The Untamed Earl (22 page)

Which presented the problem: How in heaven's name would she go about forgetting it now? Owen couldn't have been more clear yesterday when she'd asked him about Lavinia. He still had every intention of marrying her. He had even accepted her parents' dinner invitation tonight with the express purpose of continuing his suit. He would remain adamant until Lavinia herself agreed. How much more obvious did it have to be that he was planned for Lavinia? Even her mother had said so. Everyone, it seemed, wanted the match, except Lavinia and Alex. But no longer. Alex intended to remove herself from the equation. It was madness and heartache to continue to hope for something that could not be. She was through with the whole awful, painful thing. She tossed herself onto her bed and viciously tugged the covers over her head. Anger filled her. If Owen Monroe was such a lackwit that he couldn't see what was so obvious … well, he deserved to spend the rest of his life with her sister.

Lavinia would be the only obstacle. Lavinia herself. Owen seemed to believe he could convince her. Or perhaps Mother and Father would change their minds and attempt to talk some sense into her. At any rate, the man was meant to be Alex's brother-in-law, and they'd already kissed, more than once. There could be no more of such things or it would make for exceedingly awkward family holidays in future.

This was it. No more.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Owen groaned and rolled over. The sunlight pouring through the window wasn't helping his pounding skull … not one bit. He rubbed his hand over his face slowly, then flexed his hands and feet.
Must check for all limbs after a night of extremely heavy drinking.
But wait. He hadn't drunk heavily last night. No. His headache was from
not
drinking much. He pushed himself up to a half-sitting position and rang for his valet to bring him a bottle of brandy. Good man, his valet. The chap could be counted on to perform a wide variety of tasks.

While he waited, Owen slowly contemplated the events of the night before. There had been dinner, wine, arguing, and … He groaned again. Kissing. He'd gone and kissed Alex. Well, at least he hadn't punched a tree. That was something, but what the hell had he been thinking? He thumped his palm against his forehead. That had been a bad idea. The valet returned with a tray that contained a brandy bottle and a glass.

Owen snatched up the bottle. “Thank you. That will be all.”

If his valet was surprised by his employer's behavior, he did not so much as raise a brow in indication. Owen popped the stopper off the bottle, and raised it to his lips. Alex's voice rang in his head. “Not to me. Never to me,” she'd said when he asked her if she thought him a scoundrel. “I see who you are. You can't pretend with me.” Damn it. He eyed the bottle of brandy and called his man back. “Take this.” He shoved the bottle into the man's arms.

The valet eyes rounded. “Yes, my lord.” He turned to leave.

“My father hasn't been here, has he?”

“No, my lord,” the valet replied.

Thank God.

“Good. Should he arrive, please tell him I am unavailable.”

The valet bowed. “As you wish, my lord.”

A lot of good such a pronouncement would do. His father was
always
told he was unavailable, and the older man never cared. Owen laid his head back against the pillow. What had he been thinking about?

Oh yes, last night. Dinner, kissing, wine. Not entirely in that order. He'd kissed Alex. Why? Because he'd wanted to.

She'd kissed him back. Why? Because she'd wanted to? He had no earthly idea. It was no use examining her reasoning, then. He must examine his own.

His father was correct about him. He was a scoundrel, the worst sort. Only such a scoundrel would kiss the younger sister of the lady he was supposed to be courting.

The worst part wasn't even that he'd
done
such a thing. No. The worst part was that he felt no guilt over it.

Perhaps it had been poorly done of him, but the truth was he'd wanted to kiss Alex last night, and more truth was he wanted to do it again.

Alex was everything he was not: fresh, young, innocent, idealistic, hopeful. Why in the world the girl had allowed him to kiss her, let alone kiss him back with such eagerness, he'd never know.

She was also everything her sister was not. Lavinia was shrewish, spiteful, hateful, and cold. When faced with the prospect of spending the rest of his life with
that
one, perhaps it wasn't such a mystery why Alex was more tempting.

But that still didn't grant him an excuse for kissing her. The only good thing about it was that he'd done so in private. There would not be a scandal. Alex's reputation was not in danger.

For a moment he wondered if that were true, but then he relaxed. If so much as a hint of a scandal were afoot, his father would already be here, upending the bed. No. Owen could rest assured on that count, and that was a relief.

Alex didn't deserve a scandal. All she'd ever done was try to help him. She didn't deserve his dirty reputation to smear off on her. He had to stay away from her. For
her
sake.

After last night, it was clear he possessed little self-control when it came to her. If he couldn't keep his hands or mouth off her, he could bloody well keep himself away from her entirely.

“You're a member of the
ton
. A male. You have so much power, and you don't even choose to use it,” she'd said, staring up at him with those big beautiful brown eyes. So full of trust and hope and … something else he didn't want to contemplate.

Alex was right. He was a male member of the
ton
, but he could no more affect change than if he were a washerwoman. No one would take him seriously in Parliament. He was a known rakehell, a wastrel. He wasn't like Claringdon or Swifdon or even Upton or Cavendish. Owen didn't belong in the sacred halls of Westminster, giving speeches and attempting to sway his countrymen into voting the way he saw fit.

No. After his father died, Owen fully intended to be one of those members of the House of Lords who arrived seasonally for the sessions and missed more votes than not, due to social obligations. That was common enough, wasn't it? And no one was the less off for it. He'd leave the introduction of difficult bills like the one for the families of the soldiers to men who'd actually fought next to those who'd died. Owen hadn't stepped foot on foreign soil. He'd been carousing the clubs and taverns of London, not risking his life against Napoleon's forces.

Owen wished he hadn't sent the brandy away. He called for his valet again. Yes. His father was right about him. He was good for nothing but shaking off last night's drinking with today's drinks. And Alex—pure, sweet, innocent Alex—was wrong about him, too. So wrong. He wasn't a hero. He was an arse. Someone like him couldn't make a difference. But he
could
do one decent selfless thing. And he would. He would stay far away from Alexandra Hobbs.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY

Cass was hosting a ball this time, one that Alex seriously suspected was being held in honor of her flirtation with Lord Berkeley for Owen's sake. But Alex didn't feel like faux-flirting with Berkeley tonight, and she certainly didn't feel like making Owen jealous.

“You look positively glum, dear. Are you all right?” Cass asked after wrenching the last plate of tea cakes away from Jane Upton and placing them back on the refreshment table.

Jane harrumphed and said, “I'll just be in the library.”

“Of course you will, dear,” Cass replied, waving at Jane as she left.

“You should smile, Alex,” Lucy said. “Owen has to believe you're having a wonderful time.”

“I'm having a miserable time.” Alex took a halfhearted sip of champagne from the flute that dangled from her fingers.

“Oh no. Why is that?” Cass asked. “Come and tell us.”

The three women made their way over to the corner to continue their discussion in private. As soon as they were situated, Alex took a deep breath. “Owen kissed me and told me he intends to marry Lavinia.”

“What!” Cass's face drained of color. “Of all the detestable, wretched, unconscionable—”

“Wait.” Lucy held up a hand. “We need more details, Cass.” She turned to face Alex. “Did he kiss you and then immediately tell you he intends to marry Lavinia? And how was the kiss? Passionate or sisterly?”

“Passionate, definitely passionate,” Alex replied, taking another sip of champagne. “And the truth is that first he told me he intends to marry Lavinia. Well, he told me that earlier in the day, actually, after he followed me to the rookeries, but—”

Cass's cheeks were bright pink. “Oh goodness, dear. It seems you've left out a great deal. What in heaven's name were you doing in the rookeries?”

“That's quite a long story. But I went there and Owen followed me and—”

“And he kissed you?” Lucy interjected. “In the rookeries? That doesn't seem terribly romantic to me.”

“No. Not in the rookeries. In the rookeries he told me he intends to marry Lavinia because I asked what his intentions were. Then I left.”

Cass's brow was furrowed. “So when did he kiss you?”

“Last night, in the gardens, at my father's house. I didn't come down to dinner. Instead, I went out for a bit of fresh air. Owen was there.”

Cass pressed her hand against her reddening throat. “Let me see if I have the right of it. First my brother followed you to the rookeries and then he made his way into your father's gardens and kissed you? I had no idea Owen was such a sneak.”

“He didn't sneak into the gardens. He was invited. To dinner, at least. But he must have gone out for air the same time I did, and I saw him there, quite by accident, and—”

“
Then
he kissed you!” Lucy pointed a triumphant finger in the air.

“Yes.” Alex nodded.

“Then it's perfectly fine,” Lucy replied, fluttering her hand in the air.

Alex puffed air into her cheeks. “Perfectly fine? How is
that
perfectly fine?”

“Yes, how
is
that perfectly fine?” Cass echoed.

“Don't you see? He kissed her
after
he declared his intentions for Lavinia,” Lucy explained with a sage nod.

“That appears to make him a complete rogue,” Cass replied, her brow still furrowed.

“Not at all,” Lucy continued. “He'd be a complete rogue if he kissed her and
then
declared his intentions for Lavinia.”

Alex pressed her gloved hand against her cheek. “I'm afraid I have absolutely no idea what you mean.”

Lucy sighed. “I mean that he made his declaration, which is all fine and well, but
then
he was unable to keep his hands off you, despite his best intentions. It's good. It's quite, quite good.”

Cass tapped a finger against her cheek. “Ah, I see what you mean. You may have a point.”

Alex turned to Cass. “She does? She has a point?”

“Yes,” Cass replied. “He wants to keep his promise to Father, but he's clearly head over heels for you.”

Alex downed the last of her champagne. Perhaps if she drank enough, these two would begin making sense. “It certainly doesn't feel that way to me. He hasn't sought me out once tonight, and the last time I looked, he was deeply engaged in conversation with Mrs. Clare.”

“Mrs. Clare?” Cass scowled. “The widow?”

“Yes?” Alex replied. “Why?”

Cass rolled her eyes. “She's been chasing after him for years. Makes no attempts to hide it. She's a determined little baggage. I wouldn't have invited her, only my mother-in-law seems to enjoy her company. If I'd had any idea she'd throw herself at Owen tonight, I would have conveniently lost her invitation.”

Lucy had been busily searching the crowd. “Seems she does have every intention of throwing herself at Owen tonight.” Lucy pointed to the far corner of the room. Alex rose up on tiptoes and strained her neck to see Owen and Mrs. Clare laughing and talking. Mrs. Clare had her hand on Owen's sleeve and was standing far too close with far too much décolletage exposed.

Cass gasped. “Oh, Alex, dear. I'm so sorry. I'll go run her off.”

“No!” Alex said before straightening her shoulders and speaking in a more modulated tone of voice. “No. Don't. Please. If Owen wants to spend his time with Mrs. Clare, I'm not about to stop him.”

“I don't think he knows what he wants.” Cass was shaking her head sadly. “Or at least he's not ready to admit it to himself. The idiot.”

“I'll go get Berkeley,” Lucy said to Alex. “You should dance.”

“No, really,” Alex said quietly. “I'm tired. Exceedingly so. I think I'll go off into the library with Jane and sit and rest for a bit.”

Cass and Lucy both had sorrowful looks on their faces. Cass patted Alex's shoulder. “Are you certain?”

“Quite certain. In fact, it's the only thing I'm certain of at the moment.” She turned away from her new friends and headed toward the library.

*   *   *

The good thing about devoted readers like Jane Upton was, they knew how to be quiet. Alex spent the better part of the next hour silently sitting in the library with Jane, who was happily engaged reading a book. And that was just the way Alex preferred it. Chaperoned quiet was the perfect balm at the moment for her bruised soul. Finally, the clock on the mantelpiece chimed midnight and Alex sighed, stood up, and yawned.

“I should go back to the party now, Jane,” she said. “No doubt Mother will be looking for me. She rarely likes to stay at any gathering past midnight unless Lavinia is particularly enjoying herself, and Lavinia is never particularly enjoying herself.”

“I understand entirely,” Jane said, glancing up from her book. “If you see my husband—Oh, never mind. I was going to say if you see Garrett, tell him he can fetch me in the library, but it just occurred to me that he already knows.” Jane smiled, adjusted her spectacles, and returned her attention to her book.