Authors: Andrea Pickens
Men, she thought acidly as she made her way to a small settee screened from general view by an arrangement of potted palms. Lord knows they were nothing but trouble. She knew it had been a big mistake letting emotion overcome reason. The trouble was, she fumed, once the proverbial cat was out of the bag, it was awfully difficult to disengage its claws and stuff it back inside.
Her eyes roamed the room once again. He wasn't here tonight either. It was now five days since.... Bloody hell.
Her state of mind was not improved by the thought of what else had happened that night. Any doubt that a real threat to her brother's life existed had been shattered by the crack of a bullet — but she still had no clue as to why. Or who.
"Is something wrong? If looks could kill, you'd have done away with half the Ton tonight."
Alex's head shot up. "It would be no great loss," she muttered as Justin sat down beside her.
He gave her a searching look. "What has you so out of sorts? You've been in a black mood for the past few days now."
"Nonsense," she replied, a little sharply. "I simply am tiring of the endless rounds of balls and routs and teas and morning visits — I would prefer to be back at home where it is possible to work without all the distractions."
Justin regarded her with pointed concern. "I'm sorry. I know you are tolerating all of this for my sake, but lately I had thought that, well, perhaps you were enjoying yourself as well."
"The Botanical Society is interesting enough," she answered neutrally. "But I have been neglecting my own work."
Justin was silent for a few moments as he appeared to contemplate the intricate patterns formed by the softly swaying fronds.
"Have you seen Lord Branford?" he asked abruptly. "There is a matter I wish to ask his opinion on."
"Has he not been around?" She hoped her voice did not really sound as brittle as it did to her own ear. "I hadn't noticed."
Justin's brows came together a fraction. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then hesitated and let out a deep sigh instead.
"Perhaps you are right. Perhaps we should return home," he said softly. "Things appear hopeless with Anne's father, and Viscount Adderley is beginning to pay particular attention to her. I should just as soon not have to stand around helplessly and be spectator to that."
Alex felt a stab of guilt. Here she was so caught up in her own affairs that she had neglected to see her brother's pain. She slipped her hand over his.
"How selfish of me," she exclaimed. "I've thought of naught but my own petty problems. Come, tell me why you think things are truly so bleak. Surely you don't doubt Anne's feelings..."
Hammerton noticed the two siblings buried among the plants, deep in conversation. He was reminded of the note he had intercepted from Branford, and how it revealed a growing intimacy between the earl and the Chiltons that didn't auger well for his plans. In fact, it had been a cause for concern over the past few days. His lips pursed in thought for a few moments, then curled into a bloodless smile. He strolled to where his cousin was laughing over a bawdy joke with a group of young bucks. Throwing his arm casually over Standish's shoulder, he disengaged him from the other gentlemen and steered him towards the back of the ballroom.
"You wish to have Branford removed as an ally of the Chiltons?" whispered Hammerton. "I have an idea. The two of them are alone over there behind the potted palms. Follow my lead and in five minutes they will be more than happy to stick a knife in those elegant ribs."
He brought them to a halt behind the settee where they were hidden from view by another arrangement of trees but close enough that any conversation would be audible to those seated on the other side.
"Nasty business," said Hammerton in a voice dripping with concern. "I find young Chilton a very pleasant fellow, and his sister is charming as well. Someone should warn them of the danger."
Justin made as if to speak, but Alex gestured for him to remain silent.
Standish, for once, followed his cue perfectly. "Surely you exaggerate?"
Hammerton heaved a sigh. "I wish that it were so. To be honest, I would not have thought even such an unprincipled rake as Branford would stoop so low."
"Just what do you mean?"
"Making sport with an innocent."
"No!" Standish feigned shock. "No gentleman... "
"I would not have believed it either if I hadn't witnessed it myself." He lowered his voice just a little. "It's right there in the betting book at the club. Imagine, he actually wagered five hundred pounds that he could — well, to put it bluntly — mount the poor girl."
Alex went cold inside.
"The blackguard!" exclaimed Standish.
"Quite. Deucedly awkward though, to broach such a delicate subject to the young man. Don't quite know the fellow well enough."
"Yes, I see your point."
"Well, I shall try to think of some way to alert him. It would be ungentlemanly to let such behavior go unchecked. I should never forgive myself if the young lady came to any harm." With that, Hammerton motioned for them to move off, a look of malevolent satisfaction spreading over his face.
Alex's nails dug nearly deep enough into her palms to draw blood. There was a dull roaring in her ears and she found herself wondering if, for the first time in her life, she was going to succumb to the utterly ridiculous feminine weakness of fainting on the spot. But she had never been one to wilt in the face of adversity, she reminded herself grimly. Her shock quickly turned to a seething anger. She gritted her teeth and imagined slicing up a certain portion of the earl's magnificent anatomy — inch by inch.
"Alex..." Justin's face was white with concern as he searched for words.
"You needn't worry that I'm about to fall into a fit of girlish hysterics." Her voice was under rigid control. "At my advanced age, I have few of the illusions of a young miss and am not so naive as to the ways of the world. If Lord Branford, for whatever reason, wants to play... "
"We don't even know if it is true," pointed out Justin in a near whisper..
Alex compressed her lips as she brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. "I thought it was you who expected the worst from him."
Justin colored. "It's just that now I... I just don't believe he would do such a thing," he said in a near whisper. "Do you?"
Alex didn't answer his question ."You know very well I sought out the earl for my own reasons. I am fully aware of his reputation. If he chooses to amuse himself with his own little games, that is his concern, not mine."
She forced a smile as Justin's eyes bore into her. "Here is Anne looking for you. I expect you are promised for the next set."
"But Alex..."
"Put the whole thing from your mind. That is what I intend to do. Anyway, it isn't as if I have been silly enough to form a tendre for the man — or have imagined he has any such feelings for me." She shrugged. "I think I shall see if Aunt Aurelia is ready to leave, I find the evening has become exceeding dull."
Branford gave a snort of frustration as he folded the sheets of paper and put them back into his pocket. The elder Chilton had been a damned obtuse individual, which made his code that much more difficult to break. And what the deuce were those little symbols that looked like hatchets, or some such thing, interspersed among the random letters? A professional soldier's logic was child's play compared to that of an introverted scientist.
To add to the mystery, the servant hovering on his deathbed had had the termidity to expire before Branford arrived in East Anglia, leaving him with only fragments of a jumbled story — and an odd one at that. From the account Sykes had given him, the man's mind was already wandering. What was truth and what was mere figments of a dying man's imagination was difficult to discern.
All in all, it had been a waste of nearly a week. He shifted impatiently against the squabs as the carriage rolled past the outskirts of London. Well, not quite a waste., he corrected himself as another sheet of paper crackled in his breast pocket. He had been close enough to Riverton to stop and attend to one other important matter. The local bishop had been more than happy to comply with his request for a special license, handing it over with unctuous wishes for the quick arrival of an heir.
The journey had provided him with many long hours of contemplation. Mental arguments had raged back and forth. In the end, all the careful reasonings and rigid logic were no more than meaningless words. The essence of it all was that his life would be sadly flat — and yes, lonely — without her.
He was tired of living in a carefully constructed shell. The thought of watching her eat toast and jam at breakfast, of seeing her paint-smudged face furrow in concentration as she worked, of sharing laughter and arguments brought a poignant smile to his lips. And the thought of her in his bed every night, looking at him with the sweet hunger he had seen the other night made the heat rise in him. He felt the front of his breeches tighten and realized that in regard to Miss Alexandra Chilton, he had totally lost his vaunted ability to control his emotions.
And yet he was more than willing to lower his defenses to her. She had trusted him from the beginning. Trusted that he was more than the monster painted by the gossips, trusted that he would not hurt her. She had trusted, in fact, her whole self to him. That meant everything to him.
The carriage hit a rut in the road, causing the small band box on the seat beside him to jostle his elbow. Another smile lit his face as he contemplated which of his offerings would please Alex more — the marriage license or the rare specimen of (Latin) that he had had the gardener at Riverton dig up for her. He was well aware that she had no high regard for his species in general, but she had also shown that she was not altogether adverse to some of its charms. He felt confident he could convince her that they might grow together quite nicely, that his was not a nature that would send out grasping tendrils to strangle or choke down the nearest living thing.
He glanced out the carriage window, impatient to arrive at Lady Beckworth's townhouse yet oddly nervous as well. How did she seem to reduce him to feeling like an awkward mooncalf rather than the "Icy Earl" that Society regarded with a mixture of awe and fear? He certainly didn't feel either icy or in control at the thought of her. But then again, Alex Chilton had kept him off balance from the first time he had met her.
Would to heaven it would stay that way.
The elderly butler took Branford's coat and cane with his customary grimace at having to shuffle from a comfortable chair to open the door.
"Miss Alex is working in the library, my lord," he intoned, hunching his shoulders at the thought of having to walk down the hallway.
Branford suppressed a slight smile. "If you don't mind, Givens, I shall announce myself."
With his precious box under his arm, he approached the room with a mounting sense of anticipation.
She was indeed at work. Her features were totally focused as she bent close to the textured paper on the easel to lay in a delicate wash of color. Branford paused to regard her through the half opened door — she was so intent on her painting that she hadn't heard his steps. There was a smudge of indeterminate color on her left cheekbone and the tip of her tongue was just visible through lips parted in concentration. The sight of it sent a flash of heat through his body as he thought of the last time they been together and how it had felt on his bare skin. He realized with a jolt that was almost physical how much he had missed her.
And yet, he was reluctant to intrude, his attention captivated by the nuances of her expression, the deft movement of her graceful hands, the delicacy of her touch. Unaware of being observed, she worked with an inner confidence while he, strangely, felt a certain shyness rooting him in place.