Heaven Sent the Wrong One (16 page)

She placed a gentle hand upon her belly.

No—in as much as she could not bear her father's heartbreak, she knew—she could never live with herself if she abandoned her child to some governess in the country. Even if her father decided to let her keep the baby in the household, she could not simply stand by and watch her own child from afar. In spite of the odds, the moment she learned of the conception, a kind of joy had infused her. She knew she loved her unborn child despite the troubles her condition might bring. Contrary to her expectations, she could not find a trace of regret, save for the guilt of having an innocent branded by her ignominious actions.

Alexandra sat up straighter on her stool. She could not
allow society's condemnation and condescension to befall an innocent child because of her mistakes. There must be a way to deal with this predicament. Surely, something could be done to protect her child from censure and embarrassment.

She thought long an
d hard, deliberated and juggled a few options in her head, but nothing came to mind that could provide a perfect solution. Her child's fate seemed doomed from the start. Mentally exhausted and resigned, Alexandra resorted to the one and only alternative she knew best who could help her.

She went down on her knees, clasped her hands together in earnest
—and prayed to God to give her an answer.

Reap the Whirlwind

A
llayne woke up with a throbbing headache and a foul mood. His body ached all over and a bitter taste lingered in his mouth. He slowly pushed himself into a sitting position on the bed and rubbed his eyes. Damn, but he was hungry and thirsty as hell! He reached for the bell pull to summon the servants for his repast. A hot bath afterwards would be nice. He leaned backwards and felt for the buttons of his breeches underneath the covers. He could not wait to get rid of his clothes, having worn the same attire for the last—

Allayne threw the linens off him wit
h a curse. What in the devil's name happened to his clothes? Why the fuck was he naked?

He swept his gaze around the opulent bedchamber. None of the furniture looked familiar. Where the hell was he?

A giggle emanated from behind the heavy window drapery.

"
Who's there?" Allayne yelled, wrapping the sheet around his waist as he swung sideways on the bed and dropped his feet on the thick carpet. Whoever was pulling this jest was in big trouble. He certainly was not in a humorous disposition to fool around with anyone.

One of the curtains moved and a pair of slippers peeked from the hem.

A sly smile tilted the corner his mouth. He tiptoed towards the perpetrator. The satin slippers indicated that his quarry was a female—though for the life of him, he could not remember having slept with anyone—much less have the competence to have sex last night. His appetite for casual dalliance had significantly waned. None of the women who threw themselves at him upon his return from Bath tempted him in the least. All he could think of was Anna, Anna, and Anna! He must have gone half-mad from wanting her.

Allayne regarded the twitching figure behind the velvet curtain and mentally ran several images of women whom he had a more intimate acquaintance. Not one of them triggered hi
s memory. Who could this mystery lady be? He inched nearer, slowly extending his arm until the fabric was within his reach. Then, with a firm grasp, he forcefully yanked it to one side.

"What the
—?" He looked down in astonishment as the little imp with blonde curls squealed and darted beneath the folds of the sheet.

Allayne pulled the linen tightly around his waist with one hand to keep from losing it to the giggling child who had gotten herself tangled in it. Then, he swooped down and hooked an arm to pick
up the little person by the waist. "Uncle Allayne! Uncle Allayne! That was fun! Do it again!" She flailed and guffawed in delight.

"Diana?" Allayne exclaimed, staring at the pink-cheeked, blond, blue-eyed girl. By no means were they related, but all of hi
s friends' children fondly addressed him as "Uncle" anyway.

"Surprise!" Diana, Richard's eight-year-old daughter and younger twin to his heir, Joshua Royce, by two minutes, laughed.

"What are you doing here?" Allayne demanded, putting her back on her feet.

"This is papa's house!" Diana poked his chest with a forefinger. "What are
you
doing here?"

"I'm at your house?" Allayne's brows shot upwards. How in God's teeth did he end up at the Grandstone townhouse? He had a vague recollection of gambling at White's
last night, but his brain was too foggy to remember whatever he did afterwards.

"Did your Mama and Papa throw you out of Rose House?" Diana climbed on the bed and began jumping up and down.

"Of course not! Why would they?" Allayne's headache began to worsen from watching Diana squash his pillows with her slippers as she bounced higher and higher on the mattress.

"Papa said you've been a very bad boy." Diana twirled this way and that in the air.

"Oh? And why would your papa say that?" Allayne scowled.

"I do
n't know." Diana shrugged. "Papa said you wouldn't tell."

"Your Papa is too nosy." Allayne dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand. "Poppet
—will you quit doing that? You're making me dizzy."

"You're hairy," Diana ignored his request and kept on sprin
ging up and down the bed.

"Hairy?" Allayne glanced at the mat of dark blond hair on his bare chest.

"Yes, and you're fat." She patted her belly, hopping in a big circle around the mattress.

"Fat! What fat?" He peered at the lean, muscled ridges of his abdo
men.

"T
hat's why the lady won't have you." Diana reversed directions, skipping backwards in a random pattern.

Allayne knitted his eyebrows. "What lady?"

"You know—" Diana extended her arms and pretended to fly, "—the one you've been mooning and moping about."

"I'm not mooning
—and I'm certainly not moping about some lady!" Allayne snapped, wondering what the sassy imp was up to, now. She may seem innocent as a cherub, but Allayne knew she was as wily as a mischievous sprite.

"She's never going to marry you
—you know," Diana went on, as if he had never spoken.

"And why is that
—pray, tell?" Allayne asked in a peevish tone. Truly—he could not fathom why he was having this conversation with Richard's little bundle of impertinence.

"Because you're a sour curmudgeon
," she declared with a bounce that sent the top of her head dangerously close to the canopy.

"I'm a
—what?" Allayne gaped.

"And you drink too much." She flapped her arms with another jump, oblivious to his annoyance.

"Who told you—?”

"Also
—ladies don't like men who gamble excessively." She did fancy twirls as she leapt in the air.

"Now wait a minute
—"

"Especially men who don't shave and get a haircut." She landed on her bum in the middle of the bed and collapsed backwards into his pillows with a giggle.

Allayne instinctively turned to look at himself in the mirror. Dark crescents shadowed the skin beneath his eyes and bristly beard grew along his jaw, upper lip, and the lower part of his cheeks. His hair was overlong, extending several inches past the customary shoulder-length he preferred.

He plunged his fingers through his honey-blond tresses. Good God
—but he almost did not recognize himself! Even his normally bright green eyes have dulled with a grayish tint, surrounded by tiny bloodshot vessels from lack of sleep.

"You look like an old barbarian." Diana reclined on the bed, watching him with her head propped on her hand as he frowned at his reflection in the mirror. "If I were the lady, I'd never marry y
ou."

"Well, if I were the gentleman, I'd not marry you either. You're too young and petulant." Allayne glared at her, wondering how long he could tolerate the impudent troll's barrage of insults, before he throttled her little neck.

"My papa said, I'll break plenty of hearts when I grow up," she stated with certainty.

"Your Papa's probably right," Allayne retorted with a snort. "And you'll probably leave a trail of chaos in your wake."

"I know—but I already know who I will marry." She pulled a lock of her hair and coiled it around her forefinger.

"Oho!" Allayne chortled. "And who might the unfortunate lad be?"

Diana looked at him as if he'd gone daft. "Edward, of course. Duh!"

"Edward?" Allayne's jaw dropped. "Edward
—my nephew—Edward?"

"Who else
—do you have a horse named Edward?" She shook her head and rolled her eyes towards the ceiling.

"Hah! This is just capital!" Allayne roared with laughter. "Ed-diot and Di-diot!" he exclaimed, bursting into another fit of mirth at the thought of Diana's older brother Jo
shua's epithet for the notorious pair. "I'll bet you ten quid you'll kill each other within twenty-four hours of saying your vows."

Diana smirked at him. "At least I'm not afraid of getting married
—unlike some old barbarian I know, who moons and mopes all day about his lady love."

"I don't moon and mope all day
—and I don’t have a lady love!" Allayne yelled.

Diana released the lock of hair from her finger and tucked the curl behind her ear. "What does she look like?"

"What does who look like?" Allayne evaded with a look of feigned nonchalance.

"Your lady lo
—"

"I told you
—I don't have a lady love!" Allayne interjected. "And even if I do—it's none of your concern."

"So, you do have one," Diana said with a twinge of triumph in her voice, unfazed by his outburst.
"Papa said you were keeping secrets from him and Uncle Jeremy."

Allayne grimaced at her instead of giving her an answer. The audacious, sharp-witted chit could bleed him out to dry if he wasn't careful.

"Is she pretty?" Diana sat up on the bed with a twinkle of what seemed like enthusiasm in her eyes.

When Allayne ignored her, she collapsed back down on the pillows and uttered, "Oh, no
—she's spotty and stumpy, isn't she? Does she have bowed legs and big feet? Is she disagreeable too?"

Allayne clamped his j
aw and glared at her.

"I knew it." Her face crumpled with a disappointed sigh. "Oh, you poor thing. Now I understand why you won't tell Papa and Uncle Jeremy. But don't worry
—I promise I'll be nice to your lady love even if she's unpleasant and has missing teeth. I don't even care if she looks like Mister Wiggles and—"

"She doesn't look like Mister Wiggles, damn it!" Allayne growled, affronted by her comparison of his lady love's physical appearance to the duchess' pet pug.

"Hmm—so she's pretty, then." Diana gave him a victorious smile. "That's good—since you look quite dashing when you swear."

"I'm not talking to you anymore
—do you hear me?" Allayne jabbed a forefinger in her direction.

"Yes, Uncle." Diana nodded.

"I'm serious." Allayne glowered at her, before strolling towards the armoire in the corner of the room.

"What's her name?" Diana casually resumed her interrogation as if she'd forgotten the last two seconds of their conversation.

Allayne opened the wardrobe closet, purposely paying no heed to her question.

"Let me guess
—" Diana continued, "her name is—um—Bertha?"

Allayne moved towards the bureau and inspected each of the drawers. He found an old pair of trousers and put them on beh
ind the dressing screen.

"No?" Diana called after him, pausing for a moment before exclaiming, "Matilda?"

Allayne walked to the foot of the bed, bending forward to pry the lid off the large chest and search for a shirt.

"No?" Diana prompted with another sh
ort pause. "Oh—I know!" She clapped excitedly. "Petra! That's her name,—isn't it?"

Allayne grunted and pulled on a moth-eaten lawn shirt.

"Oh, no." Diana crawled across the mattress and sat in front of him. "I think Papa does have a horse named Petra—and she's bow-legged and stumpy! Poor you, Uncle. Now, I know why you can't tell—"

"Anna! Her name is Anna, goddammit!" Allayne said through clenched teeth, slamming the chest shut.

"Anna Goddammit?" Diana's golden eyebrows crinkled. "What a queer name."

"No
—not Anna Goddammit, silly!" Allayne bit out. "Her name is Anna—Anna Banana!"

"Anna... Banana?" Diana's big blue eyes grew round and she opened her mouth to say more.

"Stop!" Allayne reached over the footboard and pinched her lips together. "I don't want to hear it—do you understand me?"

Diana bobbed her head repeatedly.

"Good." Allayne released her mouth from his fingers. "Now—will you please let me be? I'm trying to look for my clothes here!"

"Gordon aired them." Diana jumped off the bed and skipped towards
where his clothes hung neatly on a coat-hanger hooked on the latch of an open bay window.

"I'll get it." Allayne hurried over. "Don't touch
—"

"Oopsie."

Allayne watched in horror as the entire outfit slid off the latch, plunging to God-knows-what-or-where, down below.

"Sorry, Uncle Allayne," Diana said, peering at his scattered clothes in the garden.

Allayne drew an exasperated sigh and rubbed his throbbing forehead. "It's alright, poppet." He ruffled her hair, tugging her by the hand away from the window towards the wing-back chair in front of the fireplace.

Diana climbed on his lap after he settled himself on the chair. "Does Anna like bananas?"

"What? Good Lord, Diana—I don't know! Can we just cease this talk?"

Diana quieted for a moment, seeming to obser
ve his expression. "Do you love Anna, Uncle Allayne?" she suddenly asked.

Allayne chuckled. "You're a relentless shrew, do you know that?" He pinched her cheek and felt his humor slowly fade away. "Yes, I do
—very much so."