Virginia Henley (55 page)

Under the circumstances, Alex realized it was impossible to run to Nick’s side. She forced herself to smile for the first time in days. She told herself she had much to smile about:
Nicholas had been exonerated.
She knew that she had her husband to thank for his twin’s freedom, and she would be forever grateful.

Lord Hatton kissed his wife’s cheek. “I shall see you at home. I won’t be late.” Then he departed the room through the door that the officials had used.

Alexandra and Dottie took a hackney cab to Berkeley Square. “Come up for a moment, darling. You left something upstairs. The cabby will wait for you.”

When they went upstairs, Dottie handed her the box from Madame Martine’s that held the lovely new gown. “You may need this tonight.” Dottie winked suggestively.

During the short ride from Berkeley to Curzon Street, Alex clutched the box in clenched hands. The very last thing she would wear this evening was the sea-foam green dress she had worn for Nicholas on their last night together.
Our last night . . . our last night . . . it truly was our last night together. How will I ever bear it?

As she paid the cabby, she glanced up at the sky. Dusk was already falling; night was rushing upon her before she was ready. Alex took her bath quickly; nothing was more conducive to daydreams than lingering in warm water. Wrapped in a towel, she opened the wardrobe door to select a gown. She shuddered involuntarily as she pushed aside Nick’s garments and chose the cream silk faille.

Alex dressed, then brushed her hair. Before she set down the brush, she heard her husband speak to Fenton, then she heard his footsteps ascend the stairs. She felt as if her heart was in her mouth, her very dry mouth. Her fingers trembled as she smoothed out the peacock ribbon on the high-waisted dress.
How can I do this? How can I play wife to my beloved’s identical twin? He has the same black hair, the same gray eyes, the same cleft in his chin, the same deep voice. Alexandra, you must put one foot in front of the other and take it one step at a time.
She swallowed hard and stepped into the drawing room. Slowly, but without hesitation, she crossed over to her husband. “Kit . . . Flynn . . . I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart. What you did today took a great deal of courage.” She raised her fingers to touch his cheek. “You called yourself a coward, but you will never be that in my eyes.”
Dear God, Nick’s scent is on my gown because it lay against his garments in the wardrobe; it is filling my senses.

Her husband looked into her eyes, then bent his head to brush his lips across hers. Her fingers left his cheek, slipping up into his dark hair, and suddenly she felt the stitches she had put there! In a heartbeat she knew this was Nicholas; knew that the twin he had saved today was Christopher; knew that the devil kissing her was deceiving her. Outrageously deceiving her!

She felt hurt and betrayed, yet as his scent enveloped her she also felt gloriously happy that somehow, some way, she was married to Nicholas. She couldn’t instantly understand what game he was playing, but it was a game two could play!

She pulled away. “Will Nick return to Hatton, do you think?”

“No. He’s decided not to bring charges against Eaton because he wants to leave the country and go abroad.”

“I think that’s a very wise decision.” She wanted to show him that Nick’s leaving would not break her heart. “Are you dining here with me tonight?”

“Yes.” He looked surprised that she had changed the subject.

“Then perhaps we should think of it as our wedding supper.” Her words held a subtle invitation.

“Perhaps we should, since our first one was such a disappointment.” His words were guarded, his eyes wary.

“My . . . appetite has improved since then.”

Alex saw his nostrils flare. Anger? Lust? “Perhaps we could dine in bed?” This time the invitation was anything but subtle.

“You’ve enjoyed dining in bed before?”

Alex wondered if he was deliberately reminding her of the intimacies they’d shared. She smiled inwardly. “Not that I recall. If I did, it was so unremarkable that I’ve forgotten it.” She watched his eyes darken as she goaded the lion’s pride. “Why don’t you find out what delicious surprises Fenton has for us, while I light the candles in my chamber and turn down the bed?”

Nick hardened in spite of himself. Alexandra was a born
coquette;
perhaps she couldn’t help flirting. He had been so gratified that she had kept him at arm’s length since the wedding, because she thought him to be Kit. But now she had thrown him completely off balance. He glanced after her with a puzzled frown and went to find Fenton.

The first thing she did when she entered her bedchamber was change her stockings. She found the white-and-black striped pair she’d worn at Champagne Charlie’s, the ones she’d been wearing when she did the private striptease for Nick. She pulled them on, secured them with black garters, then covered them with the demure skirt of her cream faille gown.

When he opened the bedchamber door, Alex was stretching across the bed to turn down the covers. As he glimpsed her ankles, clad in stripes, a full-blown picture jumped into his head of the night she had worn nothing but the provocative black-and-white stockings. His arousal became even more marked. Now, however, he was perversely fighting his attraction.

Alex looked at him, cast down her lashes, and said shyly, “I don’t have a maid.” Then she raised her lashes and said boldly, “You will have to help me undress.”

Nick knew he would be damned if he did, and damned if he didn’t.
It’s the twin thing. She knows Kit is her husband, but because our looks are identical, she’s pretending I’m Nick.
Then he had a far more disturbing thought.
Because we are twins, perhaps she wants to be made love to by both of us!
He approached her with reluctant steps, slowly unfastened the buttons, and stepped back.

With a teasing smile, she pulled the gown from her shoulders, let it fall to the carpet, and stepped out of it with feline grace. Then she lifted her foot to the bed, pulled back her petticoat to expose her legs, and unfastened the garter.

“Striped stockings are not worn by ladies.”

She gave a provocative laugh. “Whatever made you think I was a lady?” She shot the garter at him and licked her lips when he deftly caught it. “You forget I’ve been wooed by Hart Cavendish,” she taunted.

Now Nicholas was not only jealous over his twin but livid over the Duke of Devonshire. He stepped forward, took hold of her leg, and stripped the stocking from it. Then he lifted her petticoat off over her head and cast it away with a deliberate gesture.

“You are
impetuous
! What other delightful, wicked secrets will I learn tonight, my dearest lord?”

He crushed her in his arms, and his mouth came down hard and possessive on her soft lips. He forced them apart and thrust inside to the hot wet cave. He didn’t release her mouth until she had been thoroughly kissed.

Alex slid her fingers into his black hair, then touched her lips to his ear. “Don’t you think it’s time I removed your stitches?”

Nick blinked in surprise, then groaned, crushing her in his arms again. “Damn you, Hellion! You enjoyed torturing me.”

“When were you going to tell me you were not Lord Hatton?”

He put her at arm’s length and held her gaze with pewter gray eyes. “I
am
Lord Hatton. If I were not, then you would not be
Lady Hatton
. Try never to make the mistake of calling me Nicholas even in private. Call me Flynn.”

His hot hungry mouth was on hers again before she could reply, then suddenly the talking was done, replaced by far more meaningful and intimate communication.

Two hours later, as she lay in her lover’s arms, replete and languid, she murmured against his heart, “I love you,
Flynn Hatton
.”

 

Lord and Lady Hatton, along with their guests—Lord and Lady Staines, Viscount Longford and his wife, Olivia, their little daughter, Amanda, and his new heir, baby Rupert—were celebrating the victory of Waterloo. They had dined
alfresco
in Hatton’s fragrant garden.

“Thank you for a lovely party, Alexandra. We must go; it’s time for baby’s feeding.” Olivia handed the heir to his proud father.

“I’m glad the weather was glorious. We have so much to celebrate,” Alex said happily.

“The weather wouldn’t dare to do other than cooperate,” Dottie declared, “once I agreed to attend. Come, Alexandra, why don’t we take these exquisite roses you’ve gathered to Margaret’s grave? I could use a walk after that decadent trifle.”

Alex rose and handed her son to his father. She bent to kiss her husband and murmured temptingly, “Flynn, darling, if you amuse your son and keep him from crying for a little while, I’ll let you watch me feed him when I return.”

Dottie watched the pair exchange an intimate look that told her they were deeply in love after a year of marriage. She hooked her arm through her granddaughter’s and, using her ebony cane, still managed to keep her back ramrod straight. When they had walked a safe distance from their men, she said, “Though I pretended otherwise, I always knew you had a crush on the other twin, Nicholas. However, I was wise enough to know that infatuations fade away. Do you suppose he went back to his regiment and fought at Waterloo?”

“No, Nicholas had had enough of war. I feel quite certain my husband’s twin didn’t fight at Waterloo.”

“I saw your husband’s eyes on you in that green gown with its pretty love knots. Tell me, darling, now that you’ve been wed for a year, have a beautiful son, to say nothing of this magnificent home, aren’t you glad that I insisted you marry the heir, Lord Hatton?”

Alexandra smiled her secret smile. Mr. Burke was the only one who knew. “I’m more than glad; I am deliriously happy! I thank you with all my heart.”

Read on for a special preview of Virginia Henley’s next enchanting historical romance . . .

A brilliant beam of sunlight reflecting on the water momentarily blinded him, then in the blink of an eye a radiant vision appeared before him.
Is she real or is she a wood sprite?
he mused.
After all, this is Ireland.

The girl was slim and delicate, with an ethereal quality about her. As he stared, a sunbeam touched her, forming a glorious halo about her head, and her shining hair, falling in ringlets to below her waist, turned the color of pure-spun gold. She stood amidst the tall grasses of the riverbank while dragonflies and tiny insects with transparent wings flitted about her, rising like motes of dust from the myriad wildflowers. He had the distinct impression that if he moved or spoke, he would break the magic spell and she would vanish into thin air.

John Campbell, unable to help himself, was compelled to quote
A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
“Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania.”

The queen of fairies turned her head to gaze at him for a moment. “What, jealous Oberon?” She raised a dismissive hand to the dragonflies. “Fairies, skip hence.” She lifted a proud chin and glanced away from him with disdain. “I have forsworn his bed and company.”

The tall, dark young man took a step toward her and delivered Oberon’s line. “Tarry, rash wanton. Am I not thy lord?”

Titania smiled and sank into a curtsy. “Then I must be thy lady.”

He closed the distance between them in two strides and, laughing, took her hands and raised her. “What on earth is a beautiful English lady doing unattended in a meadow in the wilds of Ireland?”

He looked compellingly dark and dangerous but her glance traveled over the fishing basket and the rod slung casually across his back. “I live here. I’ve come to the River Suck for salmon, just as you have, sir. Come, I’ll show you a good spot.”