The Untamed Earl (24 page)

Owen's eyes narrowed as if he were trying to recall. He scrubbed a hand across his forehead. “Three years ago? At your father's country house?” he echoed. “Blast it, Alex, I can barely remember what I did last week, let alone three years ago.”

“You saved them from those awful men. You were so kind and thoughtful, and you spoke to me afterwards. Up in the window.” She pressed the handkerchief to her swollen eyes. “Father always said a man's actions speak louder than his words. I believed that … about you.”

She could tell the moment Owen remembered. He raised his head and searched her face again, but his features had softened. “That was you?”

“Yes.” She nodded, blotting at her tears with his handkerchief. “That was me.”

“What did I say?” he asked.

“You asked me not to tell anyone what you did. You said it would ruin your blackened reputation.”

He smiled at that.

“And you said someone as lovely and spirited as I was shouldn't be cooped up in a bedchamber with such a delightful party going on,” she continued.

His throat worked as he swallowed. “I offered to dance with you.”

“Yes. And I knew then that you couldn't ever marry anyone else but me. I was devastated when I overheard Mother and Father talking about how you intended to marry Lavinia. I thought I had many more years to make you notice me.”

He moved closer and lifted her chin with his thumb. “It was not my choice to become betrothed to Lavinia,” he said quietly.

“I know that, just as I know you and Lavinia wouldn't suit. Lavinia wants a refined gentleman, someone who will write her poetry and do her bidding.”

He snorted. “So the poetry part was true, at least?”

“Yes, that part was true.”

“Any of the rest of it?” he asked.

“No.” She shook her head and pulled away from him, plucking at the leaves of the hedge.

“The horses?” he asked.

“Lavinia adores them.”

“The gambling?”

“She detests it.”

“The cursing?”

“Also not a favorite of hers.”

“I suppose I don't even have to ask about the rock.”

Alex's shoulders lifted and settled. “She much prefers flowers.”

“Damn it, Alex. Why did you do all this? Why did you go to so much trouble?”

She turned back to him. The tears continued to flow down her cheeks, and the hand that held the handkerchief fell uselessly to her side. “Because I love you, Owen. Don't you see? I've loved you since that night three years ago. You've always had a reputation for being a scoundrel, but that night I saw you for what you truly were—a gentleman. A kind, sweet gentleman.”

His face grew hard. “I'm nothing of the sort. You're only seeing me the way you wish I were. The truth is that I gamble, I curse, I treat women with nary a thought. I'm nowhere near good enough for you, Alex. Or your sister, for that matter. For God's sake, I've been using you to try to court Lavinia, whom I don't love, just to line my own pockets. Don't you understand? I'm a scoundrel just like everyone says. Just like my father says.”

Alex turned toward him, her feet braced apart, her jaw tightly clenched. “No. You're not. You're
not
a scoundrel, Owen Monroe. I've seen you do things. I've seen you be kind, loving, thoughtful. I don't care what your father says about you. I don't care what anyone else says either. I know the truth. And you
are
what I think you are. I think
you
just don't know it yet.”

He clenched his jaw. “That doesn't make any sense.”

“I know that a good, decent man lurks beneath your rakehell exterior. You're not useless. You're not a scoundrel. You're not a rogue. Or at least I used to think you weren't. Now I don't think I know you. Now I wonder why I ever thought I loved you.”

“Alex, I—”

She pressed the handkerchief hard against her eyes, promising herself she would not allow so much as one more tear to drop. She breathed in deeply from both nostrils and pushed up her chin. “I must go. I promised the next dance to Lord Berkeley.”

“Berkeley can go to the devil,” Owen growled.

“What was that?” Boots scuffled against gravel, and Lord Berkeley himself materialized from the shadows.

“Lord Berkeley, you came?” Alex cried.

Lord Berkeley's hands were on his hips, and his jaw was clenched, too. “I do hope Monroe hasn't upset you.”

Alex took one more deep breath and shook her head. “No, he—”

Owen took a running leap, pulled back his fist, and punched Berkeley dead in the face.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Owen fell to the ground solidly on top of the viscount. The two men struggled, rolling in the grass and gravel, and damned if Berkeley didn't give as good a punch as he'd got. Owen was certain his jaw was never going to be the same again. He managed to land another blow to the viscount's temple, and Owen sustained one on the chin that he was convinced chipped a tooth. They went on that way for several minutes before Claringdon came sprinting up and broke them apart. Or at least Owen thought the large blurry shadow that pulled him away was Claringdon. Apparently, Lucy, who'd accompanied Berkeley into the gardens, had summoned the duke. Swifdon was steps behind them, however, and Owen was only glad Claringdon had made it there first. He would have hated to throw a punch at his brother-in-law. But even as Claringdon hauled him up, Owen lunged at Berkeley again, and Claringdon and Swifdon both had to hold him back this time.

The good viscount seemed to be done fighting, and while he was breathing heavily and glaring at Owen through narrowed eyes, Berkeley was already brushing grass and dirt from his evening clothes. Alex rushed over to Berkeley and dabbed at his bloody lip with a fresh handkerchief she'd produced from her reticule.

“Are you all right, Lord Berkeley?” she asked in a sympathetic voice that made Owen lunge for the viscount again.

“For God's sake, Monroe, get ahold of yourself,” Claringdon ordered in a voice that Owen was certain many a soldier had heard on the battlefield.

But it was Cass's worried voice that finally broke through his mindless rage. “Owen, what's come over you? I've never known you to be so violent,” his sister said in a shaky, unhappy murmur.

Owen tested his jaw and shrugged. “First time for everything?”

Cass shook her head at him disapprovingly. “You must go home now. Before anyone else from the party comes out and sees this.”

Owen glanced around. His sister was right. Thankfully, the only people currently in the garden were his sister and their friends. If anyone else happened along, questions would be raised, and no doubt a scandal would be well on its way to boiling. A scandal that might ruin Alex's reputation, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Sober up, Monroe,” Claringdon warned under his breath.

Owen wrenched himself away from the duke's hold. “I'll go,” he growled, tugging at his cravat and straightening his waistcoat.

Cass produced a handkerchief from her reticule and she dabbed at a spot where blood dripped from Owen's eyebrow. He spat some blood on the ground.

“I suggest you go out the garden gate,” Swifdon said. “I'll go through the house and have your coach brought round.”

“I came with Cavendish,” Owen replied, his eyes still fixed on Alex. Alex barely glanced at him as she saw to Berkeley's wound. But when she did briefly meet his gaze, the look in her eyes was accusatory and unforgiving. She and Berkeley and the others soon returned to the house. Claringdon stayed to escort Owen off the property, no doubt.

Owen dabbed at his bloodied brow with Cass's handkerchief. Damn it. He wasn't the type to get into a common brawl. And he especially wasn't the type to fight a man at a formal event. But the way Berkeley had appeared, so smug and confident, Owen couldn't stand the thought of Alex being with him, going off with him, leaving Owen alone. He couldn't stand the thought of her dancing with him.

He tested his jaw. Blast. That must have been how Alex felt last night when he'd gone off with Helena Clare. And she'd said she loved him. Alex loved him. Loved him enough to help him and to lie to him about her sister's likes and dislikes. He spat another mouthful of blood.

“Watch where you're aiming,” Claringdon said, sidestepping away from him. The duke was half dragging Owen along the garden path toward the gate that led to the front of the property.

“I can't help it. It feels like the inside of my cheek is ripped open.”

“No more than you deserved, taking a swing at Berkeley like that. The chap did nothing to deserve it. And did no one ever tell you that jealousy is
not
an attractive quality? But not to worry, I'll have my coach take you home.”

Owen merely growled and simmered. Claringdon was right … unfortunately. Jealously wasn't attractive, and Berkeley didn't deserve it. In fact, Berkeley wasn't even the man whom Alex had been in love with this entire time. It was … him. It was
him.
It had always been him. And he'd gone and acted like a complete fool. Punching Berkeley had been just another in a long string of stupid things Owen had done of late. It was time to end the streak.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

“If anything, I'd say it worked
too
well,” Lucy Hunt announced the next morning as the ladies strolled through the duke and duchess's gardens. Lucy was wearing a spring green day dress with daisies laced through her hair. Cass wore a lavender silk gown and a lovely strand of pearls. And Jane Upton wore a gorgeous shade of ice-blue with a stunning silver necklace that matched her ever-present spectacles. As for Alex, she was wearing a light gray gown and no jewelry. Her ensemble matched her mood. The four women walked two by two along the pretty winding garden path among the bright yellow mums.

“Far too well.” Cass sighed, shaking her head.

“Yes,” Lucy agreed. “We only wanted Owen to get jealous, not cause poor Lord Berkeley to bleed.”

“Is it any wonder blood was let, Lucy?” Jane asked, stopping to smell a rose in a vine that lined the stone wall of the house. “Your plotting was involved.”

Lucy, who was walking ahead of Jane with Cass, paused along the mulched walkway and put her hand on her hip. She turned to face Jane. “I take offense to that, Janie. To date there has been no bloodletting during any of my so-called plots.”

Jane arched a brow. “What did you tell me Owen said last night? First time for everything?”

Cass turned to Alex. “I'm sorry, Alex. We certainly didn't mean for anyone to get hurt. Though I daresay Owen got as good as he gave. When I visited him last night, he said he thought his jaw was broken.”

“I doubt it,” Jane announced. “If it had truly been broken, he couldn't have spoken. It's most likely no more than a bad bruise.”

“Well, that's a relief,” Cass replied before turning her attention back to Alex. “Are you very upset, dear?”

Alex took a deep breath. The truth was she didn't know how she felt after yesterday's debacle with Owen. Upset? Angry? Embarrassed? Tired? A bit of them all, if she was honest.

“I'll be fine,” she answered as they continued their stroll. That was all she could say for sure. She
would
be fine. It was true that her silly childish dream had died along with Owen's rejection of her and his outlandish behavior, but she also wasn't a child anymore, and didn't all childish dreams die sometime? She used to believe in fairies and elves, too. Was this so much different? Perhaps her parents had the right of it. They were older and wiser, after all. They'd lived longer, seen more of human behavior. If her parents believed that marriage was more successful when based on family trees and money and land changing hands, who was she to gainsay them? Besides, Owen Monroe had proved himself to be exactly what he'd tried to tell her he was from the outset: a scoundrel, a rogue, a … jackass.

“I'm only sorry I dragged poor Lord Berkeley into the fray,” Alex added, stooping to inhale the fresh scent of huckleberry.

“That was our fault, dear,” Cass hurried to assure her.

“I still say it worked,” Lucy declared, plucking a pink rose from another vine and twirling it between her fingers.

Jane shook her head. “Lucy, you've never learned how to admit when you're wrong.”

“Who's wrong?” Lucy pressed the rose to her nostrils. “It seems to me that Owen is jealous, and that is exactly what we wanted.”

“He and Lord Berkeley nearly ripped each other to shreds,” Jane replied.

Lucy wiggled her shoulders. “There's nothing wrong with a bit of male drama. They accuse us of it often enough.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “I cannot believe you just said that, Lucy.”

“You're looking at this all wrong,” Lucy continued. “Berkeley handled himself easily, and I'm certain he doesn't mind a bit of bloodshed in the name of helping our friend here secure a proposal from the man of her dreams.”

“No!” The word shot from Alex's mouth with more force than she'd meant it to.

“No?” Lucy's face fell.

“No,” Alex repeated with less vehemence, but this time she shook her head. “I don't want a proposal from Owen. I never should have wanted one. I never should have accepted your help, and I'm quite through with Owen Monroe.” She reached out and touched Cass's sleeve. “Though I hope I haven't offended you, Countess.”

“Oh, Alex, how could I be angry with you for your decision? I cannot possibly defend Owen's behavior. He's acted like a complete reprobate.”

“No. No. No. Alex, don't you see? You can't stop now. We're nearly through the rough part,” Lucy pleaded.

“The rough part?” Alex repeated. “If this is the rough part, I don't want to keep going.”