No Brighter Dream: The Pascal Trilogy - Book 3 (22 page)

He glanced at her over her fingers, the heated expression in his eyes implying that he hadn’t forgotten a millimeter of what he did know, and Ali drew in a sharp breath.

Andre flashed her a wicked smile. “Exactly. Now let me greet everyone and see them to the carriages. You and I are going alone in mine. We need some time to talk before we enter the madhouse. And I warn you, I don’t exaggerate.”

“Oh,” she said breezily, “I’m not worried.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Then you’re a braver soul than I. Sutherby feels like an occupied country.”

He strode off across the platform, leaving Ali with a heavy longing that throbbed deep in her abdomen and echoed in her heart.

Ali stared as the carriage rattled through the gates of Sutherby. The Elizabethan house was enormous, a vast, imposing square of stone capped by balustrades, domed turrets, and chimneys. It was easily twice the size of Ravenswalk, which was nothing modest, and the lawn that stretched around it could have accommodated an entire cavalry regiment. The reality of the situation suddenly hit her with enough force to jolt her entire being.

“Andre…” she breathed. “It’s—it’s huge.” She ran her tongue over her bottom lip, overwhelmed with unexpected panic.

“Fit for a great pasha?” he asked with amusement from his seat across from her.

“Fit for a very great pasha,” she said shakily, pressing her hands against her cheeks. “But how am I to run a house this size?”

“The same way you ran our camp. Like a tyrant. The only difference is that you will be my wife. Which reminds me.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a little box. “Here is your engagement ring.”

Ali gasped as he opened the box. Inside was the most enormous emerald she’d ever seen, square cut, flashing with green fire. “Andre,” she choked. “It’s almost as big as your house.”

“Fit for my duchess,” he said, slipping it onto her finger. “What’s the matter, Ali? I thought you liked jewels and castles and all that sort of thing, and now you shall have them.”

His words, so casually spoken, startled her. She tore her gaze away from the ring and gave him a searching look. “You don’t think that’s why I’m marrying you, do you? So that I can be a duchess and be given jewels and live in a big house?”

The smile faded from his face. “No,” he said softly. “I don’t.”

Ali nodded, but the question that had been paramount on her mind for all of the last month still burned at her. She knew this would be her last opportunity to ask it before they were married, but it took all of her courage to bring it to her tongue.

“Andre,” she said hesitantly, but forging ahead anyway, determined to have honesty between them. “We have talked of the dinner tonight, and who will be there, and the seating arrangements. We have talked of the details of the wedding tomorrow, and the breakfast to follow, and we have even talked of Mrs. Grimes the dragon housekeeper and Pennyswell the butler, and how they will all be lined up to greet me.” She paused.

“But we have not talked of the arrangement between the two of us, is that it?” he said, as if he’d read her mind.

Ali stared down at her hands, the ring flashing in the sunlight. “I—I only wish to know how you’d like for us to go on.”

“Ali,” he said, his voice gentle. “I know that you think you love me, and I’m honored that you do, although I believe you to be completely misguided.”

Ali’s head snapped up and she glared at him. “I am not misguided in the least,” she said. “I do love you.”

“All right,” he said, holding his hands up to forestall her. “I think you must, or you’d never be so foolish as to marry me. But I have to be honest with you.” He leaned forward and took both her hands in his. “I told you long ago that I had no heart, or at least not one worth anything. It would be wrong of me to pretend to love you, or at least to love you as you might wish, and for that I’m deeply sorry. But we are friends, are we not?”

Her eyes crept up to meet his steady gaze. “Yes,” she murmured, willing away tears, for his words, as much as she’d expected them, still tore at her soul. “We have always been friends, I think. Good friends.”

“Yes. And I hope we always will be. We know each other fairly well, although five years is a long time to be apart, and we have things to learn about each other—mostly on my part, I think. It hasn’t been easy adjusting to all the changes in you.”

“But you don’t mind those changes anymore, do you? At least you didn’t seem to mind the last time we were together.”

“Ali, ever blunt,” he said with amusement. “No, I don’t mind, not in the least. I don’t regret what happened between us.” He stroked her fingers, his touch firm but sensual at the same time. “I hope you don’t regret it either.”

Ali’s blush covered her from head to toe. “No,” she murmured. “Not one minute of it. It was right, Andre. But I have worried that you felt forced to marry me because of that.” She pulled her hands from his and clenched them together. “We didn’t make a baby after all.”

He chucked her under the chin. “I don’t feel forced to marry you, and furthermore, I assumed you would have told me if you were pregnant.”

“You don’t mind that I’m not?” she asked.

“Good God, no. It’s a relief. We have enough to deal with as it is without people wondering about a baby arriving in eight months.”

“I suppose so,” she said. “But I do want to make you a son as soon as I can.”

“There will be plenty of time for that after our wedding, although I promise you that when I make love to you, the last thing on my mind is going to be babies.”

Ali’s mouth curved up in a provocative smile at the thought of being back in Andre’s arms and she gazed at him, thinking of the exquisite pleasure they were going to share.

A strangled sound emerged from his throat. “For God’s sake,” he said hoarsely, “don’t look at me like that—or at least not until I have you where I can do something about it.”

He glanced out the window. “We’re arriving, so let me just say this much, since I probably won’t get another chance. I’m very fond of you, Ali, and I intend to make you a good husband and a faithful one. Even if I can’t love you, I swear I will do nothing to dishonor you.”

Ali didn’t answer. She couldn’t, for fear of bursting into wild laughter. Andre looked so earnest, as were his words, but the stiff bulge that pushed against the front of his trousers put the whole situation into perspective.

Andre thought he was going to jump out of his skin at dinner. Guests had been arriving at Sutherby for days, and he’d been marginally able to cope with that, but now that Ali was here, the situation had become unendurable.

If Joseph-Jean had showed up he might have found it easier, but there hadn’t been a single word from him, and that cut badly. Jo-Jean obviously didn’t approve of the latest development concerning Ali, and Andre couldn’t really blame him.

He stared into his pudding, thinking that if he could have his druthers, he’d clear everyone out of the house, with the exception of Ali, of course. Ali he would march straight up the stairs to the bedroom. No—wrong thought, he realized as his groin tightened yet again. God, how he wanted her. He couldn’t believe how badly.

He’d gone to the station, thinking to reassure her, to make her feel welcome, for he’d been fairly sure that she’d be overwhelmed. But instead, she had bowled him over with her sweet and uncontrived greeting, so reminiscent of the old Ali. What was new was his immediate and intensely physical reaction to her, and he didn’t seem to have much control over it.

He lifted his head and gazed at Ali yet again down the interminable length of table. He’d been impressed with the way she’d greeted the staff who had assembled outside the house to meet her, charming even Mrs. Grimes. Pennyswell had looked as if he wanted to fall at her feet in adoration. And tonight she was handling herself as if she were in her element.

Well, almost. It was more as if Ali had changed the element to suit herself, since at Ali’s end of the long table everyone was in fits of laughter.

Watching her, Andre had a strong flashback of Xanthos, Ali sitting by a campfire, telling ridiculous stories, reducing the Yourooks to the same helpless state of mirth. Lord, it would have been dismal tonight without her. The last few days had been hell. And yet Ali was like a beam of sunshine, cutting through the gloom, bringing her own particular brand of originality to the usual dull mix.

“A little more attention to the blancmange and a little less to your bride-to-be might be in order. You look like a stallion sniffing out a mare in heat.”

Andre’s gaze snapped over Georgia who sat at his right, settling directly on Nicholas. “I beg your pardon?”

“Just a suggestion.” Nicholas only smiled and returned his attention to his pudding, leaving Andre with no reply, but hoping to God that his feelings weren’t as obvious to anyone else. Here he’d been thinking that he’d kept himself carefully under wraps. It horrified him that anyone else might have divined his thoughts, especially Matthew, who had been watching his every move all night. The last thing he needed was another blow to his jaw.

He did exactly as Nicholas suggested and returned to staring at his pudding. Fifteen hours and counting.

“For the love of God, what happened to you? I thought you meant to abandon me to my fate,” Andre said, ushering Joseph-Jean into the library. It was late, but he didn’t care, and he hoped Jo-Jean didn’t either.

“I only received your letter three days ago. I was in Paris.”

He waited until Jo-Jean had been given a cigar and a glass of cognac before he settled back in his chair, trying to calm his frazzled nerves. He thanked God for the inviolate peace of the library.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, the moment the servants had melted away. “I realize it was a great deal to ask.”

“Not at all,” Joseph-Jean said. “I’ve been curious on a number of counts. So,” he said, gazing around. “This is Sutherby.”

“Yes. A bloody hellhole, despite outward appearances,” Andre replied, then shrugged. “Never mind. It’s not worth complaining about. The assembled guests seem duly impressed.”

“Where’s Ali?” Joseph-Jean asked. “I was hoping to see her before the wedding tomorrow.”

“No chance of that, I’m afraid,” Andre said. “She’s gone to bed. Georgia ushered her off a good hour ago. Something about brides needing their sleep. So tell me—what were you doing in Paris?”

Joseph-Jean gazed down into his glass. “I was there on Saint-Simon business. I’ve taken a job in the winery, feeling that since your father provided my entire education, I might do something to pay him back.” He looked up. “The duke is well, in case you were wondering.”

Andre blinked in surprise at both Jo-Jean’s cool tone and also the casual way he had just tossed the forbidden subject of Andre’s father into the conversation. “Actually, I wasn’t wondering,” he said curtly.

“Oh. Too bad. He asked about you, naturally. I said that I assumed you were well, but perhaps suffering from a spot of brain fever.”

Andre’s fingers tightened on the glass. “Brain fever?” he asked, seeing that they were going to come right down to it.

“Yes. Brain fever. Amazingly enough, your father was sympathetic. He seemed to think you’d recover. Eventually.”

Andre steeled himself against the surge of anger any mention of his father brought. “My father’s opinion is of no concern to me,” he said tightly. “And I’d thank you to leave the subject alone. What is this about, Jo-Jean? You came in here like a blast of cold air and the climate is not growing any warmer.”

“Forgive me, but as Ali once said, you can be remarkably stupid for such a smart man,” Joseph-Jean said.

Andre put his glass down and stood, walking over to the bookshelves. He carefully ran his finger along the leather spines, his head bowed for a moment. “Do you know,” he said very softly, “when I spent my years at Oxford, and you were at the Beaux-Arts in Paris, I never once felt a distance between us. You were the only person I didn’t feel distanced from in the years after—in the years we spent in Asia Minor. And yet tonight, of all nights, I feel that distance acutely.” He turned and met Joseph-Jean’s eyes. “Why is this?”

“Do you honestly not know?” Joseph-Jean said. “Ali, well. As I said, sometimes you can be incredibly stupid, but we’ll leave it there. Maybe I should at least tell you that your parents approve of your marriage, since you couldn’t possibly know that for yourself.”

Andre rubbed his forehead, then sighed. “You know I could care less what my parents think. I have to assume that it is you who disapproves of the marriage, which is why you’re behaving in this absurd fashion.”

“What makes you think I disapprove?” Joseph-Jean asked, swirling his cognac around in his glass.

Because you think I’m betraying Genevieve’s memory. Because my damned parents didn’t approve of that marriage, but they approve of this one, and it annoys you. Of course they would approve. Ali might have been raised by Yourooks, but she still has acceptable bloodlines.

But although it cost him, he held his peace. “Because while everyone else thinks the marriage and Ali are both perfectly proper, you know the truth,” Andre said instead.

Joseph-Jean puffed thoughtfully for a moment, his legs stretched out before him, his jacket open, his neckcloth loosened. “Yes. I do know the truth. And you know how much I have always cared for Ali.”

“Ali as a child, yes. Ali as a wild Turk, yes. But Ali as my wife? Somehow I don’t see you accepting that so easily, for a number of reasons.” He watched Jo-Jean carefully for his reaction, the subject of Genevieve hanging between them.

To his great surprise Joseph-Jean grinned lazily. “Mmmm. I have to confess, I haven’t seen Ali in a number of years, so it’s not easy to visualize her as she must be now. But I’m sure you have your reasons for wanting to marry her.”

“Trust me,” Andre said dryly. “Once you see her, you’ll understand better. Ali comes with all the trimmings.”

“Ali. Well, that’s good,” Joseph-Jean said, raising his glass in a toast, further baffling Andre. “I thought she must have some trimmings by now. But I must confess, I’ve been wondering how this all came about. You were extremely vague in your letter.” He sipped his cognac and savored the taste. “Did you feel the need to lay claim to her, or perhaps to rescue her from her present situation?”