Julia London (83 page)

“What rubbish,” Alex muttered angrily, shoving the paper aside.

“But damning nonetheless! What of Marlaine?” Arthur asked, point-blank.

Commanding himself to control his rising fury, Alex said calmly, “What is wrong with you, Arthur? I thought you enjoyed the titillating pieces of trash they print about me. This is certainly not the first time there has been talk.”

“This is the first time I have heard very unflattering comments about you from acquaintances who saw you with her. I do not
like
hearing indecent speculation about your whereabouts when I am trying to enjoy myself at Harrison Green’s. I suppose I just chafe a bit when the Christian name is slandered. But tell me nothing happened, Alex, and I will not say another word,” Arthur insisted.

Alex looked his brother squarely in the eye and considered lying. But he had never lied to Arthur, and it was one thing he would not do. Apparently, it was the
only
reprehensible thing he would not do. “I cannot tell you that,” he said quietly.

Arthur’s mouth fell open. “Are you
insane
?” he bellowed.

“It would seem.”

Gaping, Arthur leaned forward, bracing his hands on top of his knees. “That’s all you can say?
Jesus
, Alex, have you no more regard for your title than
that
? Has it somehow escaped you that this is the worst possible moment to be flaunting your infatuation all over town? Think of your position in the Lords! For Chrissakes, what about Marlaine? She is about to become your
wife
!”

“Do you think I do not know that?” Alex shouted angrily. “By God, do you think I have thought about anything else? What do you want me to do, Arthur? Bloody hell,
would
that I could change it all! But unfortunately, I have not as yet determined a way to turn back the bloody
clock
!”

A tense silence filled the room. Arthur’s eyes flashed angrily as he stood abruptly and went to the window. Alex frowned as he regarded his brother’s rigid back. He understood his desire to protect the family’s good name. That same instinct, coupled with a healthy dose of guilt, had plagued him all night and all morning.

“You must begin to undo the damage. Today. Before Marlaine returns,” Arthur said quietly.

“I fully intend to,” Alex responded, and wondered just how, exactly, he could undo it all. He could not stop
thinking
about Lauren, much less navigate a way out of this mess.

“I will help you,” Arthur said, turning to face him. “But first, you must promise to
forget
her once and for all! It can never be, do you understand that?”

He understood. The pain in his chest reminded him of it with every breath. “I think we could both use a drink,” he mumbled, and went to the sideboard.

Arthur stayed for a while, devising a tale that he convinced himself would make last night look very innocent. Alex nodded at points that seemed appropriate, letting Arthur plot. He was far too distressed by what possible excuse he could make to Lauren tonight to really listen. Did he offer her a sum to forget it had ever happened? The very thought disgusted him. Did he explain that he had responsibilities, and therefore could not consider a continuing liaison with her? Brilliant, Christian, he thought bitterly, a little late for that. Did he suggest she become his mistress? God, how contrived that would seem! And exactly when did he say all this? Before or after he made love to her again, because God knew
that
idea was consuming him.

It consumed him well after Arthur left and up until the moment Finch announced Marlaine and the duchess. Startled, Alex came off the leather couch like a fox caught in the henhouse. The
last
thing he expected or needed today was
Marlaine. God, not now, not
today
, he silently begged, but Marlaine walked in behind Hannah, her face a wreath of smiles. “Alex! I have missed you dreadfully!” she cried as she hurried across the room to him.

He perfunctorily kissed her cheek and wondered madly if she could see the shame burning his face. “I am glad you have returned,” he said, mustering as much enthusiasm as he could. “How is Grandmama?”

“Did you not receive my letter? She has made a remarkable recovery! Oh, Alex, the doctor thinks she’ll be able to come to the wedding after all! It is simply divine providence, don’t you think?” she beamed.

“That’s wonderful news.”

“Oh my, you do look awfully worn. Have you been eating? I hope you did not work too hard at Parliament.”

His excuse for leaving Tarriton knifed through what was left of his conscience. “I have eaten with alarming regularity,” he said wearily, and turned to Hannah. “Good afternoon, Mother.”

“Alex. I thought you would want to know that Marlaine is staying with me at Arthur’s until her mother can return to London.” She crossed the room to him, her expression thoughtful as she lifted her palm and pressed it against his cheek. “Did you sleep last night?”

“Of course!” He laughed, and pulled her hand away from his face, fearful that she might feel the heat. “Did the two of you think I would expire?” he joked, and turned away from his mother’s probing eyes to Marlaine, motioning her toward the couch. “Come and tell me about Grandmama.”

“Of course I shall, but first I must dash off a note to Lady Paddington. I promised my mother I would let her know the moment we returned with the news of Grandmama’s condition. Did you not receive my note saying we were arriving today?” Marlaine asked again, frowning prettily.

He had not looked at his correspondence in three days. “I must have missed it,” he said, and left it at that. It seemed to satisfy Marlaine; she floated to his desk, chattering eagerly as to what she should put in the note, then lightheartedly ticking off the myriad things she needed to do before the wedding. Alex resumed his seat on the couch, listening to the almost childlike way she spoke. He was fond of Marlaine; there was no question in his mind as to that. She was a sweet, caring person, and if she had a fault, it was that she was
too
caring. Nonetheless, he respected her immensely for it. But she just did not fill his soul.

Lauren filled him, to the very brink.

Marlaine did not seem to have the same enthusiasm for life; she was much too concerned with what others might think. It was inconceivable to him that his fiancée would ever allow herself to venture into a field. She would contribute funds to an orphanage but never shelter the children herself. She would abide his kisses, but she would never
ask
him to make love to her. And he seriously doubted she would respond to him with complete abandon.

She was not Lauren.

Bloody hell, Arthur was right. He had responsibilities that far outweighed these unprecedented feelings of love. He almost laughed out loud at the very idea that he, of all people, might have
feelings
of
love.
What in the hell was love, anyway? Certainly nothing that could justify turning against years of certain beliefs about society, responsibility, and the peerage. Lauren was not of his station. A marriage to her would not consolidate fortunes or create formidable family alliances. Marlaine met these requirements, and she had waited for two years to be married to him. Waited like a good hunting dog, he thought miserably. Remorse washed over him. Whether or not he could have defied convention, it was too damned late. He had made his commitments and had no choice but to honor them. Listening to Marlaine’s voice now, he knew he could not forsake her.

“Alex? I would have your opinion on this note,” Marlaine said eagerly, and began to read what she had penned to Paddy. Yes, she deserved the wedding she so desperately wanted, the life of a duchess. She deserved far better than the likes of him, but unfortunately, she was unknowingly as mired in this mess as he was.

“That’s lovely,” he said, smiling thinly as he came to his feet.

“Oh my, look at the time!” Hannah said suddenly. “I promised Hortense to be a fourth at one of her loo tables. Marlaine, dear, I shall send the coach round in time for supper.”

“Good afternoon, your grace!” Marlaine called in a singsong voice. Hannah walked to the door, pausing as she grasped the brass handle. Looking over her shoulder at Alex, her eyes flicked the length of him. He thought she might speak, but she abruptly smiled and left.

Marlaine looked up from the desk and smiled prettily at Alex when the door shut behind his mother. He reminded himself again that she would make him a good wife. A comfortable wife. He had never imagined or wanted more, just that she would be a good and comfortable—Goddammit, he did not
want
a good and comfortable wife! He wanted a wife that could stir the deepest passions in him! A lover who would move him to give her the stars! He wanted a wife who would make him thank
God
each day he awoke next to her.

He suddenly strode to the desk and roughly pulled Marlaine to her feet. “I missed you,” he muttered, and claimed her mouth, searching hungrily for something, anything to cover the open wound in his heart, any signal that she could fill the void. Startled, Marlaine stiffened, her lips sealing tightly shut. Her hands came between them as he restlessly sought to unleash some response within her. He pressed her against him, insistent. But she was unyielding—she pushed hard against him, forcing him to release her.

Breathless, she took an unsteady step backward. “Goodness, darling!”

“I want to make love to you, Marlaine, right here, right now.”

Red infused her face, and she anxiously patted her perfect coif as her eyes darted about the carpet. “Alex, dearest! You would not ask me to do
that
before our wedding, would you?”

“Then marry me now,
today
,” he said impulsively, frantic to lose himself in her, to claim her body and soul, to awaken something in her that would make it all bearable. Anything,
anything
that might wrest Lauren from his heart and replace her with the woman he would marry.

“You cannot be serious!” she exclaimed, her alarm evident.

“I am deadly serious. Marry me now,” he said, and reached for her. She reacted convulsively, jerking insensibly out of his reach. Alex drew up, his eyes searching her face. She pressed her lips firmly together, focusing on his shoulder.

Good God, she was frightened by him.

At any other time, he might have found her maidenly angst amusing. But at this moment, he found it bloody irritating. He calmly watched the alarm and dread widen her brown eyes. There was no desire there, no need of him. Only fear. He abruptly turned and walked away from the desk, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. “No, of course I am not serious. I’m just happy to have you back. Go on with your plans, why don’t you? There is something I must do, but I shall return shortly.” He walked out of the library without looking back.

Vauxhall Gardens was out of the question. Everything, all that he desired was out of the question the moment Marlaine had walked through that door. He had no choice but to send a note.

* * *

Marlaine charitably attributed his behavior to a groom’s jitters, and was in the process of making a list of things to do when Finch showed Lady Paddington and Mrs. Clark into the library.

“Lady Paddington! I just this moment dispatched a note to your home informing you I had returned!” Marlaine exclaimed happily.

“Oh, I knew you had come. Mrs. Clark and I had heard from Lady Thistlecourt, who heard from—”

“The duchess,” Mrs. Clark interjected.

“The duchess. What wonderful news that your grandmother has taken a turn for the better! And not a moment too soon, if you ask me!” Lady Paddington declared. She seated herself, her voluminous, stiff satin skirts rustling loudly as she situated herself just so.

“Not a moment too soon?” Marlaine asked politely, coming from behind the desk. Mrs. Clark shot Lady Paddington a frown.

“Did I say that?” Lady Paddington laughed, and looked contritely at Mrs. Clark.

Confused, Marlaine looked at the two women. “Pardon, but did I miss something?”

“Well, of course not! You were only gone a
week
, what on earth could happen in a single
week
!” Lady Paddington fairly shouted.

“Clara!” Mrs. Clark snapped.

“What?”
Lady Paddington responded gruffly.

Marlaine’s stomach lurched oddly; she slowly lowered herself onto the couch. Mrs. Clark looked askance at Marlaine, then attempted a smile. “Lady Paddington is not quite herself today,” she said apologetically.

“I am very much myself, thank you. I just thought the poor girl might have heard some of the ugly rumors flying about, and I thought to tell her straight on that there is not a shred of truth to them!” Lady Paddington insisted.

Marlaine’s stomach did another queer flip. “Rumors?” she asked, very certain she did not want to hear them.

“Oh, it’s all
rubbish
! A man may escort a woman to an opera. It’s done all the time, I tell you!”

“I am quite sure I do not know what you mean. Of course men escort women to operas. Is there some question?” Marlaine asked, swallowing past a growing sense of disaster.

Lady Paddington brushed the lap of her gown very carefully. “No, at least not in
my
mind. Why, just last week, his grace escorted Lady Fairlane to the opera, and no one thought a
thing
of that.”

“Well of course not! Lord Fairlane was called away unexpectedly and Lady Fairlane had been so looking forward to the event. Alex was being kind,” Marlaine said.

“He is very kind,” Mrs. Clark agreed. “They cannot take
that
from him.”

“And he kindly escorted Countess Bergen last evening. Honestly, you would think Parliament had passed some sort of law against simple acts of kindness the way the
ton
goes on and on!” Lady Paddington said angrily.

Her announcement dropped Marlaine’s stomach to her toes; her heart began to beat erratically. He had said he would be a good husband. He had all but promised in her father’s garden to stop this infatuation. She could no longer deceive herself Instinctively, she knew—had known for weeks—that this infatuation was somehow different. A surge of anger suddenly shot through her as she recalled the way he had kissed her this very afternoon. Although she did not know
how
, she knew his behavior was related in some way to the countess. “The duke accompanied Countess Bergen to the opera last evening?” she heard herself ask.