Heaven Sent the Wrong One (6 page)

"Green eyes," she compelled herself to say instead, tearing her gaze away from the kissable indentations on his cheeks.

"Thank you," he preened, "glad you noticed."

“What?” Alexandra brows shot upwards. She did not mean to compliment him—and add more air to his over-inflated ego.

"Glad you noticed my looks and the color of my eyes
—I'm flattered," he said with irritating smugness and winked.

"That wasn't what I meant at a
ll," she stomped her foot in frustration. The arrogant scoundrel actually had the nerve to assume she was impressed with his looks—which she was—but that was beside the point—and he winked at her! As if—, as if—she was some common trollop clamoring for a tumble in his bed!

He set his book aside and stood up. "Just because I'm attractive, it doesn't mean I can go around kissing women," he drawled, as he moved closer to her. "Was that what you meant to say?"

"Exactly," Alexandra glared at him. Praise and glory be—the cad had finally seen the light.

"Good," he took another step, advancing lazily towards her with an intent Alexandra could only guess.

She gulped.
Oh dear.
Insulting him was probably not a good idea. "T-then we understand each other," she tried to quell the drumming in her chest and the butterflies in her belly.

"U-hum," he advanced some more, his eyes riveted on her.

She retreated a step for every step he took that brought him nearer.

Her back touched the railing of the gazebo.

He stopped within an inch of her and clamped both hands on the railing on either side of her, keeping her in place.

Alexandra's skin prickled at his proximity. He exuded pure maleness
—towering over her in spite of her tallness, blocking her view with the width of his shoulders, completely obscuring her body with his.

"Mister Huntington
—"

"Andrew." He leaned forward, his gaze sliding down to her lips.

"P-please—"

"My pleasure," he pressed his mouth onto hers, deliberately misunderstanding her plea to let her go, to begging him
for a kiss.

Her protests evaporated into thin air. Her brain could only register the softness of his lips, his woodsy, male scent and the heat of his hard chest rubbing against the sensitive peaks of her breasts.

She could push him away—now—but she didn't want to—couldn't bring herself to.

"I don
’t go around kissing women," he whispered, as he pulled slightly away to plant tiny kisses along the outline of her lips. "I want only you," he looked into her eyes, before he tilted her chin and angled his head to deliver a deeper, more demanding kiss.

Alexandra knew, as she floated into a dreamland where only the two of them existed
—that with just one kiss, he could erode her sensibilities, her resolve, and her restraint. No matter the danger, she couldn't keep her fingers from the fire—couldn't resist the temptation of momentary bliss in his arms.

If this powerful attraction
—or whatever it was between them, kept seducing them to end up this way every time they meet—then she could definitely get carried away, lose her head and enmesh herself in something utterly convoluted.

Could she manage it for the fortnight? Would she be strong enough to extricate herself when it's time to say goodbye?

Can you keep your heart out of it?
The little voice in her head interjected.

Andrew gathered her in his embrace
—tenderly, almost lovingly, —without breaking their kiss.

Yes.
The word resonated in Alexandra's thoughts. She should—she must. It would be her only protection—the very armor that would remind her that she could not be a heroine forever.

After all
—every fairy tale must end.

Sweet Freedom

A
llayne Carlyle woke up refreshed in spite of the restless night he had spent tossing and turning in his bed.

He could not stop thinking about A
nna and the kiss they shared in the gazebo. She had shyly pulled away before anything more intimate could transpire between them, avoiding his eyes as she made her excuses to return to the house. Her haste to retreat barely enabled him to invite her to the fair in town, an amusing diversion Andy had mentioned the countess planned to take her guests today. But to his amazement, she paused on her way down the short steps and agreed to accompany him—which fueled his hopes that the attraction between them was mutual, despite her efforts to control it.

"Will you be sharing a coach with the other guests?" He frowned at his fine clothes as Andy finished dressing him. The local tailor's visit had been moved to the following day due
to his trip to the fair with Anna today.

"No
, Sir," Andy flushed and buttoned the cuffs on his sleeves. "The countess insisted that Lady Alexandra and I use her barouche."

"I see," Allayne hid his amusement. The countess certainly was determined to enforce
his mother's wishes and encourage the match.

Andy appeared embarrassed with the situation and pretended to fuss on his jacket.

"I will need my carriage today." Allayne shook his shoulders and adjusted his collar. "Pray tell anyone who might care to ask that you lent it to me to run some errands in town."

"Yes, Sir." Andy cleared his throat. "Will you be at the fair?"

"Yes." Allayne inserted a forefinger between his neck and cravat, tugging it for a more comfortable fit.

"By yourself, Sir?" Andy blanched at
the look of censure his master pinned at him on the mirror, but hastily added, "Please don't take offense, Sir. I simply wish to be prepared with an explanation to the others if we encounter you there by chance."

"I wil
l be accompanying Lady Alexandra's maid," Allayne replied casually, with no further elaboration.

"Ah." Andy nodded with a knowing smile.

A half hour later, Allayne sat across from Anna in the luxurious interiors of his crested carriage on their way to the fair. She had been startled to see the gleaming black conveyance awaiting them on the driveway, but he mentioned the generosity of his employer for letting them use it for the day. She said a word of praise for Mr. Carlyle's kindness and allowed him to hand her inside.

In the privacy of the
intimate space however, Allayne felt a little irritated with himself. The effect of seeing her dressed differently, with her lustrous chestnut hair piled in an artful coiffeur on top of her head and curls cascading to frame her face, stunned him to the core. She looked like a lady—a very lovely one at that.

His reaction to the sudden change made him momentarily lose his bearings. He acted like a giddy schoolboy, unable to pry his eyes away from her. If he did not start a conversation this very minute, she w
ould undoubtedly wonder why he was staring.

"You look beautiful," he gazed appreciatively at her dress, the fineness of which did not escape his notice. Today, she had foregone her usual dull, ill-fitting brown and gray attire, in favor of a cream-colored
day gown with miniature embroidered roses. The pastel color brought out the healthy glow of her fair skin, rendering it in stark contrast with her full red lips, dark hair, and eyes. The result was simply dramatic.

He wondered how she could have afforded a
costly outfit, but he brushed the thought aside—the matter was of no import to him.

"Thank you," she blushed, and then returned his regard with a sweep of her eyes at his charcoal jacket over a pale blue waistcoat, dove gray breeches and gleaming Hessians
. "You look quite dashing yourself."

Allayne could almost sense that she was thinking along the same lines. How could he have the funds to dress as such on a valet's income? Nonetheless, she seemed to dismiss the notion as none of her concern and peered ou
t the window as the carriage approached the heart of the city.

The fair was already in full swing when they arrived. They alighted from the carriage in front of the brightly decorated entryway adorned with a large "Welcome" sign to the square. Beyond it, a
number of colorful tents sheltered vendors selling food, flavored ices, and a variety of wares. Circus performers demonstrated their skills on the streets, attracting crowds of jovial men, women, and children. Several booths offered games for a fee and a prize to the lucky winner.

~

Alexandra could not help her excitement. Her father never allowed her to go to these events where commoners mixed with their betters. He only permitted her to attend balls and soirees in exalted company, which after a while be
came too tiresome and repetitive to rouse her interest.

"Ready?" Andrew caught her hand in his and twined his fingers with hers.

"Yes," Alexandra nodded and subdued her surprise at the contact. The day was warm and both of them chose not to wear gloves.

He
led her through the entrance, his grip tightening as they joined the throng of people entering the fair. His palm felt unexpectedly soft and smooth to the touch, not at all marred by calluses derived from labor. Its warmth radiated into her skin like a lover's caress, bringing color to her cheeks.

She stole a quick glance at their joined hands. His fingers were long and elegant; his nails buffed and impeccably maintained. An impression occurred to her:
he has the hands of an aristocrat.

Alexandra tilted he
r head and discreetly peeked at him from beneath her lashes. She had never studied him from this position, with her walking next to him. His profile was strong and angular, she noted with interest, boasting a narrow, straight nose, high cheekbones, well-defined lips, a square chin, and chiseled jaw. The overly long layers of thick honey-colored hair extended over his shoulders, emphasizing the sculpted outline of his features.

"Happy?" His mouth curved upwards at the corners as he thoughtfully gazed down at
her.

Alexandra's chest constricted.

God certainly took his time and put a lot of thought in forming Andrew. He balanced the hardness of his countenance that suggested an underlying devilishness about the man, with the angelic softness of curly-lashed green eyes and endearing deep round dimples on either cheek.

"Very," she found herself saying
—and she did feel deliriously, incredibly happy. The fair may have influenced her mood, but she suspected it was only secondary to the strikingly handsome man holding her hand.

"Good." He brought their joined hands to his lips and planted a kiss on her wrist.

The simple gesture caught her off guard and took her breath away.

"My lord," a flower seller beckoned as they neared her cart. "Roses for your beautiful wife."

Alexandra blushed at the reference. She could not blame the girl for assuming her escort was her husband and a lord. Judging from the possessive way he interlaced his fingers with hers and planted that affectionate kiss on her wrist—anyone could have made the same mistake. In addition, his confident stance and manner of dressing could make anyone easily conclude that he was of rank and privilege— something so patent in him that intrigued her, since the first time she saw him.

Andrew paused in front of the ca
rt brimming with an array of colorful blooms. "I'll take this one," he pulled a white rose from a cone and paid. "Can you please cut the stem to here," he indicated the portion, "and remove the thorns?"

The seller looked puzzled but did as he requested.

"Thank you," Andrew dimpled as the vendor handed him the rose, making the poor girl blush profusely. "Now let's see," he tilted Alexandra's chin with his thumb and forefinger.

She raised her brows in inquiry.

"There," he slipped the stem into her hair above her ear and secured it with one of her pins.

"Oh, my lady, how lovely!" The flower vendor exclaimed.

Andrew chuckled and took both her hands, weaving their fingers together as he leaned closer and playfully rubbed his nose on hers. "You do look very lovely today," he whispered, "I'm a lucky man."

Alexandra stared at him, speechless. Conceit and impertinence aside, God almighty, not only was he devastatingly handsome, but he was also rapturously romantic. This light-hearted side of him astounded her. The man
could be dangerously charming if he pleased.

The flower seller's dreamy sigh made them laugh at the same time. They bade her a cheerful goodbye and strolled hand in hand towards the cluster of tents in the square.

"What's over there?" Alexandra pointed at a lone large tent at the far end, backing into a small earth mound surrounded by lively spectators.

"Why don
’t we find out?" Andrew led her to the tent and guided her through the swarm of onlookers, protectively wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he steered her towards a spot where they could get a better view.

"Oh, what an extraordinary contest!" Alexandra watched in glee as it became apparent that the game was a challenge between men and women besting each other in three kinds of sport.

On the table before each team was a set of darts, a bow with a cylinder-full of arrows and an air rifle. The competitors were engaged in a flirtatious, but fiercely competitive banter—the participants being obviously couples. Even the audience was divided into two corners: the women's side and the men's side.

Alexandra held her breath in anticipation as the man in charge waved a green flag and the game began.

The first couple went through the routine. The woman did fairly well on the bow and arrow, but showed poorly on the darts and rifle.

The male half of the audience teasingly heckled at the female half.

By the time the third and last couple had their turn, the men, predictably, were ahead of their women counterparts.

"Just as I expected," Andrew laughed.

"Oh, what utter balderdash!" Alexandra scowled at him just as the contest ended and the man in charge called for new couples to participate.

Andrew arched a mocking brow. "It's a man's sport. The possibility of women having the slightest chance of winning is as much
as the likelihood of men having an advantage on a game of embroidery."

Alexandra snorted. "That's just pure horse dung," she waved her hand at the man in charge.

Andrew gaped in astonishment at her coarse language. "Did you just say horse—?”

"Dung,
—yes." Alexandra tugged at his hand as the man in charge gestured for them to come forward.

"What are you doing?" Andrew swept his eyes at the cheering crowd.

"I'm going to show you menfolk what women can do," she released his hand and took her place in front of the table next to the women's corner.

"Are there any other couples who would like to join?" The man in charge raised his hand and waited for a response.

None came forward.

Alexandra noted the whispers and curious eyes of the men and women in the aud
ience. Ah—now she understood. None of them wanted to join because the social boundaries have risen. The locals would rather witness if their betters can actually do better, —or make a fool of themselves.

"Well, my lord, my lady, it seems you'll have to pl
ay one on one," the man in charge announced.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Andrew said amidst the murmurs from the crowd.

She smirked. "Why,—are you afraid I might beat your arse?" Her reply was loud enough for the women to gasp in shock.

Andrew's br
ows shot upwards. "My, aren't we brazen now," he arrogantly answered with greater volume. "Beware—I will demand a kiss in front of our audience, —if I beat your arse."

The men whistled and guffawed.

Alexandra felt the heat climb up her cheeks and spread to her ears. Why—her Romeo had definitely regressed to his odious self!

Well then.
"Be likewise warned," she declared with a lift of her chin, "if I win, you'll have to wear my rose in your hair for the day."

The women clapped and cachinnated with delight.

"If—" Andrew rejoined smugly, "you win." He folded his arms across his chest and added, "But you will not."

"Ooooo..." the audience hooted altogether.

"We'll see," Alexandra tilted her head haughtily, "I'm a woman of action—unlike certain people who are all talk and nonsense."

"Aaaahhh..." the spectators nodded all around and laughed.

The man in charge raised a quelling hand, silencing the crowd. "Let the games begin!" he declared with a single wave of a green flag.

"Ladies first," Andrew inclined his head
with a gesture towards her.

The crowd became uncannily quiet.

Alexandra moved to the table and selected a dart. The target was a few meters away—not unlike the ones she practiced on in her father's estate. She positioned herself at the mark and held the dart with a steady hand, estimating the correct angle and amount of force needed to propel it to the center dot. With a quick flick of her arm and wrist, she threw the dart towards the target.