”

Needham chatted amiably with Mr. Mortimer.

Giving her cane an emphatic thump, she murmured, “It will come to me. Always does. Hmm, Minerva. Minerva Atterberry. I know her name sounds familiar. Cannot recollect where I heard it before, though.”

Despite her advanced years, Grandaunt Kathryn possessed an astonishing ability to recall details others forgot or dismissed as unimportant. She’d ponder on Minerva’s name until she remembered.

“The dowager seems like a kind enough woman, perhaps not altogether competent, but her stepbrother, Harrison Peterson,” Lucan couldn’t prevent his lip from twisting as he spat Peterson’s name, “he’s not worthy to wipe your shoes on.”

“Best make an offer before one of these other infatuated fops does. Trust me, that beauty will not stay available long, although from the smitten spark in your eye . . .” Grandaunt Kathryn gave him a rather wicked, knowing smile—one that reminded him she’d been quite the outrageous widow in her prime.

“That rubbish she spouted about helping you find a bride, meant to put me off the trail, wasn’t it? Want to keep it a secret for now, do you?”

“I’ve already asked her—thrice—and she turned me down neatly each time.” His attention strayed to Alexa again. Such an unassuming thing as watching her brought him such joy. “I mean to keep at it until she consents, however.”

He’d woo her, assault her senses, and ask her every day to become his wife until she argued no more.

Grandaunt Kathryn shrugged and turned to the door. “Humph. Don’t dawdle too long. Didn’t you promise your mother to have the deed done by the holiday?”

“Heard about that, did you?” Lucan drew his hand across his mouth.

Issuing a rude noise, she thumped the floor with her cane again, drawing several departing guests’ scrutiny. “My God, boy, who hasn’t? I also heard you planted Renishaw a facer yesterday and told Craven to stuff his tongue up his arse.”

“Er, yes.” His grandaunt’s ears and eyes were everywhere, it seemed.

“Help an old woman to her carriage. I’ll want my usual seat at the theater tomorrow night, and make sure that delightful young woman sits next to me.”

“Of course. Anything else?” Grinning, Lucan took her frail elbow.

She chuckled. “Impudent pup.”

Now, eagerly anticipating the evening before him, Lucan enjoyed another mouthful of the superior brandy, and smiled at the antics of what appeared to be a fawn-colored, fur-covered piglet with a black mashed-in face, attempting to climb onto the matching floral settee.

“Needham, Renishaw placed a bet at White’s that Alexa will be disgraced by Season’s end. He vows to do the deed himself. She needs to be protected and on her guard.”

Needham’s eyes rounded before narrowing. He flicked a piece of lint from his trousers. “Never did like that scapegrace. Or Peterson either. Both are cast from the same tainted mold.”

“I want to marry Alexandra. I can keep her safe.”

Damned fine way to announce it, man. Blurt it out like a drunk casting up his accounts.

Needham set his glass aside and after assisting the dog onto the couch, folded his hands across his middle. For an extended moment, he scrutinized Lucan.

“Why?”

The dog turned in circles, snuffling and snarfing, as he situated himself beside his owner. A pink tongue appeared from amongst the fat folds as the creature set about noisily grooming himself.

“Why? I could name dozens of reasons.” Lucan flicked his forefinger, and his gaze, to the ceiling. “How long do we have before the women arrive?”

“Why don’t you start with one? The reason you think will convince me of your sincerity?” Needham lifted his glass once more. Elevating his beetled brows, almost in a challenge, he took a generous swallow.

Lucan stared into the amber liquid remaining in his glass. “She captivated me from the moment I sneaked into her chamber at Dounnich House to rescue her, and she brandished a dagger to protect her sister and brother.”

In an instant, she’d stormed his defenses, circumvented his objections, and burrowed her way into his mind—
no
—anchored herself and those unfathomable purple eyes to his soul. He gave a sideways smile and pointed to his eye. “She punched me soundly. I sported a bruise for weeks.”

Needham’s features relaxed marginally, and the corners of his mouth quirked. A spark of humor gleamed in the depths of his eyes as well. “Alexa’s not your typical female, to be sure. She may be a Scottish noblewoman by birth, but she is a Highland gypsy at heart.”

“And that’s precisely what fascinated me about her. She’s a refreshing change, unpretentious, genuine, and I cannot stop thinking about her. Since the business about her life being in danger came to light, my gut’s been a tangled knot.” Which is why he’d set Darley to hiring a man to tail Alexa whenever she left the house. Something dark and nefarious lurked, or he didn’t favor coffee.

Lucan took a quaff of the remaining cognac then fingered the glass, a poor substitute for the velvety, ivory skin he longed to caress.

Alexa consumed his thoughts. Reprieve from the mental onslaught occurred when he slept;
if
he managed to fall asleep. Even then, she invaded his dreams, many so erotic, a painfully hard erection awoke him and plagued him throughout the day.

No other woman held his interest half as long, particularly one he hadn’t bedded.

A log in the fireplace fell, sending a shower of orange-red sparks spiraling up the chimney and drawing Needham’s and the dog’s attention.

“What of your promise to your mother to marry by Christmastide, Harcourt? There are those who will insist your wish to marry Alexa is simply the fulfillment of a promise to a dying woman.” The gimlet-eye Needham directed at Lucan was clearly of a man sincerely worried for his niece’s welfare.

Nonetheless, as Lucan learned from his father’s deceptiveness, his ability to judge character or outward appearances needed honing. He could thank his sire for his intuitive, distrustful instincts.

His cautious nature served him well on the few Diplomatic Corps missions for which Yancy enlisted his help. Usually, it took tremendous effort on Lucan’s part to put aside his reservations, but with Alexa, he held no misgivings.

All the more reason to marry her.

“Others might speculate Alexa’s fortune entices you.” Needham steepled his fingers. A master at luring and waiting.

Lucan sent him a dark scowl. “Preposterous. I have my own fortune.”

“Don’t get your wind up. I’m saying what others will, so you had best be prepared. Would you be as interested in Alexa if she didn’t have a groat to her name?”

“Yes. I would. I’d take her bare as the day she came into the world.”

And treasure each day spent in her company. Lucan quite liked the idea of her naked. On his bed. Her glorious hair fanned across his pillows as he made love to her at dawn. He redirected his musings before forced to explain a raging erection to his host.

A tight sound echoed in the rear of Needham’s throat. “I mean no disrespect, Your Grace, but you’ve not exactly kept your aversion to matrimony a secret.”

Lucan slowly nodded. “True, I hadn’t intended to pursue a bride yet, but when I saw her at the ball, I knew in an instant, even if I hadn’t made that confounded promise to my mother, I wanted to wed Alexa.”

No sincerer words had he spoken. In their short acquaintance, Alexa had managed to wiggle her way into his heart, and if he had become this mesmerized after such a brief period, how enthralled would he be as time ticked onward?

He set his glass aside. “Did you know of her father’s arrangements with the gypsies?”

Needham’s face fell for an instant, and he firmed his lips, the lines framing his mouth, deepening to thick grooves.

Lucan savored a mouthful of brandy as he awaited a reply.

“No. She should have been with Bridget and me. We are Alexa’s godparents, and we would have treated her like our Katrina.” He stared across the room, uncertainty shadowing his eyes. “I can only speculate Steafan feared Alexa wouldn’t be safe with us either. I wish I knew why, and before you assume it’s because she’d come to harm by my hand or my wife’s, let me dispel the absurd notion. For months, we tore Scotland apart searching for her. I’d like to have a word with Balcomb Faas, I’ll tell you.”

Lucan didn’t expect to hear anything from Darley regarding Faas for at least a fortnight. “So would Alexa. You’ve no idea why Steafan secreted her off? Do you think his death unintentional?”

Angling his head, he studied the older man. Bankers didn’t usually possess the most integrity, but Needham, renowned for his honor, boasted a pristine reputation.

Needham blinked and released a deep breath before giving a partial shake of his head. “I don’t, to both of your questions. And I don’t trust Minerva or her brother. Something’s queer there, something I cannot put my finger on, but raises my hackles every time I see either of them.”

That makes two of us.

Glancing to the door, Needham’s countenance grew guarded. “I would prefer to keep that from the women, however.”

“I’m in agreement with you. No sense stirring their qualms. You should know I’ve sent my man in search of Faas. I believe he knows more than he’s revealed.” Lucan leaned forward. “Do I have your permission to court Alexa then?”

“She’s of age. I cannot give permission. Nevertheless, I do not believe you’d abandon your quest if I denied my consent.”

The mantel clock chimed the half-hour. They’d be late, perhaps missing the first act, if the ladies didn’t appear soon. Theater traffic was always horrendous, but opening night tested the patience of a saint.

Needham rubbed beneath his chin. “You are a man used to setting his own course and getting what you want, Your Grace. And, I suspect you rarely, if ever, find yourself dissuaded or thwarted.”

“True, I have lived a privileged life, but I’ve also striven to be honorable and beyond reproach. I would be faithful to Alexa and put her interests above my own.” Unlike his father. Alexa would never know the betrayal his mother had. “She’s confused, unsure, and given the disturbing events of this afternoon, she’s understandably wary.”

He raised a hand to drag it through his hair, but caught himself. Smythe would scalp him if he disturbed a single, carefully groomed strand. His valet took more pride in Lucan’s appearance than he did.