Julia London (74 page)

Yet he had unwillingly glanced back and had caught Lauren looking at him. The unreadable expression in her vivid blue eyes was almost as disturbing as seeing her dancing with Madgoose later, laughing at something he said, and smiling that devastating smile of hers.

It had almost undone him.

It had also left him feeling intolerably restless.

The restlessness had continued well into the days that followed. At the Vauxhall Gardens fireworks display, he had chafed with unease for the better part of two hours as he sat
with Marlaine in a box reserved for dignitaries. No matter how hard he tried to keep his thoughts on his fiancée, he could not keep his mind from wandering to Lauren. When Marlaine requested a walk about, he was grateful for the distraction, and had led her on an aimless stroll through the crowds.

He did not see Lauren until he was almost upon her.

Standing near Madgoose in the dim evening light, she did not notice him, either. Staring up at the dark sky, she smiled brilliantly as a charge exploded in the night air. Spellbound, Alex watched as she tilted her head back and stretched her arms out, as if his angel sought heaven’s light. As the glittering light had faded from the sky, she had uttered, “
‘The Sun’s rim dips; the stars rush out; at one stride comes the dark.’
” The stanza was from
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
, one of his favorite poems. It had stirred him so deeply he had hardly heard Marlaine speak his name, or notice the cold glare Madgoose had bestowed on him. They had walked on, just as Lauren turned. He was certain he had seen a flicker in her eyes, a brief surge of …
something.
But her eyes had quickly shuttered and she had turned away again, pretending not to have noticed him.

He was a man obsessed.

   One bright, sun-drenched day, Alex smiled thinly at Marlaine’s enthusiasm for the Darfield garden party. For her sake, he was prepared to endure the chatter of the prowlers for hours if he must, but when he walked out onto the terrace with Marlaine on his arm, he heard Lauren’s gentle laugh. It shook him—for some reason, he had not thought that she would be there.

Bothered by the strange churning of his gut, he stiffly greeted Michael and Abbey then kissed his mother, who had arrived earlier with Aunt Paddy. He then took a seat—prudently, he thought—as far away from Lauren as he could get. Only then did he allow himself to look at her.

“Your grace, you have come just in time!” Paddy insisted with great exuberance. “Honestly, there can be no consensus gained among us! You shall help us, shan’t you?”

“I shall certainly try, Aunt. What seems to be the issue?” he asked, stealing a glance at Lauren. Smiling serenely, her eyes fixed on a point in the middle of the group. He had the distinct impression she was determined not to look at him.

“As you are to be married in St. Paul’s Cathedral at precisely eleven o’clock in the morning—”

“On a Friday,” clarified Mrs. Clark.

“On a Friday, and as it is a summer wedding, I thought that pews would be most handsomely set off with lilies of the valley, but your dear mother has suggested white roses.”

Alex exchanged a weary look with Michael. “I shall be quite happy with whatever Marlaine decides.” He smiled at his bride-to-be; her fair cheeks pinkened as she shyly returned his smile.

“Oh, that is not very helpful a’tall! Very well, then, we shall inquire of Countess Bergen
her
opinion,” the elderly woman decreed, and turned her head so sharply that the ringlets about her face bounced like fat little sausages.

Lauren’s head jerked up, her serene smile gone. “
My
opinion? I, ah, think either one would be very lovely,” she murmured uncertainly to Paddy’s nod.

Paddy frowned. “Come now, surely you have an
opinion
?”

“She is not required to have an opinion,” Lady Thistlecourt imperiously informed her. Paddy shifted an impatient look to the terror of the loo tables.

“Paddy,” Hannah interrupted lightly, staving off an imminent argument, “what if we mixed them? Lilies and roses?”

“Lilies and roses? How very odd,” Mrs. Clark mused. Paddy snorted at what she obviously considered a preposterous suggestion and looked expectantly at Lauren.

She paled, glancing nervously at the flagstones. “I, uh, cannot say,” she murmured.

“Oh come now, dear. What
flower
do you prefer?”

“I adore gardenias,” Mrs. Clark suddenly interjected, “don’t you, Countess Bergen?”

She responded to the question by choking on a swallow of punch and turning wide blue eyes to Mrs. Clark.

“My goodness, what on earth is wrong, Countess Bergen?” Hannah exclaimed, coming swiftly to her feet.

Lauren’s laugh was nervously high pitched. “Why, nothing!” she insisted, and attempted to wave the duchess away, but Hannah was quickly at her side. Lauren looked panicked; she stumbled to her feet, her gaze scudding across Alex before settling on Mrs. Clark. “W-Would you believe,” she said nervously, “that I cannot tolerate sugar? I did not know the drink was sugared, and I took a very large drink of it, and well, I simply cannot take sugar!” She smiled brightly. Too brightly, Alex thought. The reference to gardenias had truly disturbed her.
Good.
He hoped she was suffering at least a little. He certainly was.

“But that is your second glass,” Mrs. Clark observed.

“Is it?” Lauren asked weakly. She laughed again, and carefully placed her punch on a table. “I rather think a bit of air is all I need.” A bit of air, indeed, Alex thought dryly.

“What a marvelous idea. Would you mind terribly if I joined you for a turn about the gardens?” Marlaine asked.

Astonished, Alex gaped at his fiancée. It was so unlike her, so
very
unlike her. He peered at her closely, wondering madly what was going through her head, but she carefully avoided his gaze.

“Why, that … that would be lovely,” Lauren calmly responded, but her stunned expression belied her words. Suddenly very uncomfortable, Alex looked from Marlaine to Lauren and back again. As the two women started down the garden path, Alex glanced at his mother. Hannah regarded him curiously enough, but worse yet, Lady Whit
comb, who was seated next to Hannah, was staring daggers at him.

“Hmmm … that could be trouble,” Michael uttered as his gaze followed the two women. Horrified, Alex jerked a startled gaze to him. Michael chuckled. “They will probably return with the notion of lilies, roses,
and
gardenias on every pew!” He shrugged when Alex closed his eyes and slowly shook his head.

   Marlaine nervously clutched at the seams of her pink gown as they walked, wondering what on earth she did now. If only Alex had not looked at Countess Bergen the way he did! She was quite determined
not
to be upset by it, but Lord, she could hardly help herself. It was such a
different
look, unlike any he had ever directed at her. And when the countess had surged to her feet, obviously discomfited about something, her feminine instincts had warned her that she must do
something
to stop what was happening between Alex and this woman. But she was not the impetuous sort, and now, having found her way into this walk, she felt completely inept to take such delicate matters into her hands.

“Lady Darfield has quite a green thumb,” the countess remarked. “I understand she grows many of the roses herself.”

“I … I should like to grow roses at Sutherland Hall when I am married,” Marlaine blurted uneasily. The countess said nothing, but looked away, toward the roses. Well there was no going back now, Marlaine told herself, and apprehensively plunged ahead. “I shall be so very happy when we are married, you know. Alex is so wonderfully kind to me, even though I am not nearly as … as exciting as other women he might have chosen.”

“Oh,” muttered the countess, almost inaudibly. “I am sure the duke thinks you are perfect.”

Marlaine laughed tightly. “I am not sure what he thinks, but I—I mean,
he—
” Words escaped her. Honestly, she had
no idea how to convey her frustration and fear. From the corner of her eye, she glanced at Countess Bergen. She was staring intently at the path in front of them, her bottom lip between her teeth. She looked pained—so pained, that Marlaine found a glimmer of confidence, and hastily continued. “In truth, I have no idea the depth of his feelings, but I am quite certain he is rather fond of me—he has said I shall make him a comfortable wife. And he agrees entirely that our betrothal is very right … and … and …
important
” Marlaine winced, pausing as she searched for the right words.

“Yes, I can see that it is a very important match,” the countess muttered weakly.

Surprised by the apparent affect she was having on her, Marlaine took a fortifying breath. “Yes, well, naturally, as he is a duke, his marriage is quite important for a number of reasons. I am sure you can appreciate that our betrothal is the concern of many. My father and Alex are quite influential in the Lords, you know, and of course, they share interest in some factories in the south. Everyone watches them to see what they will do. It’s a very high compliment, and God forbid, if something were to
happen
, it would be horrible—not just for
me
, you understand, but for many others.”

“Yes.”

The countess’s response was even weaker than before; she looked as if she might be ill. They rounded the far end of the garden and started back toward the terrace and lawn, where a game of lawn bowling was starting. Lady Paddington called out to them, gesturing for them to join the game. Marlaine smiled and waved, but stopped in the middle of the garden path, forcing her companion to stop, too. Emboldened by the countess’s obvious distress, she turned and faced her fully. “In truth, madam, ours is a very important match. Not only am I very much in favor of it, but so is Alex, and certainly so are our families. You understand, if … if something should
happen
, it would very well ruin
my reputation. And I … and I would be quite devastated to lose him.” There, she had said it. She felt an enormous sense of relief.

The blood seemed to drain from the countess’s face. Her blue eyes turned glassy, and she quickly looked at the ground between them. “Lady Marlaine, I think you worry for naught. As you said, his grace is quite fond of you. I cannot imagine what would happen to change a thing,” she said, and slowly, cautiously, looked up.

She had won. Dear God, she had won! “I was hoping you would say that,” Marlaine murmured. Suddenly, she wanted to be gone from those vivid cobalt eyes. “I see they have started a game of lawn bowling. I should very much like to play. Will you please excuse me?” She did not wait for the countess to answer, but quickly walked away, her heart hammering loudly in her chest. She fairly flew to the lawn, a bright smile on her face as she joined the others. Marlaine had never felt more triumphant in her life.

Humiliated, Lauren slowly followed, trying to ignore Lady Paddington’s insistent wave. Intense guilt threatened to suffocate her as she reflected on Lady Marlaine’s thinly veiled plea. Woodenly, she walked toward the lawn, feeling very much like a doxy. As she reached the edge of the lawn, Mrs. Clark’s blue ball went sailing wide and long, skipping into an arbor bordering the rose garden.

“Oh my! Fetch that, will you dear?” Mrs. Clark called to her. Lauren waved and walked quickly to the arbor. Once inside, she collapsed onto a wrought iron bench, taking several deep breaths in an effort to maintain her composure. She heard a sound behind her and jerked around, half-expecting to find Lady Marlaine staring at her with soft brown eyes.

But it was Alex who stood at the entrance to the arbor, his hands behind his back, his green eyes intent on her face. “Are you … are you all right?” he asked hesitantly.

Lauren jumped to her feet. “I … I can’t find the ball,” she lied.

“It’s just here,” he said simply, and pointed to her right, where the ball lay in plain view.

A flame of embarrassment flooded her face. “Oh! Well, there you have it!” She attempted to laugh as she swiftly retrieved it. She turned, clutching the thing to her chest, but Alex blocked her exit. “Now it is found, so I shall return it right away—”

“Lauren, are you all right?” he asked softly.

She could not look at him. She could not hear that voice. Something inside her began to crumble, pitching her toward a torrent of tears. “Yes! Of course I am!” she insisted, and attempted to walk past.

Alex put his hand on her arm. “Did … did Marlaine upset you?”

Lauren blushed furiously.
Stay away. Don’t let him see. Don’t let him see.
“I should really return this ball—”

“Lauren, look at me,” he quietly insisted.

She desperately wanted to look at him, but was only a fraction away from sobbing as it was. She swallowed convulsively past the hideous mixture of guilt and yearning burgeoning in her chest.

“
Look
at me.”

She steadfastly refused to meet his gaze. “I thought we agreed,” she murmured desperately.

“Agreed? To what? That we would never speak again?” he asked sharply. “That you would never look me in the eye again? I don’t recall agreeing to anything, least of all
that
!”

Lauren closed her eyes, gathering every ounce of strength she could muster. She would not succumb, she would
not.
“Please, I really must return…”

“Look at me!” he demanded, his fingers curling tightly around her elbow.

Panic rose swiftly, and she jerked away from him, wrenching her elbow free of his grasp as she turned toward
him. “I
can’t
look at you! I can’t bear it!” she cried. “We
agreed
!”

His eyes rounded with astonishment. “You are right,” he said softly. “We did agree. We agreed there is something undeniable and very strong between us.” He took a cautious step toward her. His soft green eyes flicked to the others through the boughs of the arbor, then to her, penetrating her anger. “I do not mean to torture you, angel, but I cannot get you out of my mind.”

Dear God, neither could she, and for that she almost hated him. “Please don’t say that. Don’t
say
that,” she whispered, and clutching the blue ball fiercely, walked out of the arbor.