No Brighter Dream: The Pascal Trilogy - Book 3 (16 page)

But she did wish he would come home. It had been nearly five years since she’d left him. None of his family had heard anything from him, which surprised nobody. Nicholas had said in his dry fashion that since Andre’s papers were regularly published, at least they knew he was alive.

Well, of course he was. She would have known if something had happened to him. Anyway, she liked reading his papers, and his books too. They made her feel as if she were with him. And Jo-Jean’s illustrations brought everything vividly to life. Too vividly sometimes. They only made her miss Andre and Turkey more.

“Alexis? What are you dreaming about now?” Hattie asked, moving toward the door.

“Nothing,” Ali said, hastily pulling on her gloves. “Nothing at all.”

Andre looked one last time at the engraved invitation, then flicked the comer with his thumb. Well, why not? He had to announce his presence in London at some time, and now that his most pressing business was done, it was as good as time as any.

Umbersville had promised that his wife would not make a fuss if he arrived. There would be few people he knew, and that was all to the good. Maybe another trustee or two of the British Museum would be there and he could talk of business matters. He had little else to discuss.

Running a finger under his uncomfortable stiff collar, Andre took a swallow of cognac and placed the glass on the mantelpiece. He hated crowds, at least of this sort. He loathed British society and its affectations. God, he hated being a damned duke.

He walked into the hallway, allowed the butler to hand him his cloak and cane, and entered the carriage bearing the despised ducal crest.

The crush was exactly what he had expected, of course, the usual mix of pomposity and overstatement. There was a murmur as he entered, the sort of confused but excited whispering that came when speculation ran rife and people were not exactly sure whom they were regarding, and what level of importance that person had, if any. But it only took as long as it took him to cross the hallway before he heard the first gasp. He ignored it.

“Your name, sir?” the footman asked at the top of the ballroom steps, prepared to bellow it out to all and sundry as custom demanded.

Andre was damned if he was going to follow custom.

“Saint-Simon,” he said, not entirely falsely.

“Mr. Saint-Simon,” the man cried, giving it the English pronunciation. To Andre’s relief, not a soul looked up.

It gave him time to peruse the room. He saw a handful of familiar faces, but mercifully few, considering the throng. But as he descended the steps his eye was caught by a slender woman, her delicate profile turned away from him, dark hair arranged above a swanlike neck. There was something familiar about her, but he couldn’t put his finger on it, couldn’t even imagine where he might have seen her before…

He felt his arm being grabbed from behind, and he spun around, years of ingrained reaction instantly coming into play.

“Good God—it
is
you!” Jack Clifford stared into his face, his eyes popping out of his head. “Good God. And here we were thinking you must have permanently vanished into the bowels of Asia after all this time. Ah, Banesbury, my man, this is a fine day indeed. Although I suppose we ought to be calling you Montcrieff these days, eh?”

“Hello, Jack,” Andre said, thinking that he was never going to make the adjustment back to so-called civilization. “How are you?”

“Never better,” Jack said, pulling on his ear. “I say, are you all right? Looking a bit queer just then, you were.”

“I’m fine, Jack. Just fine. I’ve only been home a few days. I haven’t quite adjusted, I suppose.”

“No—no, naturally not. Too many years out there with the savages, I expect.”

“Savages?” Andre asked silkily. “Well, maybe. Or maybe not enough time with the savages in here. Hard to tell.”

Jack swallowed. “Um … your grandfather’s death a bit rough on you, old boy?”

“Mmm,” Andre agreed. “Very rough. But I’ll manage, thanks. So. Who are these people?” He surveyed the crowd, thinking that nothing at all had changed in the eight years he had managed to avoid their unpleasant company.

“Ah, yes,” Jack said. “You will be out of touch and needing to look for a wife, now that your situation has changed. Well, let’s see. Over there is the widowed Marchioness of Stratton. Don’t want to get too close to her—bit of a spitter, she is, and looking for a husband. Spat the last one to death, I suspect.” He chortled at his own wit.

Andre gave him a withering look.

“Um, ah … Well. Let’s see. The gaggle of women directly ahead with their backs to us aren’t worth your time. The blonde is the elder of the Charleton sisters, affianced to Homesby, and the ginger-haired vision is … well. You can see for yourself.”

“Do you have an aversion to the dark-haired one in the middle as well?” Andre asked dryly of the women Clifford hadn’t even bothered to mention.

Jack gave a bark of laughter. “Now you really are wasting your time.”

“Why?” Andre asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Because she’s entirely unavailable unless you want to ride with her, or share a picnic, or do any of the other countless mundane things that lead up to precisely nothing.” He shrugged. “Anyway, the word is that she will marry Matthew Daventry. There’s some family connection.”

“Matthew Daventry? Brabourne’s eldest son?” Andre asked with surprise. “I hadn’t realized he’d come of age.”

“Came back from India to complete his schooling— what, seven years ago? Know him, do you?”

“Slightly,” Andre said, thinking that must be the connection. She was some remote Daventry cousin he’d met at one family gathering or another.

“Well, Daventry hasn’t taken his eyes off her since she first came out, y’know. Don’t really see it myself. She’s from some deuced place on the Continent.” He made a face. “Can’t abide foreigners myself, especially ones that are too clever by half.”

“Somehow I’m not surprised,” Andre said, but his sarcasm went straight over the idiot’s head.

“She’s good with horseflesh, though—speaking of which, I’ve put together the most marvelous team. You’ve never seen such a pair of high-steppers as these.”

“How nice for you,” Andre said, hopelessly bored and dismissing the entire subject before they got into an interminable discussion of horses. “Excuse me.”

He started across the room intending to get a decent breath of air outside when he was stopped in his tracks by the sound of laughter. Pure, rolling, unmistakable laughter that he’d only ever heard emanate from one person in his entire life.

He slowly turned, wondering if his ears were playing tricks on him. His gaze swept the room, tracing the laughter to its source. It was the same woman he’d been asking about only minutes before. He frowned, thinking that maybe he’d finally lost his mind.

And then she turned to greet a friend, her dark eyes bright with welcome, her smile as warm as sunshine. It was a sight he thought he’d never see again.

“Dear, dear God,” he whispered. “Dear God above.”

It was Ali.

“Caroline! I’m so pleased you decided to come after all,” Ali said with delight. “Has your husband returned from Essex, then?”

“No,” Caroline said sadly. “I miss him dreadfully. But I grew tired of spending my evenings alone.”

“Well, of course you did,” Ali said, catching her hands up. “And I’m thrilled that you decided to have fun.”

“Well, I knew you’d be here, and I always have fun around you,” Caroline said. “Hello, Hattie, hello, Sabrina. How nice to see you both.”

Her voice was full of genuine pleasure and Ali smiled with satisfaction. Caroline had been married only four months and was besotted with her new husband. She’d been utterly miserable since he’d left town on business and persistently refused to leave the house, despite Ali’s urging.

Well, here she finally was and Ali was going to make sure that Caroline enjoyed herself this evening. She looked up to see Matthew rapidly making a beeline toward them, and immediately decided where to begin.

“Matthew, I can’t possibly dance with you again,” Ali said adamantly the moment he asked. “What would people think?”

“This is only the third time I’ve asked,” he said, his tone injured. “And since when do you care what people think?”

“I suppose that’s true enough,” Ali said with a laugh. “But I don’t really feel like dancing. Why don’t you ask Caroline, since her husband is out of town and she needs to be cheered up?” Since Caroline was standing right next to her, she knew he could hardly refuse.

Matthew inclined her fair head and invited Caroline politely enough, but his eyes snapped with frustration. Ali watched him lead Caroline onto the dance floor, highly amused as heads turned to watch him.

Matthew had indeed grown handsome over the years, his gawkiness turning into the breadth and height that ran in the Daventry family. She had met them all now, become fond of them, although she was fondest of all of Andre’s parents, who treated her like a daughter and visited when they could.

But Matthew. What was she to do about him? It was a sticky problem, especially since he refused to understand about Andre.

“If you see my point?” Hattie said, shooting Ali a telling look as Matthew glanced back over his shoulder as if to admonish Ali.

“Oh, all right, he’s stubborn and persistent and refuses to acknowledge that I’m not suddenly going to change my mind and topple over at the sight of him.”

‘I’ll topple for you,” Hattie offered. “I wouldn’t mind him looking at me like that. As a matter of fact…” She trailed off, her mouth dropping open. “Good heavens. And just when one thinks there aren’t enough dukes to go around.”

Ali smothered a laugh, for Hattie might have been the recorder for Burke’s Peerage. She knew every last title and detail of lineage in all of Great Britain.

“Which one is it now?” she asked, trying to be obliging.

“The Duke of Montcrieff of all people. Everyone thought he was lost out in Asia somewhere.”

Ali’s back went stiff and her knees felt as if they might collapse underneath her.

Andre. He was home. He was finally home. She concentrated on slowly inhaling and exhaling as a cold sweat covered her body.

“Don’t you remember, he inherited the title last year, but no one heard a word from him.” Hattie shook her arm. “Alexis? Why are you forever going off into a daydream when the most exciting things are happening around you? You haven’t taken ill, have you? You’re looking a bit pale.”

“I’m fine, Hattie. Please. Stop shaking me. I just felt warm for a moment. It’s a tremendous crush.”

“I’ve never known you to be affected by anything so silly as a crush,” Hattie said, peering into her face with concern. “Are you sure I shouldn’t take you home?”

“No!” Ali said. “No,” she repeated more quietly. “I—I’m perfectly well now.”

She’d been waiting for this moment for five years, five long years, and she wasn’t going to let a small matter like severe shock get in her way.

A
li closed her eyes for a brief moment, struggling to regain her composure. Allah, she prayed fervently, help me. Please help me. Her heart pounded so painfully hard that it felt as if it might explode. But she willed it to slow, willed herself to remember everything she had worked so hard to learn for just this moment.

“Did I tell you I met him when I was a child?” she heard Hattie saying. “He was the Marquess of Banesbury then, and I thought him splendid, but he is even more spectacular than I remember. They called him the black marquess because he was so aloof and cold to everyone, and I remember thinking so myself at the time. Funny, he doesn’t look the least bit aloof to me now.”

“And where is this spectacular duke of yours?” Ali asked Hattie as casually as she could manage.

“Behind you, over to the left,” Hattie said breathlessly. “You can’t miss him. He is standing by himself—the tall one with the dark hair. I don’t think people have realized.” She frowned. “Odd, I didn’t hear him announced…”

Ali tuned out the rest of Hattie’s prattle. Steadying herself, she took a deep breath and turned around, thinking a quick peek wouldn’t hurt.

But to her horror Andre’s gaze was fixed directly on her, and the shock that ran through her system as their eyes connected nearly undid her.

Everything came flooding back. Turkey, the noise of the streets, the brightness of the sun, the colors and tastes and smells…

Andre standing on the dock that last day as the boat pulled away, looking as stricken then as he looked now, except that now he was in formal evening dress, the black of his long-tailed jacket and trousers contrasting sharply with the brilliant white of his neckcloth and waistcoat.

And now he was clean-shaven. Without his beard he was even more beautiful, his cheekbones lean, his mouth appearing fuller yet finely sculpted.

She forced herself to drop her gaze, forced herself to turn around again, to pretend indifference even though her mouth had gone dry and her knees felt even weaker than before.

“Well?” Hattie asked. “Did you see him? He was looking right this way.”

“Yes, I saw him,” Ali said, grateful that Matthew and Caroline returned from the dance floor at that very moment. She badly needed a diversion, time to collect herself, to think what to do. She knew Andre would never leave it there.

“Well?” Hattie persisted. “What did you think?”

“He is attractive enough, I suppose,” she replied, dismissing the subject and smiling with such welcome at Matthew that his eyes widened in surprise.

“Are you so gratified that I danced with your friend?” he asked her. “If so, I would happily dance with every last one of them.”

“I am delighted that you gave Caroline pleasure,” she replied, wondering if her voice sounded as shaky to him as it did to her. “I—I think I am going to go outside for some air.”

“Alexis, what’s wrong?” he said in an undertone. “You look upset.”

“I—nothing. It is warm.” He would find out soon enough on his own, she thought. There was no point in forewarning him.

But it happened even sooner than she had anticipated. At that very moment Andre appeared directly in front of them, and Ali’s heart started to hammer uncontrollably.

He ignored her, his attention fully on Matthew. “Good evening,” he said. “You must be Matthew Daventry—you have even more a look of your father about you since the last time we met. I am Andre de Saint-Simon. Perhaps you don’t remember. You were only about ten at the time.”

The sound of his familiar deep, rich voice cut straight through Ali like a knife. He was real. He was really here, standing in front of her. She wanted to reach out her hand and touch him, feel that reality transmitted through her fingertips, know him for solid flesh and blood instead of the figment of her imagination she’d lived with for so long.

Instead, she gripped Matthew’s arm and felt it stiffen under her fingers.

“Good God,” he murmured. “So you did come back after all.”

“As you can see, I did,” Andre agreed. “Well met, cousin.”

“That depends,” Matthew said curtly. “What brought you home? Surely not something as mundane as your responsibility?”

Ali’s stomach, already twisted inside out, developed one more knot. Matthew retained an irrational dislike when it came to Andre, and it was showing.

“Actually, yes,” Andre said, ignoring the insult. “It took some time for the news of my grandfather’s death to reach me, and even more time to disentangle myself. But here I am, feeling a bit out of touch after being away so long.” He looked around. “Won’t you introduce me to your friends?”

Matthew paused, and Ali’s eyes pleaded with him to keep his temper and his tongue in check.

“I beg your pardon,” Matthew said, relenting, and Ali released a silent breath of relief, knowing what the civility must have cost him. He couldn’t be happy with Andre’s return, knowing how she felt.

“Alexis, allow me to present the Duke of Montcrieff,” he said. “Montcrieff, Miss Alexis Lacey, my grandfather’s ward.”

Andre took her hand and bowed over it. “Miss Lacey, it is an honor. It seems we have a connection, as Lord Raven is my godfather.”

The simple touch of his hand sent a rush of love through her. She longed to hold it tight, to press her lips to it, to throw her arms around him and tell him how much she had missed him, how hard she had worked at growing up. But instead she slipped her fingers from his light grasp.

He lifted his head and she met his gaze full on. “Your Grace,” she said, playing out the game from sheer necessity. “May I welcome you home?”

“Thank you,” he said coolly, but his eyes expressed something else entirely. He looked startled more than anything else, and Ali was well pleased.

“I gather you have been away from England for many years,” she said, her nervousness melting away. She almost felt as if the five intervening years had never been. Almost. But not quite. Something important had shifted and she sensed it acutely, although she didn’t know what it was.

“Yes, I have been away a long time,” he answered. “I find my return to be filled with surprises. Things do not appear the same to me as when I left them.”

“How could they be, Your Grace?” Ali said. “Nothing ever stays the same.”

“Apparently not,” he agreed. “Where are you originally from, Miss Lacey? I detect a slight accent.”

“I am originally from Switzerland,” she said, wondering what he’d make of that bald-faced piece of fiction, and wondering why he was pushing her into dangerous territory.

“Switzerland?”
He paused for a moment, and Ali saw a brief flash of amusement in his eyes. “I see. The Alps, perhaps? I have a particular fondness for mountains.”

“No, we lived in a valley,” she said mischievously, “but we did summer in the mountains, with the exception of one. I have many fond memories of that time.”

Andre’s mouth twitched, but before he could respond, Matthew jumped in.

“Allow me to introduce you to Lady Langley. You might remember her husband…”

Ali kept her eyes glued to the floor while Matthew performed the rest of the introductions. Andre replied graciously enough, but she’d seen him in situations like this before, when he gave every indication of attentiveness but his focus was elsewhere.

It was the first time that sidelong focus had been directed in such a way at her, though, and she wondered what was going through his head. Was he appalled by her impeccable English and manners? Had he noticed the swell of her breasts yet?

That happy speculation was interrupted by Hattie’s nervous and uncharacteristic stutter upon her introduction to Andre.

“Your—Your Grace. We have met. That is, my f-father introduced us. Once. A long time ago. At our house on Berkeley Square. You w-won’t remember, naturally…”

Ali had to bite the insides of her cheek to keep from bursting into laughter when Andre glanced over at her, one eyebrow raised in the old, familiar gesture. Poor Hattie. Ali had never seen her so upended. But then Hattie was faced with probably the most eligible bachelor in England, and he was very handsome too, Ali thought proudly. Too bad Hattie didn’t know how Andre felt about Englishwomen.

“I am sorry to say that I do not remember, Miss Charleton,” Andre answered. “But then it has been a long time, and there is much I do not remember.” He turned to Ali. “Tell me, Miss Lacey, do you waltz?”

“Naturally,” she said. “I suppose you also wish to know if I can play the piano, paint lovely watercolors, and do fine embroidery? I assure you that I am proficient in all the feminine arts.”

Hattie gasped with horror, and Ali turned to her. “You see, Hattie, some people assume that when one is raised in a foreign country, one is ignorant of the social graces.”

“Actually,” Andre replied smoothly, “I was less concerned with your mastery of social graces than in your ability to refresh my memory. I am not certain I recall how the waltz goes, having spent the last eight years in places where it is not generally performed.”

“Are you asking me to dance?” Ali said with a little smile, trying to imagine Yourooks waltzing around a campfire. “Or would you prefer that I describe the movements to you?”

“I think,” Andre said, “that it would be better to go through the actual motions.”

“Oh, all right,” Ali said. “But please be considerate of my toes.”

“Naturally,” he replied, taking her by the arm and leading her onto the dance floor. The moment they were out of earshot, he dropped the pretense.

“What in the name of God are you doing here?” he demanded. “You’re supposed to be in the outback of Canada!”

“I don’t know what gave you that idea,” she replied tartly. “I haven’t left the shores of England since you sent me here. In fact, I’ve done precisely what you wished me to do.” She rested a hand on his shoulder. “Now pay attention. One, two, three, one, two, three.”

“I know how to do the damned waltz,” he said, pulling her into his arms as the music began. “I needed an excuse to get you alone for a few minutes. I gather no one knows anything about us, about Turkey?”

“No, and you did a good job of covering up,” she said, a most peculiar, heavy sensation taking hold in her lower abdomen as he swept her around in graceful circles, his hand firm on her back.

She had an overwhelming desire to press herself more closely to him, to rest her cheek on his chest. And wouldn’t that look interesting to London society? There were already enough people watching curiously.

She satisfied herself by moving the hand resting on his shoulder a little closer to his neck, longing to run her finger down the skin just below where the hair curled behind his ear, knowing exactly how it would feel, how he would smell—warm, fresh, masculine. Like no one else in the entire world.

“I learned the art of covering up from spending time around you,” he said from above her head. “You have a habit of delivering one shock after another, and you haven’t let up. Now please explain what you are doing here?” He looked down at her.

“Why shouldn’t I be here? I have as much right as anyone else,” Ali said, enjoying herself tremendously.

It was extraordinarily nice dancing with Andre— nice being held in his arms and twirled around the floor, which he did far more skillfully than her usual partners, but then he always had been surprisingly graceful for a man of his size.

And oh, it was nice teasing him. She’d forgotten how much fun that was.

“Ali, cease trying to behave like some sort of highborn miss and answer my questions,” he said. “The last letter I had from my godfather said that he’d found some relative or other in Canada.” He lowered his voice as another couple came close. “And then I heard not another word, so naturally I assumed you had gone. But to find you here? Why? What happened?”

“Not ‘How lovely to see you, Ali? How are you, Ali? Goodness, you’re looking civilized, Ali.’ All you want to know is why I’m not yet another continent away? I ought to step on your toes and make you howl.”

He swept her around in another circle. “Don’t be a little idiot. I asked you a perfectly simple question. All I require is an equally simple answer, not a show of your blasted temper, which obviously hasn’t improved.” He glanced around the room. “And people are watching us like hawks.”

“Of course they are. By now word has spread that the stranger in their midst is the great Duke of Montcrieff, previously styled as the black marquess.”

“The black marquess?” he said, puzzled. “Where did you hear that?”

“Oh, didn’t you know? That’s what they used to call you. I suppose now they’ll call you the black duke, since you don’t seem to have changed in the least.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

“It means that you’re still the same heartless brute who sent me away five years ago.” She smiled up at him sweetly. “But surely you must be pleased with me now? I have become a perfect Englishwoman. Isn’t that what you wished?”

He didn’t reply, and Ali saw from the expression on his face that she had finally managed to get a bit of her own back.

“So you have been at Ravenswalk all this time?” he eventually said.

“Yes. All this time, as you put it so well. Your godparents have been very kind to me.” She glared up at him. “Without a word of thanks to them from you, of course, or any indication that you cared whether any of us lived or died.”

“I wrote,” he replied, unmoved. “I suppose my letter didn’t reach them.”

“And that was it? You washed your hands of me yet again, did you?”

“I didn’t wash my hands in the first place. Must you be so absurdly dramatic? I explained it all to you when you left.”

“Which is why you took such care to inquire after my welfare?” she asked. “Is this how you plan to continue to treat me now that you truly are a great peer? With the same disregard you give to your family?”

“You little viper!” he exclaimed, missing his step. “My God, England has done your tongue no good at all, has it? You forget what I did for you, all the trouble I went to on your behalf, you ungrateful brat.”

“I see,” she said, looking up at him. “You toss me away like a bit of old rubbish, and I’m an ungrateful brat. I think the only thing I have to be grateful for is that your godparents were good enough to take me in—and keep me. They taught me how to be a lady. They even presented me at court.” She tilted her head to one side. “What do you think of that, Andre? I’ve met the queen.”