Love's Guardian (22 page)
“Will you tell me what they are?”
“No.”
She got up and went to sit on a settee against one wall. How was Declan supposed to notice her breasts if she had them covered? She defied his wishes and tried to seductively remove the scarf. The fine lace caught on her amber brooch. With a nonchalance she didn’t feel, she worked to free the material, but it refused to come free. Giving up all pretext of being casual, she yanked on one end. Still, nothing. At last, she grabbed it from both sides and with a loud rip, extricated the fabric.
She tried to hide the tattered remnants of the fichu in her lap. When she glanced up, Declan
was
watching her, but she couldn’t read his expression. His eyes certainly didn’t seem clouded with passion. What did Catrina do to get his attention?
Of course. She leaned down and gave him a clear view of the tops of her breasts. “See, there’s nothing wrong with this, is there?”
Declan stood, looking at her as if she were a naughty child. “Alexandra, what are you doing?”
He’d never be able to appreciate her charms from this far away. She straightened and crossed to him. Tracing her finger down the side of his face, she stopped at the depression in his chin. “I thought we might pick up where we left off in my bedroom.”
Declan closed his hand around her wrist and redirected her finger away from his face. “Stop this.” His voice had a funny, strangled sound to it.
“But I don’t want to stop.” She put her other hand around the back of his neck, stood on her tiptoes, then kissed him full on the mouth. She waited for him to respond. It was difficult keeping her lips locked on his because of a rumble in his chest. Was she doing this correctly?
Suspicious, she leaned back and studied his face. Amusement danced in his gaze, etching fine lines at the corners of his eyes. Declan was laughing at her! No matter that he hadn’t made a sound, she knew laughter when she saw it.
Her face grew warm. Lady Bradford was wrong. He didn’t love her. Bloody hell, now he could add her name to the list of women who always seemed to be throwing themselves at him. Mortified, she yanked her wrist free, picked up her skirts and raced through the door.
“Alexandra, come back here!”
She rushed through the cloakroom where several footmen gaped at her. With as much dignity as she could muster, she elbowed past them and entered the gardens, then broke into a run. Where she went didn’t matter, as long as it was away from Declan.
When she glanced back, she couldn’t see him, but the sounds of pursuit were clear. Tears streamed down her face. She’d made a fool of herself. Again. She couldn’t face him.
The running feet behind her were closer now. She didn’t dare go any faster. These secondary paths were pitch black.
The opening strains of the orchestra’s first selection surrounded her. It was a fast piece, which seemed to be keeping time with her pounding heart.
She no longer felt the path beneath her slippers. Had she missed a turn in the dark? She slowed her speed, but not in time. Her momentum sent her tumbling over the stone barrier, which rose like a jagged obstacle from the earth.
With a low cry, she clutched at the uneven sides of the steep incline. For once she was grateful for the layers of skirt protecting her, although the tangled silk kept her from getting a foothold.
When she reached the bottom, her legs buckled from the force of the impact. Shaken, she drew a tentative breath and let it out with a soft hiss. Where was she? The air felt damp on her skin, and there appeared to be a stone wall to her left. The floor felt smooth, but she couldn’t see more than a couple of feet in any direction.
When she attempted to stand, a sharp pain in her right ankle forced her to sit again. Tears of frustration pricked the back of her eyes. Did she dare try to crawl out and take the chance there might be a deeper hole to fall into?
“Alexandra, Alex, where are you?” Declan’s frantic voice came to her from somewhere close by.
“I’m here.” Her voice sounded faint in the darkness, and she was afraid it wouldn’t carry up and out of the pit. She took a deep breath and called again, louder this time.
Declan’s voice sounded at the edge of her prison. “Are you all right?”
“What do
you
think?” With rescue imminent, she felt caught between needing his help, and never wanting to see him again. She sighed, then responded in a more reasonable tone. “I think I’ve injured my ankle. I’m not sure I can walk.”
“Don’t move. I’m coming down.” Declan appeared at her side within a couple of minutes.
“How did you get here? I didn’t hear you approach.”
Declan crouched beside her. “There are steps on the other side. Which ankle is it?”
She lifted her skirt and rubbed the injured area. “What is this place?”
“The old orchestra pit. It’s been abandoned for years. Normally, the stone barriers are enough to keep anyone from falling in.”
On top of laughing at her, he must think she was an idiot. Declan removed her hand and examined the ankle. She winced once, when his fingers brushed over a tender spot.
“It doesn’t appear to be broken, but I still think I should carry you.” He reached down and picked her up.
She buried her face in his cravat, and inhaled the smell of damp night air and soap. At any other time she would be thrilled with the close contact. Not now. More than anything, she wanted to go back to her old life, and a time when she didn’t love Declan Devereaux.
The entire household seemed to be all a flutter with anticipation about tonight’s masquerade ball. Alex could hear excited voices and hurrying feet, as servants bustled around with last minute details.
She went through the motions of getting ready, as if in a dream. Unlike most days, she hardly felt the bristles as she brushed her hair the required hundred strokes.
Her costume lay on the bed. Yards of forest green diaphanous material with gold accents. Even the cleverness of Madam Colette hadn’t made her smile.
What had Declan been doing the last two days? After their fateful dinner, he’d carried her up to her bedroom and left her in the care of Lady Bradford. His poor aunt had stammered and stuttered something about leaving her ball early. Declan just raised an eyebrow in her direction and left.
The doctor had insisted she stay in bed. Unlike previous occasions, Declan chose not to visit. It was just as well. She wasn’t sure what she would say to him. Her ankle seemed to have recovered nicely. Too bad her heart hadn’t.
Anna and Lady Bradford visited often, trying to cheer her up. She’d told them what had happened and admitted her stupidity in running away. Why couldn’t she have made a cool, dignified exit when Declan made it plain he wasn’t interested? She hoped someday she’d be able to look back at that moment in her life and it wouldn’t seem so awful.
Tonight she had to face him. He and Morgan were escorting them to the party.
She was going to be gay and carefree if it killed her. When the evening ended, she’d make her decision, and the direction of her life would change forever. Until then, she still had a few hours.
She put her brush on her dressing table and walked over to the bed. At least she could dispense with hip and rump pads. The costume may not be quite as comfortable as breeches, but it was close. She couldn’t wait to see Morgan’s reaction.
Alex turned as Anna burst through the door with her usual enthusiasm. She was dressed as the Goddess Athena. Her gown was white, shot with gold. The flowers woven in her hair had small golden petals with jeweled centers, not that you really noticed them over the large, fluffy, white feathers. She’d accented the gown with bracelets on her upper arms and a heavy jewel encrusted necklace at her throat. She looked lovely. Her eyes grew wide when she saw Alex’s costume.
“Oh, Lady Lochsdale, it’s perfect.”
“Ah, but tonight, I am not the Countess of Lochsdale. I am a river fairy of Norse mythology, waiting to charm mortal man.”
“I know many men who won’t be able to take their eyes off you.” Anna seemed perplexed for a moment. “Are you sure you can’t see through that material?”
“Colette’s design gives that illusion. See, she’s put skin tone material under the sheer.”
“How clever.” Anna walked behind her, studying every aspect of the costume. “I wish I’d thought of wings. I doubt anyone else will have a costume like yours. How did Colette get them to stay on?”
“It’s a narrow metal framework that ties around my waist. I hardly feel them at all, unless of course I wanted to stand against a wall.” She attempted to do so, then raised her hands in mock resignation when the wings refused to cooperate. “I guess I’ll not be a wall flower this evening.” They both laughed.
“I just want you to have a good time.” Anna grabbed her hands. “Maybe there will be someone new at the masquerade who catches your eye. I can just imagine him, a man of mystery. He sweeps you out to the garden and kisses you madly.”
She wished Anna’s eternal optimism was catching, but the only man she wanted to kiss her madly was Declan. She sighed. That wasn’t likely to happen.
“We’d better go. They’ll be waiting downstairs.” Anna started for the door, but turned to look at her before they crossed the threshold. “Don’t worry, things will work out for the best. They always do.”
Best for whom?
Alex followed Anna out and closed the door.
He should never have let Richards tie his cravat. Declan adjusted it for the tenth time in as many minutes. Where were they?
He was just about to send a footman to inquire, when all three ladies came down the stairs. Lady Bradford was dressed as Lady Macbeth. Her costume was all black with irregular pieces of material draped off the arms and shoulders. It was an interesting contrast to her daughter, dressed as Athena. They were clever, but the choices weren’t unusual.
He couldn’t see Alex. Intentional or not, she was keeping behind the other two. When he got his first good look at her, he wanted to send her right back upstairs to change.
She looked like some mythological siren. The dark green gown’s filmy fabric gave the impression you could see right through it, even with several uneven layers in the skirt. The bodice was the same material, but its fullness was gathered with a golden cord. It started at her waist, crisscrossing under and over her breasts, leaving no part of her form to the imagination.
Her arms were bare, except for the tendrils of her glorious hair that hung in curls to her waist. She’d crowned her head with a ring of coral pink roses and ivy. The overall effect was breathtaking.
Morgan started chuckling when he saw her. “Turn around Wee One, and let Worthington see the back.”
He watched as Alex slowly turned around, her gilt edged wings coming into view.
When she’d finished displaying her costume, Alex gave Morgan a small curtsy. Quite an accomplishment, considering there was very little skirt. Then again, Declan had seen her curtsey with an imaginary skirt.
“Kind minstrel, would you spare a song for a river fairy?”
Morgan appeared properly downtrodden. “Alas, beautiful fairy. You’d be looking at a bard whose lute doesn’t work,” Morgan said, holding up the stringless instrument he’d borrowed for the occasion, “and who knows nary a song.”
“Fie on you. Then I must teach you one.” Alex began to sing, her voice soft and melodic. A look of mischief crossed her beautiful face.
There is a tavern in the town
And there my dear love sits him down
And drinks his wine ’mid laughter free,
And never, never thinks of me
Alex concluded with a little pout, as if she were unhappy at being forgotten.
“I’d be doubting any man could forget you.” Morgan took Alex’s hand and gallantly bowed over it. After he straightened, he grabbed his imaginary lute and proceeded to try and imitate Alex’s song. It was so bad, the ladies covered their ears and burst into gales of laughter.
“Enough of this.” Declan hadn’t meant to sound harsh. When had he become the outsider? “We can’t stand around here all night.”
Obviously, staying away from Alex the last two days hadn’t lessened her effect on him. He’d reached a point where just thinking about her aroused him, and he couldn’t
stop
thinking of her.
They gathered their cloaks and filed out to the carriage. He caught Alex’s gaze once, but she turned away.
She was probably still hurt and embarrassed, but she shouldn’t be. Every woman he’d ever known had tried the same ploy. Still, he’d never laughed at them.