Heaven Sent the Wrong One (8 page)

"Oh, no! Sir, please don’t leave me here!" Andy cried. "They're coming to get me and eat me! We're all going to die!"

Andy must have bo
lted blindly towards him because he could hear him crashing into furniture, toppling them over, causing a multitude of objects to fall on the floor.

However, before Andy could reach him, the door to the chamber swung open and bright candlelight illuminated
the room.

"Who's there?" A man's stern voice called from the doorway.

Allayne grabbed the first thing he could reach to cover himself—a figurine from a nearby table.

"Aye, show yer self!" A woman's voice followed.

The man raised the branch of candles higher for the light to reach farther into the room.

Oh Lord
, Allayne scratched his temple. It's the countess' servants and—

"Anna?" His mouth felt like cotton and a lump the size of a lemon lodged in his throat.

"Andrew?" Her eyes widened to an impossible degree.

"You know him?" The butler asked in disbelief.

"Me likes yer trunk," the servant carrying what looked like a laundry board, waggled her eyebrows at his crotch.

Allayne glanced downwards. The figurine he happened to grab was actually a well-made stone
sculpture of an elephant's head—with its trunk extended like a trumpet.

"Eh
—me likes 'is bird nest better," the plump servant pointed a bloody cleaver past him to who he could only guess was Andy. "See 'is itty bitty beak stickin' out?"

Allayne turned his
gaze slowly towards Andy.

Just as he had suspected. Andy stood as naked as a freshly plucked chicken, exposed to the hilt down to his very hairy birdie. However, to his credit, he had yanked a pair of drawers over his head
—concealing his identity.

Smart id
iot
. Allayne muttered to himself, wishing he had done the same thing.

"Somebody explain to me what's going on here!" The butler yelled. "Who are you, Sirs?"

"Mister Botocks—" Alexandra said in a calm manner. "Why don't we continue this after the gentlemen have gotten dressed?"

The butler ruminated for a second. "Very well. But we'll stay right here just to be sure they can't escape." He turned to the men. "You may dress behind the screen over there."

"Eh—ain't we suppose to git ravished first?" Cook said.

"
Aye, me ain't riskin' me neck if me ain't gettin' no tuppin' from dat 'ansome gent o'er der!" Mabel fluttered her lashes and directed a come-hither toothless smile at Allayne.

"Shut up, the two of you!" The butler scolded.

Minutes later, both men emerged fully dressed.

"Mister Carlyle
—is that you?" The butler asked, in astonishment.

"Er, yes," Andy
turned into a beet red.

"I wasn't aware that you'd returned, Sir. I thought you were at the viscount's soiree with the countess.
"

"Well
—we were," Andrew, replied, somewhat flustered. "But, we did not know anyone there and decided to come back early."

"We
—Sir?" The butler raised his brows.

"Er
—yes," Andy broke into a sweat. "I-I-I—"

"I accompanied Mister Carlyle," Allayne interjecte
d.

"I see," the butler rubbed his chin. "I apologize if we have intruded, but we were alarmed at the commotion and decided to investigate."

"We were trying to catch the rodent," Allayne replied coolly.

"I'm sure you were," the butler nodded in agreement, t
hough his expression said otherwise.

"I just finished helping Mister Carlyle undress and I went to the adjoining sitting room to change into nightclothes myself, when the rodent appeared from out of nowhere and knocked off the branch of candles," Allayne a
dded.

"I'm sure it did," the butler's solemn face did not change.

Allayne shrugged and threw a sheepish grin at Alexandra.

"What's going on here?" Everyone turned towards the mousy woman wearing spectacles.

"Lady Alexandra!" The butler exclaimed in surprise. "I thought you were at the viscount's soiree."

The lady blushed and seemed to have become tongue-tied.

"Lady Alexandra had a headache," Alexandra said. "I accompanied her to and from the affair."

"Aye, das right!" Mabel took the clothes iron from Alexan
dra and gave her a secret wink. "Me seen lassie 'ere 'elp 'er ladyship upstairs."

"Aye, me seen 'er too," Cook said.

The butler looked from Alexandra, to Mabel to Cook. "Very well. Since I am obviously outnumbered and some people choose to lie rather than tell the truth, then I leave it to their conscience. May God strike them with lightning and may their souls burn in hell." He gave the three a speaking look and bid goodnight to the Lady and the Viscount’s heir, then turned on his heel, and walked stiffly down the hallway.

"Och, come now, Mister Butt-ocks," Mabel's voice echoed in the corridor as she and Cook scurried to keep up with the butler, "don't ye be sour now. Me tells ye
—ye needs som' good ol’ tuppin', otherwise yer nuts'll fall off and ye'll be grouchy 'till yer ninety."

"Aye
—an' ye'll grows a bosom," Cook's huskier voice boomed, "bigger t'an Countess Penthorpe's."

"Quiet!" The butler's voice reverberated throughout the whole house.

~

Ann
a was still laughing when Allayne navigated his way out of the disorderly bedchamber.

"You've found some amusing friends," he chuckled as the servants' bickering faded.

"Yes," she lifted her face to look up at him. "I'm sorry I was delayed. Mabel asked me to help with the ironing and I could not refuse."

"That's alright," Allayne glanced inside the bedchamb
er where Andy and Lady Alexandra were locked in an embrace, oblivious to their presence. "It seems another couple had the same idea."

They both laughed at the timing and all the muddled up things that ha
d happened in between.

When at last their hysterics subsided, Allayne cupped her face in his hands and pressed a gentle kiss on her lips.

She rested her cheek on his shoulder afterwards, and he gathered her in his arms.

"So, my dear, lovely Anna," he whisp
ered in her hair, "what do you think of our first night?"

"It was beautiful," she sighed, wrapping her arms about his neck. "I've never experienced anything like it."

"God have mercy," Allayne chuckled. "I hope we never go through it again."

The Last Day

A
lexandra sat in the servants' dining area, dreamily savoring the delicious breakfast Cook had prepared. The past ten days had passed in a blur of activity.

Since the night of their botched rendezvous, the servants had taken them under their wing. Cook had developed a motherly fondness for Andrew, spoiling him with food at par with what was being served in the formal dining room. Even the very proper Mr. Boto
cks had taken to teaching him menial chores, sitting with him as they polished the silver, enjoying Andrew's witty conversation.

Mabel, on the other hand, had practically adopted her, keeping her busy but staunchly refusing to let her dabble in washing the
laundry. "Ye got purdy 'ands," Mabel would push her fingers away from the laundry soap, "ain't do ye no good to ruin 'em wit' lye soap."

Alexandra sighed with a twinge of regret. The days flew by so fast and her stay was coming to an end. She would surely
miss them—and she didn't even want to think about how she would fare, when the time came to part with Andrew.

"Eat up, me lass," Cook's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Ye needs mor' flesh in yer bones."

She gladly finished the last of her breakfast and looked up from her empty plate. "Thank you, Cook. That was delicious!"

"I agree," Andrew piped in from his seat across from her, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"Tomarrow'll make ye som' kippers. Ye like 'em kippers, don't ye, laddie?" Cook grinned dotingly at Andrew.

"How did you guess my favorite?" Andrew rose from the table and bestowed Cook a wink and a dimpled smile, making the older woman simper like a debutante.

"Och, don't ye flirt wit' me in front o' yer girl now, laddie. Off ye go. Mister Botocks is waitin' fer ye to 'elp 'im polish t'e silver." Cook waved him away, and then motioned to the scullery maids to clear the table. "'An' as fer ye, lassie," she turned to Alexandra, "Mabel needs yer 'elp hangin' t'e laundry."

"Right." Alexandra hurriedly stood up.

Andrew rounded the table to pull back her chair for her. "I'll see you later." He snuck a quick kiss on her cheek and blew another one at Cook before he headed up the stairs to help Mr. Botocks.

Cook shook her head with a grin. "Me tells ye, lassie, ye ought to lock t'at 'ansome swain in yer bedchamber an' ne'er let 'im out of yer sight."

Alexandra chuckled. It did not take long for the servants to notice their fondness for each other and assume they were sweethearts.

She made her way to the servants' door that opened into the side yard where Mabel was hanging linens on clotheslines. Behind her, the laundry maids lined up several more of the large bins containin
g wet linens.

"Come 'an 'elp me wit' t'is one," Mabel heaved a large quilted counterpane over the clothesline and had her pull the opposite end while she secured it with clothespins. They did this repeatedly for the next three hours, until they finished al
l the laundered beddings and everything hung in neat rows, fluttering merrily in the breeze.

Alexandra wiped the sweat off her brow. She'd never worked so hard in her life and her hands felt raw. If her papa found out that she'd been working, garbed in Ann
a's clothes and an old apron, he would wring her neck—before plunging himself, head-first, into an early grave.

Nevertheless, a sense of self-accomplishment made her smile as they made their way back to the house. For the first time in her life, she felt u
seful and productive. Most of all, she had gained a newfound respect for the servants of the household.

Everyone was seated for lunch at the servants' dining area when Alexandra and Mabel finally came in. Andrew was in a discussion with Mr. Botocks and Coo
k was directing the scullery maids on which dishes to serve.

"Take your seats so we can eat," Mr. Botocks glanced at them. "The countess' guests will soon be off to the theater and will not return until after midnight. Except for the footmen and maids who
took their time off yesterday, the rest of you can go take the rest of the day off as soon as you finish your chores. Today is the last day of the fair. If any of you would like to come with us, you are most certainly welcome. However, we must return at half past ten. We have a busy day tomorrow. The countess' house party has come to an end and her guests will be departing right after luncheon."

A bubble of excitement circulated around the table. She caught Andrew staring at her over the steaming bowl of so
up Cook had ladled in front of him. Her cheeks tingled. Really—she would never get used to those vivid green eyes, furtively flirting with her every chance he could get.

"Miss Banana," Mr. Botocks interrupted her cogitation. "Is the kind Lady Alexandra Dav
enport still amenable to lending us her coach?"

"Yes
—yes she is," Alexandra nodded to the delight of everyone.

"Well, then. I believe we have enough room to transport us in style to the fair," Mr. Botocks said with satisfaction. "Andrew, please thank Miste
r Carlyle for his generosity in lending us his coach too."

"I shall," Andrew, replied, between bites of the chocolate crepe Cook had set aside for him.

Lunch ended quickly, with the servants hurrying to finish their duties. Alexandra made her way to her bedchamber, after Mabel assured her that the laundry was finished for the day.

"Anna," Andrew caught her hand as she climbed up the stairs. "Wear something warm. I'll see you in two hours."

She nodded, feeling the heat rising up her cheeks as he brought her fingers to his lips.

What was wrong with her? Alexandra thought in irritation as she ran the rest of the way up the steps. Why couldn't she keep herself from acting like a complete moon-eyed ninny around him?

It must be the closeness they'd shared together the last few days.

After that ludicrously ill-fated assignation, which
—thank goodness for Mr. Botocks' terse reminder to keep the incident mum—Andrew never brought up the subject again. To her surprise, however, she had been disappointed by his reticence—and shocked at how much she had wanted to give up her virtue to a mere valet—a man a world away beneath her. She had secretly hoped he would ask her again, but he simply invited her to stroll with him around the lush grounds of the estate every day after their chores or sit with him in the gazebo, where they would chat and read books for hours.

Both excursions, allowed her to get to know him better. Their time together brimmed with lively conversation. She had never met a man so intelligent and well read; h
e could challenge any scholar and put many of the Lords in Parliament to shame.

His fastidiousness not only with his person, but also in everything around him, likewise fascinated her. He would scold her for putting her book face down on the table to hold
the page she was reading in place, telling her it would ruin the spine, or give her an exasperated glare as he cleaned her fingers with a towel, for tracking greasy fingerprints on the leather binding while she read and ate.

Perhaps as a valet, he was used
to keeping everything in impeccable shape, she reflected. She recalled how he would shake the cushions on the bench in the gazebo before allowing her to sit down, or how he would wipe the silverware with his linen napkin before he used them—even if they were in an expensive establishment.

His neatness certainly was an unusual trait in a man, but it did not bother her one bit. She was all too familiar with the lazy aristocrats
—women included, who rarely bathed, drowning their stink in expensive perfume and never giving a fig about taking care of what they owned. Andrew, in her opinion, was a far superior human being. He smelled as wonderful as freshly laundered linen and was so clean he fairly sparkled like a newly minted coin. Everything about him reminded her of springtime and sunshine—from his glossy honey-colored hair and bright green eyes, to his dazzling be-dimpled smile.

Alexandra's heart cartwheeled in her chest at the mere thought of him.
Good God
, she sighed as she entered her bedchamber and threw herself on the bed. Why couldn't she stop thinking of the man? Moreover, these last few days, she had started missing him—for no reason at all—especially at night when the whole house was quiet. She would hug her pillow in place of him, imagining him lying beside her, kissing her, making love to her.

Dear God,
she abruptly sat up. How long had they known each other? Thirteen days?

Thirteen days.

Of pure bliss, companionship, and laughter. Of heated debates, meaningful discussions, and sweet reconciliation thereafter. A fortnight of sharing a deeper kind of friendship and closeness, something she had never experienced with another.

The realization struck her, with the precision of an arrow hitting its targe
t.

Thirteen days
—that was all it had taken.

For her to slip and slide into unexplored sentimentality. For her to do the very things she had repeatedly reminded herself not to ever do
—get carried away, lose her head, and enmesh herself in something utterly convoluted. For her to succumb to the inevitable—the fate she had feared the most—relinquishing her heart to an angel with a charming smile and pretty eyes.

Thirteen, short days.

She had fallen in love.

~

They arrived at the fair later that afternoon with
throngs of people wanting to catch the last day of revelry. Alexandra and Andrew went with the servants for a few hours, watching acrobats demonstrate their skills on the sidewalk and haggling with the myriad of vendors plying their wares.

Andrew bought h
er a lovely silver comb for her hair, but it was so expensive, she began to protest. Without a qualm, the shameless man shushed her with a kiss in front everyone—ignoring the ribbing from Mabel and Cook, and the upbraiding look from Mr. Botocks. Then, when suppertime came, he made excuses for the two of them to meet the group by the entrance at ten o'clock for the ride home.

He took her to a fine establishment for dinner and after they had eaten, they strolled to the great curved structure called The Cresce
nt, a stunning series of thirty three-story houses built wall to wall in the Ionic style. The result was a stunning edifice characterized by fluted columns and scroll-like ornaments on its façade.

Alexandra wondered what they were doing there. Notable peop
le of great wealth and rank owned the private residences. A few of them were old family friends she had visited with her father over the years.

Briefly, she became concerned that someone might recognize her, but she quickly shrugged it off. Most of the apa
rtments would be closed at this time of year, with the families staying in London for the season.

Andrew led her to one of the gleaming doors and produced a key tucked neatly inside a secret notch carved artfully on top of the doorframe.

"W-what are you doing?" she asked in apprehension, glancing from side to side as he opened the door.

"Come."

She hesitated, fearful of getting caught trespassing onto someone's property, but Andrew simply took her hand and drew her inside.

"This house belongs to Mister Carl
yle's childhood friend, the Duke of Grandstone," he said as they stepped into the opulent foyer. "The Duke opens it for a few days once a year and let his close friends use it whenever they visit Bath."

At her reluctance to proceed any further, his fingers
tightened around hers. "Don't worry—no one is here. The Duke and his family are in Cornwall."

Alexandra conceded and followed him inside. He showed her the spacious drawing room where the duke entertained his guests and gave her a quick tour of the rest
of the richly appointed home. Finally, when he had run out of rooms to show her, he kissed her hand and asked if she minded staying in the house with him until it was time to depart.

"Not at all," she replied, happy to oblige and put her sore feet up, befo
re she realized what he was truly asking of her.

"Oh, you meant..." She felt the warm flush bloom in her cheeks. The butterflies in her belly must have fluttered all at once, because she suddenly felt her gut turn inside out.

He did not reply. For what seemed like forever, he just looked at her.

She gulped. The intensity of his gaze revealed everything
—the urgency, the daunting savagery, and potency of his desire.

Her entire body, all the way to the tips of her toes began to tremble. A mixture of fear and e
lation chased through her mind. Fear—at the naked ruthlessness of the hunger evident in his eyes; elation—at the power she had over him for being the object of his passion.

The knowledge produced a contrasting wave of incertitude that swayed her self-confidence. Could she manage him
—a man so virile, his sexuality surrounded him like an aura—and slake his exigent need, his fervid lust—more than once tonight?