No Brighter Dream: The Pascal Trilogy - Book 3 (17 page)

He looked down at her, his expression thunderous. “What do I think? Shall I tell you, Ali? Do you really want to know?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, but she was beginning to wonder if her teasing hadn’t misfired.

“Very well. I think that you might be dressed like a lady, and you might speak like a lady, you might even behave like a lady, of all idiotic things. But you forget that I know you inside out. You may have fooled everyone else, but you can’t fool me, Ali. I know
exactly
what you are.”

“What am I, then?” she demanded, but a knot had formed in her throat.

“You’re a child playing at dress-up. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, knowing the penchant you have for pretending to be something you’re not.”

His words hit Ali like the worst of blows. She thought her heart might shatter into a thousand pieces at their impact. This was not what she had imagined, had waited for all these years.

This was not her Andre, this cruel man who wished only to hurt her. A great flood of sickness and despair washed over her. If feelings could bleed when mortally injured, hers would have bled all over the floor. But instead she held her head high and met his eyes evenly.

“You’re wrong,” she said coldly. “You don’t know me at all, my dear duke.” She spoke the last word with quiet contempt. “Not any longer. And I don’t know you. The man I knew, the one I cared about, would have smiled at me and told me I’d done well. He would have told me he was proud of me. He would never have tried to make feel inferior, to remind me what I came from.”

“That’s not what I—”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, cutting him off. “It doesn’t matter any longer. Funny, isn’t it? It used to mean everything to me, what you thought. Well, Andre. Now it’s my turn to wash my hands of you.”

“Oh? And how do you intend to do that?” he asked, pulling her roughly around in yet another circle, his fingers digging painfully into her back.

“I’m going to marry Matthew Daventry.” Ali couldn’t believe the words had come out of her mouth, but she took a certain degree of satisfaction in them, even if she didn’t mean a single one.

“You
marry Matthew?” he said with a choked laugh. “By God, Ali, if we weren’t in a public place I’d shake you till your brains rattled. What in the name of hell do you think a man like Matthew is going to do with a girl like you?”

“Love me,” Ali said fiercely. “Something you know nothing about. And I am not a girl, or a child, I am a full-grown woman who will be twenty-one next month.”

“Perhaps your body has matured, Ali, but the rest of you is as childish as ever.”

She looked away, feeling as if he’d just slapped her. “And you’re as heartless as ever,” she whispered. “If you please, I should like to return to my companions. I think it would be best if we never refer to the past again. And I think it’s also best if you stay away from me.”

“Fine,” he said curtly. “That’s fine. But it’s a damned shame about what’s happened to you.”

Ali regarded him coldly, although inside she wanted nothing more than to cry. “What else did you expect?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said wearily. “I don’t know. Anything but this.”

“Civilization has its price, hasn’t it?” she retorted. “And you were the one who exacted it on me.”

“Well, then damn me for a fool,” he said and took her back to her friends.

He left without another word.

Hattie waited until they were preparing for bed before pouncing on Ali. “Oh, Alexis! Tell me all. What happened with the duke? What is he like? What did you talk about?” she demanded the moment the maid had left.

Ali shrugged casually, even though she was falling apart inside. “Nothing, really,” she said, giving Hattie the response she’d carefully thought out. “He was curious about Ravenswalk since he’s been away for so long, and he wanted to know how it was that I’d become Lord Raven’s ward. So I explained Lord Raven’s old friendship with my father.”

“Oh…” Hattie said, climbing into bed and pulling her knees up. “Well, I just wondered when he left so suddenly. I thought he looked annoyed too, and you seemed upset. Did he say something roguish and improper?” she asked hopefully.

“No, not in the least. His manners were impeccable. It was simply that I didn’t appreciate being interrogated by a complete stranger, and I told him so.” Ali finished braiding her hair and turned to face Hattie. “It was really nothing.”

“How fascinating,” Hattie said, her eyes dreamy. “Imagine his appearing just like that, and then to have a connection with you … Oh, Alexis, you have all the luck.” She sneezed.

“Luck?” Ali said, exhausted, emotionally drained, and wishing Hattie would cease her chatter. “I found him perfectly odious, to tell you the truth.”

“Odious? But he’s so devastatingly handsome! Oh, that dark hair and those light eyes that seem to look straight through one.” Hattie sighed ecstatically. “And he’s so divinely tall and broad and handsome, even more handsome than Matthew. Did you feel fragile when you danced with him?” she asked.

“No,” Ali said, lying. She’d never felt so fragile in her life.

“Alexis? What are you thinking? The oddest expression just came over your face.”

Ali sighed. “Nothing. I’m tired.”

“Oh. Well, I thought you made a very handsome couple. And I think that the only thing on his mind was luring you into his arms from the moment he saw you.”

Ali wanted to laugh, the idea was so ridiculous. If only Hattie knew.
You’re a child playing at dress-up.
The words still stung. All that waiting to grow up. All for nothing.

“Alexis?” Hattie persisted, blowing her nose into her handkerchief.

“You are an incurable romantic,” Ali said. “Trust me, that was the last thing on his mind.”

“No, it’s true. I saw the expression in his eyes when Matthew introduced you. He was definitely interested in you.”

“Yes, and I told you why,” Ali said, longing to stuff a sock into Hattie’s mouth.

“I don’t think so. He’ll be looking for a wife, you know. He was the fifth duke’s only grandchild—in fact, the last duke petitioned the Crown to have the succession pass through his daughter because there were no males. That’s how important it is for him to produce sons.”

“Well, don’t look at me,” Ali said, crawling into bed and pulling the heap of covers up around her. She’d been inexplicably cold for the last two hours, probably brought on by misery.

“Why not, Alexis? It would be a brilliant match. He’s going to be a duke in France too,” she said, as if holding out additional bait.

“Then I’m sure he’ll have plenty of women falling all over themselves to land him,” Ali said, wanting to scream.

“But he chose you. It was a singular honor to dance with you and then leave, you know. And Matthew saw the same thing I did, because he didn’t take his eyes off you the entire time you danced. I think he was jealous.”

“I doubt it. Matthew dislikes him for some reason or another. But then no one has discussed the duke with me, so I would hardly know. Please, Hattie, let’s forget about him and get some sleep.” Ali rolled over on her side and squeezed her eyes shut. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Hattie said, turning the lamp off. Ali heard the mattress creaking, then the sound of Hattie’s soft, even snuffles, indicating that she’d fallen immediately asleep.

The same luxury didn’t come to Ali. The image of Andre’s face refused to leave her. She still felt the imprint of his hand on her waist, her fingers tucked in his, the flesh warm and solid, real. She saw his eyes, his beautiful eyes, filled first with the shock of seeing her, and later with anger and then disillusionment.

What had he expected? A child in
chalvars
with hair still shorn? Or maybe a child who wore pretty dresses but spoke broken English, who gazed at him with unquestioning adoration, who called him master and begged for stories. That Ali was long gone. But who had taken her place?

Perhaps your body has matured, Ali, but the rest of you is as childish as ever.

So he had noticed her breasts, her new curves. And they hadn’t meant a thing to him. Nothing. She didn’t understand. Wasn’t that what being a woman was? Obviously not, if he still considered her a child.

Ali turned on her back and stared at the ceiling, oblivious to the tears that rolled down her cheeks. She thought of the dream she’d held for so long in her heart: Andre would see her and instantly realize that she was the perfect wife for him.

They would go on as they always had, she cooking and cleaning for him, seeing to all his needs, he teaching her and telling her stories and writing his books. They would travel the world together, she and Andre and Joseph-Jean, and it would be just as it had been before, comfortable and happy, but with a few children running about.

But tonight that shining fantasy had been destroyed, smashed into irreparable pieces. Andre was right. It had been the foolish dream of a child, kept alive by an innocent, childish love, by the belief that she could make dreams come true if she wished for them hard enough. But she was no longer innocent. She was no longer a child. And she no longer believed that dreams came true.

She saw life through different eyes, saw Andre through different eyes, saw him not for what she wanted him to be, but for who he really was.

He would never love her. How could he? He was in love with a dead woman, a woman who had taken his heart with her to the grave. And why would Andre want to marry her, of all people? He had baldly reminded her tonight of what she really was, what she had come from. A wife fit for a duke? Only in her childish fantasies.

The hell of it was that Ali still loved him with everything she had in her and always would. That much Allah truly had ordained. But Andre had warned her, long ago, hadn’t he?

Don’t ever give your heart away and certainly not to me. I have no heart and will only break yours.

Well, he had broken it, and she’d been stupid enough to let him. She had only herself to blame.

In that moment, Ali realized that she had finally grown up. It was cold comfort and came a little too late.

A
ndre had a splitting headache, the result of having spent a sleepless night combined with the effect of the heavy and unaccustomed London fog. His mood was foul and his temper short, and it didn’t improve when the butler announced that Matthew Daventry was downstairs, asking to see him.

“Show him up,” Andre said curtly, internally recoiling from the unwelcome reminder of last night’s disaster. “And send for coffee. Strong.”

He put aside the flurry of invitations that had arrived in the morning post, now that his presence was general knowledge, telling himself that he was going to need to either hire a secretary or adjourn to Sutherby for the remainder of his life. As much as he loathed Sutherby, it sounded much better than this hell.

He rose from his desk as Matthew came storming through the door, looking like an angry young bull. “Good morning,” he said, knowing that his pounding head was not going to improve with this meeting. “Won’t you sit down?”

“Let us forgo the pleasantries, Montcrieff. Just what are your intentions here?”

“My intentions? Other than assuming the duties my grandfather left behind, do you mean?”

“You know damned well what I mean. I’m referring to Alexis and the public spectacle you made of her last night.” His face reflected barely suppressed rage.

Andre looked the blond giant up and down, thinking that Matthew had inherited his father’s quick temper as well as the trademark gray eyes and darkwinged brows of the Daventry family. It did not appear that he had inherited Charlie’s sense of humor, however, which was a pity.

“A public spectacle?” he repeated. “And how did I do that? By dancing one waltz with her after a proper introduction had been performed? Are you here to call me out over the matter?”

“Do not trifle with me, Montcrieff. I will not see Alexis’s reputation compromised, not after all this time.”

“I have no intention of compromising anything,” Andre said. “I don’t believe I have an established reputation as a rakehell, nor that people regard me as anything more than unpleasant—or at least according to Ali. But you know what her imagination is. Or was.” He scratched his cheek. “Did she, ah … say something to indicate that I made improper advances toward her?” He could hardly believe that such a thing would even have entered her mind, but this new Ali was probably capable of just about anything.

“Certainly she did not,” Matthew replied, “although whatever you did say upset her badly. I could tell, even though she mentioned nothing. But then I know her very well.”

“Yes, you probably know this version of Ali far better than I.” He waited for the footman to put down the coffee tray and disappear. “I preferred the old one.”

Matthew’s brow drew down. “You would have. I’m sure you enjoyed having her as your servant at your beck and call, sleeping at your feet, shouting at her, knocking people down in front of her.”

Andre had to stifle a smile. So Ali had been telling stories. He wondered just how far she’d gone, if Matthew knew how thoroughly Ali had served him. He doubted it. Matthew’s tedious sense of propriety would have been even more outraged than this.

“Yes, I did enjoy it,” he said truthfully. “But that was a long time ago, and she and I agreed last night to leave it in the past. I don’t want Ali’s upbringing or our past relationship exposed any more than you do. Coffee?”

“I think not,” Matthew said, his jaw tight.

“See here, Daventry,” Andre said reasonably, trying to remember that Matthew was young and still filled with idealistic fervor. “I didn’t return to England to sully Ali’s name or reputation if that’s what you’re worried about. I didn’t even expect to find her here. I was as surprised last night to see her as she was to see me.”

Dear heaven, but that was an understatement, he thought, stirring sugar into his cup. He’d been knocked six ways to Sunday. And if he was honest with himself, he’d been devastated by what he’d found.

“Yes, I realize that,” Matthew said. “Nevertheless, you singled her out. You must have realized that would cause a stir? People are already talking.”

“Well, they’ll stop soon enough, since I don’t plan on giving her the time of day from here on out. Now that you know that, why don’t you calm down?” He sipped his coffee. “Actually, I’d be more interested in hearing how Ali’s managed in London society.”

“She has managed perfectly well. There was only a small flutter when word got out about her father, but the story my grandfather concocted about her parents leaving her with relatives in Switzerland took care of that.”

“I didn’t mean that. Is she well liked?”

“Everyone adores her,” Matthew said, looking at him contemptuously. “Alexis is a special girl, one of a kind.”

“Odd, it appeared to me as if your family managed to turn her into a carbon copy of everyone else.”

Matthew glared at him. “You have no idea how hard Alexis has worked at becoming what you see today. She was like a wild animal when she first arrived, frightened, mistrustful, not even able to speak English. And listen to her now—she speaks it like a duchess.”

“Not exactly a duchess, thank God,” Andre said, “although that will probably eventually change too. Pity.”

“You fool—don’t you realize that she did it all for you?” Matthew cried, then paled as he heard what he had said. “God, I wish you’d stayed away,” he said, staring at the floor.

“So do I,” Andre said flatly. “And don’t think for a minute that Ali did any of it for me. She knows exactly what I think of that kind of behavior.”

“What do you mean by that?” Matthew asked indignantly. “She behaves exactly as a lady ought.”

“Precisely,” Andre said, rubbing his forehead. “So. You fancy yourself in love with her. Well, why not? She’s pretty enough, I suppose.”

“Pretty? Ali is beautiful, you blind idiot. All you can see is the half-tamed, raw-edged girl you sent away. Or maybe that’s all you care to see—maybe that’s how you can justify your carelessness with her.”

Andre chose not to dignify that with a comment. “You’re what, twenty now?” he said instead.

“I’ll soon be twenty-two,” Matthew replied curtly. “Old enough to marry Alexis, which I intend on doing.”

“And how will you support her?” Andre asked, suppressing an unexpected surge of anger at the very idea of this boy presuming to marry Ali. “Where will you live? At Ravenswalk?”

Matthew pulled himself up. “I think those are questions my grandfather should be asking me, not you.”

“I assumed your grandfather would already know the answers,” Andre replied coldly. “Believe it or not, I do have an interest in Ali’s future, now that I know she is not in the care of relatives.”

“You have no right to anything concerning her,” Matthew said furiously. “You forfeited it the day you put her on the boat with that godforsaken Herringer woman who did nothing but call her a savage and a whore
—your
whore, Montcrieff.”

Andre clenched his fists at his side, feeling as if a blow had just been delivered to his stomach. “What?” he whispered.

“That’s right. Fortunately Ali was too innocent to understand the implication, even when she asked what the word meant.”

“I hadn’t realized,” Andre said, sickened. He thought he’d consigned Ali into the hands of a boring but competent and relatively sympathetic matron, not a vicious, lascivious-minded witch. Poor Ali. It must have been truly dreadful for her.

“I think there’s a hell of a lot you haven’t realized,” Matthew replied, his gaze coldly raking Andre. “My suggestion to you is that you stay out of her life from now on, and my family’s as well. All you’ve ever brought is pain and suffering to the people who have been misguided enough to care about you. Alexis isn’t deserving of it, and neither is anyone else.”

He turned on his heel and walked out.

Andre watched him go, a mass of conflicting emotions tearing at him, the uppermost of which was rage. How dare the young pup presume to speak to him like that? How dare he talk about Ali as if she were some sort of personal possession?

And then cold reason took hold. Well, she would be Matthew’s personal possession, wouldn’t she, if she were fool enough to marry him?

“Damn her!” he muttered. “Damn the lot of them.” He strode over to his desk and swept up the handful of invitations, tossing them into the wastepaper basket. London and its attendant miseries needed him about as much as he needed them, and Sutherby had gone neglected long enough. He’d had it with the damned city, with society, and most of all with Ali.

If she wanted to be an empty-headed wife, doing nothing but attending parties and gossiping with her friends, let it be on her head. She could marry Matthew Daventry, and he wouldn’t lift one finger to save her from her fate.

Not that he believed for a minute that Nicholas would allow such a thing.

He might not know Matthew Daventry very well, but he knew Ali like the back of his hand, and she no more belonged with Matthew than she did with the man in the moon.

Anyway, she was far too young for marriage.

Ali pushed open the wood door of the enclosed garden that was attached to Raven’s Close, the nearby manor house that was part of the Ravenswalk estate. It was a peaceful place, and she sought out the garden whenever she felt troubled. She’d spent a great deal of time here in the two weeks since returning from London.

The relief she’d felt when the season finally ended was enormous. Pretending to be gay and full of life when dying inside was not easy, nor was it easy to disguise her panic that Andre might appear around any comer at any moment.

But at least she was spared that. Rumor had it that Andre had returned to his country seat almost immediately, leaving London rife with speculation about him, most of it ridiculous. She might have been amused, except that any mention of Andre cut straight into her devastated heart.

Ali clipped a spray of roses for her basket, but her mind wasn’t on her task; it was on the terrible void that her life had become. All she could see ahead was a long stretch of emptiness and unhappiness without Andre in it.

And on top of all that, there was Matthew’s proposal.

She hadn’t known what to do when he dropped to one knee in the middle of the Charletons’ drawing room, pouring out his heart to her horrified surprise. But he was sincere, and didn’t press her for an immediate answer.

But why shouldn’t she consider his proposal? Matthew was devoted to her. He was kind. He was all the things Andre wasn’t and never would be. Andre had made that more than clear.

She put the basket down and reached into her pocket to read Matthew’s letter for the tenth time, carefully unfolding it as she sank down onto the nearby bench.

Ali rubbed her fingers over her forehead, tom with indecision. She knew he loved her. He knew equally well that she didn’t return his love. But he said it didn’t matter, that she could learn to love him. Maybe he was right, maybe she could, although she’d never love him as she loved Andre. She knew that with certainty, and it seemed terribly unfair to Matthew.

He had said that it would be more unfair to reject him out of hand. And who else would have her? She couldn’t presume on Georgia and Nicholas’s kindness forever, and she couldn’t marry someone else under a cloud of deception—that would be very wrong. But Matthew knew everything about her and he didn’t mind.

Then why didn’t it feel right? Why, in her heart of hearts, did every instinct tell her that to throw herself into Matthew’s arms would be a horrible mistake? Maybe it was because she couldn’t imagine throwing herself into his arms at all.

There was only one man she wanted in that way. For the last interminable month she had dreamed night after night of Andre’s mouth, his hands, his body on hers in a way she had never even imagined before. She woke shaking and disoriented, the place between her thighs damp and aching with a heavy longing.

She couldn’t think what had happened to her. Oh, she knew all about how babies were made, and that men and women were not supposed to be left alone in each other’s company, just in case they made one accidentally. But she’d never before been able to understand why they would want to. Now she understood far too well.

Images of Andre plagued her, memories of the feel of his muscular body under her fingers, the shape of his strong back, the planes of his broad chest, the ridges of his abdomen. She knew how he looked unclothed, every last square, masculine inch of him.

In the past, his body had only been something beautiful to her, something to tend to as part of her service to him. But now those innocent images had translated themselves into an entirely different picture, potent and dangerous, capable of setting her on fire. She imagined the taste of his skin, the smell and feel of his bare flesh against hers, his hands touching her most intimate places.

She couldn’t begin to imagine Matthew doing such things to her—the very thought made her shudder. And how would she explain it to Matthew when she woke in the night calling for another man? A man she could never have.

Ali put her face in her hands and wept, Matthew’s letter falling unnoticed to the ground. She didn’t hear the creak of the garden door softly closing.

“Nicholas, we cannot let Ali go on like this,” Georgia said, marching into the library and throwing her gardening gloves down on the table. “She’s lost all her color, she’s losing weight she can’t afford to lose, and just now when I went to work in the garden I found her crying her eyes out. Again. This is not good for her.”

“What would you like me to do?” Nicholas said, looking up from his paper. “Go roaring up to Sutherby to knock some sense into Andre’s stubborn head? Or perhaps you’d like me to take him over my knee? If you want a miracle, apply to Pascal, although even he hasn’t managed to make a dent in his son’s idiocy.”