Julia London (68 page)

He settled one hip against the railing and folded his hands in his lap. “Well?”

She glanced out over the moonlit gardens and exhaled a long, agonized breath. Her eyes were amazing; they were the most bewitching things he had ever seen. His gaze wandered the sweep of her slender neck, the graceful swell of her bosom, and the long, lean line of her body in that provocative gown.

“All right,” she said, turning slowly toward him. He reluctantly dragged his gaze to her face. “I was married to a very old, very senile man,” she said slowly. “My uncle betrothed me to Count Helmut Bergen of Bergenschloss—
that’s in Bavaria, you know. The ceremony was performed by proxy, so I did not know how … how
infirm
he was until I arrived there.” She paused; he kept his expression intentionally bland. She suddenly looked down and brushed an imaginary piece of lint from her gown. “The terms of my betrothal were an heir in exchange for a generous annuity, and then, naturally, the estate upon his death.” Lauren glanced up at him through the veil of her dark lashes; he made sure she could read nothing from his expression. She took another deep, steadying breath. “Helmut died several months ago.”

“A hunting accident?” he asked.

She surprised him greatly with a snort and roll of her eyes. “Apparently you have heard my uncle’s more romantic version. I am afraid he died of natural causes brought on by a positively ancient age. And since he never—I mean, since I had not provided the heir, I thought the inheritance forfeit. So I gave it to the new count, and he happened to agree rather strongly with my assessment. He thought I should return to England without delay.” She demurely clasped her hands together, rocking unconsciously onto the balls of her feet and back again. “I did not tell you my true title at Rosewood, because it seemed … well,
empty.
I was married scarcely two years, and really, Helmut was never quite certain who I was. And I would have preferred to stay at Rosewood,” she said, her brows dipping into a momentary frown, “but as we are struggling, my uncle is quite determined I shall marry again. It was
he
who spread the word of my title, not I!” She glanced shyly at him. “Really, one hardly has need of a title at Rosewood, so it did not seem to matter.”

It only mattered in that it served to increase her allure. This woman was fascinating. Certainly she had to be the only woman in all of Britain who did not think a title mattered, or who would give her inheritance away. “Your uncle
is right. A title will greatly improve your chances of a suitable match,” he absently remarked.

He was caught off guard by the narrowing of her lovely eyes and the fists she clenched at her sides. “You
are
an arrogant
swine
,” she breathed.

“Now what have I said?” he asked, surprised.

“Is everyone in this town as obsessed as you with what makes a good
match
?”

Alex laughed. “I see we are bound to have this discussion again. All right then, is it not why you are here?”

She gasped, whether from surprise or indignation, he was not sure. It suddenly occurred to him that she was incensed because she had already made a match. “Forgive me, perhaps you have received an offer? Who is the golden-haired man I have seen you with?” he asked casually.

Her lovely face reddened, and he thought for a moment she might positively explode. Or punch him in the nose. “Your grace, I owe you no further explanation, nor, I should think, do you
require
any,” she said icily. “As we have now established, hopefully to your great satisfaction, that I have a
right
to be here, I will thank you to leave me alone!” With that, she turned abruptly on her heel and marched to the ballroom, her hips swinging pertly. Bloody hell, what had he said this time?

   She did not see him for a long time after that. She made a point of not looking but finally gave into the overwhelming temptation. There he was, leaning against a column, smiling in that self-satisfied way of his as she danced a quadrille with Lord Wesley. She quickly looked away, but after a moment, she could not resist another peek. He was still watching her … and he watched her until the conclusion of the dance. As Lord Wesley escorted her from the floor, he inclined his head toward Charlotte, standing in the oppressive company of her mother. Lauren’s heart skipped a beat. To dance with the duke would mean so
much
to Charlotte.

Almost fearing what he would do, she watched nervously as he made a great show of walking over and asking Charlotte to dance. She could see Charlotte’s bright smile and her mother’s near faint. She could not help smiling as he escorted Charlotte onto the dance floor. He nodded, ever so slightly, in acknowledgment of her unspoken gratitude. Lauren did not care for the impact that small, intimate exchange had on her senses, and turned away.

But she was smiling.

When Magnus insisted on a second dance, she realized she was searching for the duke over and over. Each time he seemed to catch her looking at him, and each time he gave her a smug grin, as if he knew what a wreck he was making of her emotions. She yanked her gaze away and nodded at something Magnus said, vowing to herself she would not look again.

And she did not, not really.

   Standing next to her fiancé, Marlaine followed the direction of his gaze onto the dance floor. A small wave of disappointment swept through her when she found the object of his attention. The countess was now dancing with Lord Hollingsworth. With a twinge of queasiness, she glanced furtively at her betrothed again. Surely it was only her imagination that he kept staring at the countess. But when he excused himself, his eyes still on the countess, she turned away from the dance floor, her face devoid of any color.

She was
not
imagining things; she had not imagined a single thing all night. All right, Alex was often in the company of other women. But it never meant anything, and he always came back to her,
always.
This time would be no different. She walked away from the dance floor, confused and unthinking.

“Are you going to allow that?”

Marlaine gasped. She had stumbled upon her mother and
father, standing together near an open window. She swallowed. “Allow what?”

Lady Whitcomb frowned disapprovingly. “Are you going to allow your fiancé to pant like a dog over the countess?” she whispered loudly.

“Now Martha,” her father said soothingly, “Sutherland is a popular fellow.”

“Not nearly as popular as the countess, it would seem,” she grumbled. “He has hardly taken his eyes from her.”

Marlaine looked across the dance floor. Alex was where he had been most of the evening—near the countess. Catching a sigh in her throat, she reminded herself that he hated balls, and the countess was only a distraction. He was just amusing himself. She had nothing to fear. Nothing. “He shall be along soon, Mother, I know he shall,” she said, desperately wanting to believe it.

Her mother made a sound of disagreement, but her father quickly spoke before she could voice her opinion. “What say we get a bite to eat? All this dancing makes a man hungry,” he said kindly, and ushered the two women from the ballroom.

None of the Reese family noticed the man with the cane standing to one side, staring at his sister and the Duke of Sutherland.

   Headed home in a hired hack, Paul was still reeling from the remarkable notion that Sutherland had eyes for his sister. The man was not only a duke, he was
famous.
Some called him a Radical for leading the reform movement in the House of Lords. He was bold, his ideas refreshingly original. He was, in Paul’s estimation, exactly what the country needed in Parliament. Engaged to a beautiful woman, he was planning a marriage that would create a family alliance
The Times
predicted would be of enormous consequence in the next decade. And he was blatantly flirting with his very own sister. Paul looked at Lauren. Settled against the
squabs, she gazed dreamily out the dingy window, a contented smile on her lips. “Enjoy yourself?”

“Hmmm,” she nodded.

“Meet anyone of particular interest? Or did Count Bergen keep them all at bay?” A small smile curved her lips, but Lauren slowly shook her head. “I was beginning to think you might have developed some attachment for the Duke of Sutherland,” he said quietly.

Lauren’s eyes shot open and she laughed. “
Him?
Hardly!” She laughed again, but it was a feigned laugh, he knew. That rake had impressed her.

“He is engaged, you know,” he said carefully,” to Lady Marlaine Reese. “Earl Whitcomb’s daughter.”

Clearly startled, Lauren jerked her gaze to him, her eyes roaming his face. “Engaged?” she echoed, her voice small.

“You did not know?”

She blinked, then looked down at her lap, shrugging. “No, but why should I? I hardly know the man, and you know how aristocrats can be. Very particular about who is introduced to whom,” she said, then added so softly he could barely hear, “besides, he does not particularly care for me, I think.”

Paul remained silent on that point. But she could not be more wrong.

“Thank you, Finch, I’ll show myself in.”

From his desk, Alex glanced up as his younger brother sauntered across the thick carpet and dropped onto a leather couch. Grinning broadly, he stretched his long legs in front of him and shoved a hand into the waistband of his trousers.

“What,” Alex asked dryly, “puts such a smile on your face this afternoon? Are you pleased with yourself? Or some trifle?”

Arthur chuckled gleefully. “A trifle. Seems the entire
ton
is talking about the Duke of Sutherland this morning.”

“Indeed?” Alex drawled.

“Indeed, your most exalted grace. I take it you have not heard the gossip?” Arthur asked, his hazel eyes sparkling with gaiety. Alex shook his head. “Then you may very well be the only person in London not to have heard how the aloof Duke of Sutherland paid uncharacteristic attention to a widowed countess. A beautiful, Bavarian countess.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Arthur, for that titillating
piece of gossip. Should you not be on your way to your exclusive interview with the editor of
The Times
?”

Arthur’s delighted laughter filled the large room. “Then you deny it?”

Alex shrugged; he was quite accustomed to the daily rumors and innuendoes surrounding him. During the Season he was often the subject of much drawing room speculation after an event like the Harris ball. “I do not deny dancing with Countess Bergen. If one terms that ‘uncharacteristic attention,’ then I suppose I am guilty.”

“And I suppose the fact that your secretary dispatched two dozen roses from the Park Lane hothouse this morning is just a coincidence,” Arthur said nonchalantly.

A slow smile worked at the corner of Alex’s mouth. He leaned back, propping a booted foot against the expensive, hand-carved mahogany desk. Clasping his hands behind his head, he grinned fondly at Arthur. “
That
is the very reason I leave the business details to you. You rarely miss the little things that may appear insignificant to others.” Arthur inclined his head in acknowledgment of the compliment. “But you should have confirmed the destination of those roses. They were sent to Marlaine Reese.”

“Yes, the roses were sent to Marlaine,” Arthur grinned, “but the gardenias were sent to Russell Square.”

Alex laughed heartily. “All right, if you must know, it would seem I insulted the countess. She does not like to be reminded that I first saw her staring down an enormous hog.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Alex grinned and nodded. “Met her near Dunwoody last fall as she was about to become a hog’s next meal. Tried to help her and almost broke my neck for it.” Bemusement creased Arthur’s forehead at the irreconcilable image. Alex laughed. “A rather old, cantankerous hog at that. They both hail from a small estate by the name of Rosewood.”

A light of understanding dawned on Arthur’s face. “I
see—I don’t suppose that was the reason you stayed a week longer than you had intended?”

“Of course not,” Alex scoffed, unconsciously averting his gaze to the stack of papers in front of him.

“I was given to understand the countess had only just arrived in England. According to Paddy, she was recently widowed by a hunting accident.”

“Aunt Paddy,” Alex said dryly, “believes what she wants to believe in addition to every single thing Mrs. Clark
tells
her to believe.”

“Nonetheless, she does seem to have appeared from nowhere. I have not had the pleasure of meeting the countess, but I have met her brother. They say he has amassed a small fortune in the gaming hells of Southwark,” Arthur remarked. “Seems to be unusually clever with cards.”

“You don’t say? I would not have guessed him a gambling man. By the look of things, they have not a shilling to spare. But then again, I would not have guessed her a countess.”

“Apparently you have
some
interest in the woman,” Arthur remarked jovially. “But far be it from me to make light of your little diversion.”

“It is not a diversion, dear brother. Have you forgotten I will be married at the end of the Season?” Alex asked, smiling.

“I have not—have you?” Arthur laughingly shot back, and stood to leave. “I shall take my leave of you before you impale me with that letter opener. Incidentally, Mother has closed the Berkley Street house in favor of my home on Mount Street. Swears she cannot abide being alone.”

Alex snorted. “She has not abided being alone in twelve years. I think it time we convinced her to sell it.”

“We can certainly try, but you know as well as I that she is of the opinion one never sells property unless one is destitute or dead. By the by, do not forget that we have been properly shamed into attending Paddy’s little supper party
tomorrow evening. Shall I tell her to expect her favorite nephew?”

“Please do. And tell her I will attend as well,” Alex said with a grin.

   Across town, Paul counted again the fifty pounds he had collected at the Harris’s gaming tables last evening. Coupled with his winnings from a recent foray into Southwark, he now had sufficient funds to provide a proper wardrobe for Lauren. If God granted him a little luck, in six weeks he would have enough to pay the interest on what Ethan had borrowed against his trust. Fortunately, he was winning with regularity and was beginning to build a tidy sum large enough to invest in the private securities with a decent return. He had studied his investment books in earnest, and was convinced he could achieve his ultimate goal of providing for Rosewood.