Lady Alex's Gamble (17 page)
The major turned quickly to see how his companion was doing. Alex. who had been coached by Tony in many of the manly arts, but not boxing, was at somewhat of a disadvantage. Had the contest been with swords or pistols, she would have been able to hold her own, but as it was, she was forced to adopt rather rough-and-ready methods, which consisted of dancing around her aggressor and landing a blow 155
Lady Alex's Gamble
by Evelyn Richardson
with her stick wherever possible, making sure all along that his punches never touched her.
She was doing well, but tiring, and in a desperate attempt to end it all, she most inelegantly butted her attacker in the stomach with her head. It was not a move she was particularly proud of, but it worked beautifully. The fellow gasped, clutched his ample midsection, and doubled over onto the pavement.
Unfortunately, Alex, transfixed with astonishment by the efficacy of her maneuver, neglected to step out of the way and, caught by her opponent's bulky shoulder as he fell, hit the cobbles at the same time he did. She had only a moment to curse herself for her stupidity before the world went black. The third would-be thief, having witnessed the effectiveness of the major's fists, took to his heels, leaving the victor surrounded by prostrate bodies. It was no more than a few steps to his hotel and Wrotham, accustomed to bearing far more seriously wounded comrades over infinitely worse terrain, decided to support his inert companion back to his chambers rather than trying to obtain transport. Bending down, he hoisted Alex up with astonishing ease, The major was somewhat surprised that such a tall fellow of an average build should weigh so little, but as it made his task all the easier, he thought no more of it beyond being grateful for the lightness of his burden. Dumping Alex unceremoniously over his shoulder, he carried her within sight of the hotel, where he deftly slid her off. Then, draping her limp arm over his shoulder, he grasped the slender waist and made his way into the hotel, weaving slightly so as to give 156
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the impression that both of them were slightly the worse for wear.
Once in his chambers, the major dropped his burden into a chair and grabbed a bottle of brandy. Gently he undid Alex's cravat, opened the neck of the shirt, and was just about to tip the brandy down her throat when he noticed a curious thing. De Montmorency's chest was tightly wrapped with bandages. Was it a wound, perhaps, from some duel? Not a little surprised, Christopher looked again, a little closer this time, and it was then he saw the gentle swellings above the bandages. The brandy bottle slipped from his nerveless grasp and crashed to the floor, spilling its contents all over the carpet.
A woman! Alexander de Montmorency, Earl of Halewood, was a woman? Wrotham sat down heavily, his mind in a whirl. Surely not! No woman would dare pose as a man, much less enter the holy of holies. White's, and then proceed to trounce them all at cards as well. He looked again. No, there was no mistaking the roundness above the bandages, the smooth whiteness of the skin. No wonder his burden had been so light! The major rose and gingerly eased off Alex's coat and felt the shoulders—padding. He grinned and shook his head in astonishment.
Then with a start he came back to the immediate problem. Brandy, he must have brandy. Radlett was out, having been given the evening off, but after rummaging around Christopher was able to unearth another bottle. Gently he parted the lips which, come to think of it, had always seemed 157
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rather delicate for a man. Slowly the major tipped the bottle allowing some of the liquid to slide down her throat. There was a gasp, a choke, and the thick dark lashes fluttered open. The green eyes stared blankly for a minute and then, focusing on the major, regained their customary alertness. "Wrotham?"
"In the flesh," he asserted. "But who are you?" There was not a moment's hesitation. "De Montmorency, of course."
Clever girl, the major applauded her silently. "There weren't many who could sustain such a blow to their heads and keep their wits about them.
"You may be a de Montmorency, but Alexander, you surely are not."
One slender hand, traveling to rub the rising bump on the side of her head encountered the open collar of the shirt. Realization dawned. "Oh."
"Just so. And if you are not Alexander, who are you? Was there ever an Alexander, and if so, where is he?" the major inquired pleasantly enough, but the blue eyes were looking at her most intently.
"You ask a good deal of questions, sir," Alex retorted, an angry flush rising to her cheeks.
"Can you blame me? I assure you, it is only out of the idlest curiosity. I have known you long enough to be sure that this masquerade is being perpetrated for only the best of motives."
Alex shot a quick suspicious glance at him, but her interlocutor was not jesting. Instead, he was regarding her 158
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with a mixture of perplexity, sympathy, and what appeared to be admiration.
"Why is Alexander not out repairing the family fortune?" he prompted gently.
"Because he was the one who lost it." Try as she would, Alex could not hide the indignation in her voice. "Besides, he hasn't the slightest head for cards."
"Whereas you play them like an angel."
"Papa always said so," she responded simply. Wrotham glanced at her curiously, taking in the auburn hair, green eyes under delicate brows, and the determined chin. His lips twitched. "No doubt the hapless Tony had not the least idea of all this until you appeared at his quarters." Alex nodded, an answering gleam in her eyes. "Tony is the dearest brother imaginable, and he is doing his best to help provide for us, but..."
"He draws the line at his older sister's ruining her reputation," the major finished for her.
"Reputation, pooh." Alex dismissed a young lady's most precious commodity with a wave of her hand. "A reputation is useful only if one intends to be married."
"Which you do not?"
"Good heavens, no! After all, even if Alexander does survive, he needs someone after him constantly to keep him from bringing us all to complete destruction."
"So I gather it was he and not your father who made the, er, unfortunate investments."
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"Yes." The green eyes kindled. "A more cork-brained, selfish—" Alex broke off. "Well, never mind. Let us just say that he got us into dun territory."
"From which his sister—you are his sister, are you not?—is doing her level best to rescue him."
"Not him!" Even Alex was taken aback at the vehemence in her tone. "He may hang. It is Ally and the children. Yes, I am Alexander's twin sister, Alexandra. And I
won't
let him ruin their chances at happiness. I can take care of myself, but Ally would like desperately to have a Season and a family of her own. Andrew, if it were up to him, would eschew a proper education, but he is going to have one, nevertheless. Then there's Abigail. For the moment, she just needs a home."
"Alexander, Alexandra, Anthony, Althea, Andrew, and Abigail?"
"Papa said he would never be sure which child was which so if he chose names beginning with an
A
no matter what name he called he was bound to get one of us to answer."
"I see. Very sensible of him. And you have taken it upon yourself to provide all these things they need?" The major shook his head in disbelief, but it was a disbelief that had more than a touch of admiration in it. "Was there no one else, no other way?"
"No. Papa's family disowned him years ago and Mama's are all dead. Alexander's solution was to marry me off to"—
the thought of Sir Ralph Cranbourne was so disgusting that Alex could not even bring herself to pronounce his name—"to the man who holds all the vowels for his debts." 160
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"You know," Wrotham began, "I am beginning to dislike this Alexander more and more, but even he could not be so lost to all decency as to let you do this." An impish twinkle glistened in her eyes. "Perhaps not, but he was unconscious at the time."
The major gave a shout of laughter. "You certainly are determined. But what is to say he will not come pursuing you when he regains consciousness?"
"He is so very ill. I doubt he will recover," was the sober reply. "And, in truth, that might be the very best thing for us all. I tried to help him mend his ways. I truly did try."
"I am sure you did, but it has been my experience that when a man is bent on the path of self-destruction it is worse than useless to try to stop him. Those who do, only bring themselves to grief. Now," he added in a bracing tone, "just how much do you need to win in order to free yourself of the odious Sir Ralph and recoup the family fortunes?"
"About thirty or forty thousand pounds more," Alex responded listlessly.
"Well, I shall see to it that Knightley does not forget that he wishes to win back his losses, and that others are inspired to take you on. I shall bring you your opponents and you will relieve them of their money."
"You mean you will help me?" Alex could not believe her ears.
"Of course I shall help you."
The astonishment on her face was so patent that he could not help asking indignantly, "What did you think I would do, expose you? A pretty son of fellow I should be." 161
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Alex jumped up and seized the major's hand. "Oh, thank you, thank you. You are so very kind."
"Kindness has nothing to do with it. How could I possibly sit idly by when I have a chance to help someone who has faced life's problems with as much courage and, er, ingenuity as you have? But now I do believe you should go home to bed. You received quite a blow on the head and it won't do to have those brains of yours the least bit muddled. Come, I shall escort you home." He held out his arm.
"There is not the least need to do that," Alex replied, unaccountably flustered by the gesture and the warm admiration in his eyes.
"Have you forgotten why you are here in the first place?" The major was incredulous.
"No..."
"Well, then."
"But who will escort
you
back? For after all, you will appear on your return what I would appear now, a man alone in the streets."
The major grinned and shook his head. "You are quite a handful, you know. Almost, I begin to pity the unknown Alexander. What you say is perfectly true, but though you make a most excellent figure of a man, you lack the experience in battle that I have. Let us just say letting me watch over you is the price I shall exact in return for my silence on the entire matter."
"Why, that is blackmail!" Alex was indignant, but she took the proffered arm and was glad of it, for the room swam unpleasantly when she rose from her chair. However, the 162
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dizziness subsided in an instant and she found herself, though tired, perfectly capable of walking to her hotel. Along the way she could not help reflecting that though it was entirely unnecessary, there was something very comforting about having the major's arm supporting her.
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No sooner had she undressed than Alex, utterly worn out by the events of the evening, fell into exhausted slumber. The strain of the game would have been enough to ensure a deep sleep, but that, coupled with the attack and the subsequent discovery of her disguise, had utterly fatigued her. The same could not be said of Christopher. His brain a jumble of confused thoughts, he replayed the entire evening in his mind as he sauntered back to his lodgings. Once in his chambers, he tore off his coat, poured himself a generous glass of brandy, and flung himself into a chair in front of the fire to sort things out.
Who could have guessed that a woman, genteel and accustomed only to a quiet life in the country, would attempt such a thing? He did not know many
men
who would have exhibited the iron nerve and determination that Alex had. Yet here was a woman, hardly more than a girl actually, who had taken on the entire membership of White's as coolly as if she were taking tea with her neighbors. Any female of Christopher's acquaintance, if she had done anything at all, would have railed mightily at her unfortunate fate, sought out the wealthiest man in sight, and done her utmost to catch him in the parson's mousetrap.
Not only had Alex confronted her problem with quiet dignity and efficiency, she had responded with equal presence of mind to his discovery of the secret of her identity. Christopher tried to picture his mother in such a situation and 164
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failed. It was simply too mind-boggling. Casting back in his memory from his first love, who had thrown him over for the chance to become a duchess, to his next-to-last opera dancer, who had left him for the protection of someone of greater
ton,
Christopher decided that if there was one thing the women in his life had cared for more than wealth, it was reputation—position in society. Yet Alex, faced with the total destruction of hers, had been entirely unconcerned. All her energies were directed toward helping her family, to the total disregard of the possible effects her efforts might have on her own life.
It was a revelation to Lord Wrotham. He knew far too many men, let alone women, who thought of nothing more than their own immediate comfort. This was largely the reason he had been so glad to go to the Peninsula. Though one could not escape much of the vanity and selfishness prevalent in the
ton
, at least in war, one was forced to prove oneself in more concrete and valuable ways. The major stared into the fire as he conjured up all the mental pictures of Alexandra. He could not help grinning to himself as he thought of the first time he had seen her, lounging in her chair, looking for all the world as though she were completely castaway. Her imitation had been so well done that he could only assume she had seen her brother in such a state more times than she cared to remember. Next came the image of her, intent and earnest, as she discussed the state of Europe and the attitude in Parliament toward the emergency there. Not the least of these memories was the glimpse he had caught of her out of the corner of his eye as 165