Heaven Sent the Wrong One (5 page)

The Maid and The Valet

Day Two

A
t promptly ten o'clock in the morning, Alexandra twirled in front of the mirror with a slight frown. Nothing else could be done to the dress she had borrowed from Anna. Her maid had undone the seams of the skirt to make it a little longer, but it still hung a few inches short from her ankles.

S
he turned her attention to Anna who was wearing one of the pale blue day dresses she had lent her. It did not look any better, but at least they managed to pin the hem and shorten the length of the skirts.

"Sit on the stool so I can fix your hair." Alexand
ra rummaged through the selection of ribbons Anna had brought for her.

"Oh, milady," Anna wailed as she sat in front of the vanity. "I don't know if I can do this without fainting again."

"Of course you can," Alexandra wound a red ribbon into Anna's hair. "All you have to do is smile and nod at everyone, and sit next to Mr. Carlyle."

"But milady
—" Anna spoke to her reflection in the mirror, "Mister Carlyle could not talk and neither could I. What am I supposed to do with him?"

"Well that's even better
—perhaps you can use some form of sign language to make conversation."

"Sign language?" Anna grimaced in the mirror. "Milady, I know nothing of the sort."

"Just make up something as you go along," Alexandra tied the red ribbon into a small bow and turned Anna's face left and right to inspect her work.

"Milady
—if you don't mind me asking, where will you be while I sit with the ladies and Mister Carlyle?”

Alexandra placed her hands on Anna's shoulders. "Anna, it is not proper for a maid to sit with the house guests
. You will have to be on your own. I promise it will get better. You'll get used to it.

"Now
—remember what I told you about mealtime. Wait for the footmen to show you to your seat. Once they start serving, simply observe what the person next to you is doing, and imitate him. Be sure to pick up the right silver and enjoy the meal like everybody else. In the meantime, I'll be exploring the gardens to find a quiet spot to read."

~

In Allayne's bedchamber, he was giving the same instructions to Andy.

"Be sure to follow my instructions," he shrugged on the coat Andy held up for him and inspected himself in the mirror with a slight frown. Though Andy had pulled the plainest coat, breeches, and waistcoat from his luggage, the impeccable quality of his clothes still showed. However, it would have to do for now. The local tailor was to visit tomorrow morning and he simply could not afford any more accidents from wearing Andy's clothes—not to mention the discomfort.

"Yes Sir," Andy replied somberly. Earlier, he had tr
ied to worm his way out of their scheme by feigning a headache, a toothache and finally the appearance of suspicious-looking warts on his nose, but Allayne promptly dashed his excuses.

"Good," Allayne gave him a reassuring pat on the back. "Don't worry
—you'll be fine."

"Sir
—where will you be? That is, if I needed to find you," Andy asked over Allayne's shoulder as he brushed the back of his coat.

"Don't you dare desert Lady
Alexandra and look for me," Allayne wagged a finger at him in the mirror.

Andy's exp
ression turned into a worried grimace.

"Oh no, you don't," Allayne glared at him. "You're not allowed to turn green and keel over again. If you do, I swear I'll write a letter and tell all to your mama."

"Yes Sir," Andy said with a forlorn face.

~

At the far end of the manor's garden, Alexandra discovered the perfect place to spend the afternoon.

Hidden from view by the lush willow trees, a gazebo stood facing the pond.

She settled herself on the cushioned bench, placed the small basket she'd brought on the long, low table in front of her and removed the linen cover. Inside, Anna had packed bread, cheese, ham, and a small jug of lemon water, leftovers from the breakfast tray delivered to their room.

What a beautiful day, she sighed, as she tore the bread a
nd ate. The cheerful rays of the sun skimmed the surface of the water, casting patterns of light rippling on the trees. A gentle breeze carried the scent of wild flowers growing in patches along the walkways.

Her mind drifted to the events of the previous
day. To that kiss—the single act of boldness she had done with a man. A man she had barely spoken with; hardly knew—and to make matters worse, a servant who worked for the viscount's son.

What was she thinking? She must have absolutely gone out of her mind
—because if her father hears of this, he would pick one of her wealthy suitors and marry her off in no time.

Was her rashness worth it? Did she dabble in something she shouldn't be venturing in? Well
—she got to kiss her angel, didn't she? For once, she was the heroine, charmed off her slippers by a handsome prince—a memory she would always dream about in her latter years.

She ran her fingers along her lips and smiled to herself.

God—yes.
It was definitely worth it.

She just wished it had a better ending
—unlike the sudden crash into reality that screamed of disgracefulness in allowing a stranger to take liberties upon her person, not to mention the gaping difference in their rank.

And yet
—decorum and social class aside, deep in her bones, everything about that kiss felt ... right.

Why?

She was attracted—, drawn to him for some reason. The same inexplicable urge that caused her to shield him from humiliation; to take care of him—on instinct.

Alexandra exhaled a long breath. God must have heard and granted her p
rayer—but she probably was not specific enough. Andrew was everything she could have ever wanted, but his position in life rendered him an unsuitable match.

With a sigh of disappointment, she watched a family of ducks troop into the water and swim in a str
aight line. Andrew was a man she should not be trifling with. He was dangerous—she knew that. He affected her too much.

She must be cautious instead of spontaneous. If she lost her head, things could rapidly become complicated. And
, if she wasn't careful, chances were—she could lose her heart.

Alexandra disentangled herself from that line of thinking. She took out the book she'd slipped in the basket to distract herself and read as she munched on her lunch. Afterwards, she drank the jug of lemon water, shoo
k out the crumbs from her skirts, and returned to her reading.

A few chapters later, however, the gentle rustling of the leaves on the trees and the serenity of her surroundings began to lull her into drowsiness. She set her book face-down next to her, yaw
ning and stretching, as her lids gradually got heavier. Shifting to a more comfortable position, she removed her bonnet, kicked off her shoes, rested her feet on the low table, and leaned back to take a nap.

~

Allayne found the gazebo by the water after w
andering the garden looking for a place to catch up on his reading. Finally—a nice, quiet little place for himself where he could enjoy his book on European Art without being interrupted by his mother's constant carping about his unmarried state.

He walked
through the archway of roses leading to the structure, followed the winding path, climbed up the short steps, and paused.

Miss Banana had beaten him to his ideal retreat. At the moment, she was soundly
asleep with her dainty feet up, exposing her shapely, stockinged ankles and a few inches of slim calves. Strands of chestnut hair had escaped from her neat bun and flailed on her cheeks from the gentle breeze. Her full, pink lips were slightly parted, inviting him to repeat yesterday's deed that he had spent half the night fantasizing about.

The instant desire to sit next to her, pick her up and cradle her on his lap, hit Allayne between the eyes. He wanted to rest her head on his shoulder, press her breasts to his chest, and softly caress her long slender le
gs.

Most of all, he yearned to taste her lips again, kiss her
—over and over—until she awakened.

He stood there for another minute, gazing at her, before he forced himself to redirect his thoughts elsewhere.

Truly, he shouldn't—mustn't—obsess on her so. He must keep in mind that she was an innocent—a maid. He might be accused of being an unsavory sot, but he wasn't a debaucher of virgins—especially ones unsuitable to have the protection of his name. A moderate flirtation would be safer and should be sufficient to amuse him for the remainder of the fortnight—nothing more.

Allayne sat on the other end of the bench, propped his booted feet up next to hers and opened his book.

~

Alexandra woke up to the scent of cedar, sage, and mint, alerting her senses to the presence of a particular male.

She opened her lids to find herself staring into curly-lashed green eyes that could easily be mistaken for a woman's
—except she knew they belonged to the most virile man, she had ever encountered.

"Hullo," he said in that dee
p masculine voice that warmed her allover.

"Andrew?" She sat up, flustered, hoping the heat in her cheeks had not caused any redness. "What are you doing here?" She hastily shoved her feet in her shoes and brushed her hair off her face.

"I was reading," he raised the book in his hand.

"Reading?" Her gaze followed the leather-bound volume he held.

"Yes. And you were sleeping."

That said
, Alexandra conjured an image of herself, snoring with her mouth wide open and God forbid—drooling. "You shouldn't be here," she frowned, cringing at the abominable thought of him watching her while she slept.

"Why not? It's a good spot to read and there's plenty of space to sit," he gestured at the bench they shared.

Why not, indeed? Alexandra could find no argument in that, other than the dread of not knowing if she had spoken in her sleep. Her dream about the banana-wielding pirate rescuing her from the sinking ship had been too real, and when he kissed her—my, how he kissed her—she felt exactly the way she felt when Andrew did.

"You were moaning in your sleep," he said with what she could surmise as a suppressed grin.

"I was?" she replied in mortification. Lord, what other farcical things could she have been doing?

"U-hum," he set his book on his lap and chuckled.

"What?" She had the feeling that he knew something she didn't.

He cleared his throat, visibly stifling his mirth. "You were wagging your tongue."

"What?" Her chagrin escalated.

"You were wagging
—"

"I heard you," she snapped, cheeks flaming. Lord
—she could just imagine how she looked like—and what he was thinking!

He nonchalantly turned a page, eyes fixed on his book. "And you grabbed me."

"I—why would I do that?" she nearly yelled.

He shrugged. "You wanted to kiss me," he said without interest and kept on reading.

"No," she abruptly stood up and faced him indignantly.

"U-hum," he turned another page.

Alexandra gaped at his honey-blond head. Could she have done all that in her short slumber and unknowingly embarrassed herself?

Never!

"And what did you do?" She narrowed her eyes at him, increasingly suspicious of his tale.

"Hmm?" He looked up, all innocence.

"You said I grabbed you and kissed you—and then what?”  Her hackles went up, determined to get even.

"Nothing," he raised his shoulders and returned his attention to
his book, as if their conversation bored him.

"You're lying," she planted her hands on her hips.

"Am not," he flipped to the next page.

"Yes, you are," she pointed an accusing finger at him.

He let out an exaggerated sigh as he scanned the illustrations on the page he was reading. "I kissed you back—does that make you feel any better?"

"You kissed me
—"

"Yes," he cut in, tracing his finger along the writing beneath a picture, "in fact, you rather enjoyed it
—just like yesterday."

"What?" Alexandra stared at
him in shock—the odious, conceited, impertinent man!

"U-hum," he said without taking his eyes off his book.

"Now look here, Mister Huntington—"

"Andrew."

"Mister Huntington," she emphasized in vexation. "Just because you're handsome and you have those—those—"

"Dimples," he looked up and smiled at her, displaying said assets to his advantage.