Julia London (79 page)

“Chased things?” she echoed.

“Pursuits of a cerebral nature,” he said, smiling, “the search for adventure.”

“Ah, so ‘
thy chase had a beast in view.
’ ” She laughed lightly at the Dryden poem, an appealing blush rising in her cheeks. “I should not tell you so, but the first time we met, I thought you looked like a man who had climbed mountains.”

Whether it was the treasure of a glimpse into her thoughts of him, or the fact that he had indeed scaled mountains, he did not know, but he was inwardly startled. “I have climbed a few,” he said simply.

She grinned with delight. “You
have
?”

The impact of that gorgeous smile hit him squarely in the chest—how he had longed to see it! He chuckled warmly.

“I beg your pardon, Countess, but do you think a duke is incapable of climbing mountains?”

She flashed a charming smile and leaned forward, unwittingly affording him a tantalizing view of her cleavage. “I rather suppose I thought a
duke
might send a footman ahead to do his climbing.”

“Not all dukes rely on their footman for such things,” he said in a lightly admonishing tone. “Some of us relish the experience of all things physical in nature.” Blushing prettily, she tossed him an impertinent grin. “And what did you do before you married your count?” he asked as his fingers stroked her palm.

“I don’t know.” With an unaffected shrug of her shoulders, she smiled. “I suppose I tended things. Paul, the children, the animals. My uncle, when he found time to visit Rosewood.”

“Your guardian uncle? I had opportunity to meet him recently. Did he not live at Rosewood with you?”

“He preferred the continent.” She smiled again. “I must check the rules of foolish wagers, your grace. I should think a discourse on my uncle was not included with one night at the opera.”

He briefly wondered what it would take to learn every last thing about her, but nodded congenially. “Perhaps not. But I do think the wager entitles you to call me by my given name.”

Lauren smiled shyly. “For just one night, Alex,” she murmured, and turned eagerly toward the stage as the orchestra picked up again.

   Across the house, Mrs. Clark snapped open her fan with a practiced flick of her wrist and leaned toward Aunt Paddy. “I told you so,” she muttered behind the fan’s cover.

Aunt Paddy surreptitiously slid her gaze to the ornate ducal box as she pretended to study a cuticle. Countess Bergen looked particularly lovely this evening; but then again,
she always looked as if she had arisen from spring’s gardens. “You have an overactive imagination,” she sighed wearily.

“Admit it, Clara. Just look at the way he speaks with her! I daresay that smile on his lips has not wavered since he set foot in the box! Nor has he stopped looking at her. I am telling you, Sutherland has a particular attachment for the countess.”

“He has nothing of the sort! He is quite in love with Lady Marlaine, and is merely biding his time until the poor creature returns from Tarriton!”

“You simply cannot abide it when I am right,” Mrs. Clark sniffed. “Look there, he is holding her hand!” she whispered frantically. Both women gasped audibly when the duke lifted the countess’s hand to his lips. “Now
that
is not friendly interest, if you ask me,” Mrs. Clark murmured.

“I did not ask you that I recall! Really, why must you read so much into an innocent situation?” Paddy asked, a little desperately.

Mrs. Clark rolled her eyes and waved her fan for some air. “I know you are inordinately fond of the duke, Clara, but he and Countess Bergen have more than a passing interest in one another. Your nephew Westfall certainly believes so—you recall what he said about the park? And why do you suppose the duke sat you here this evening? He hasn’t come for you as he said he would, and it is not out of regard for
my
feelings, I can assure you! If you don’t believe me, just look at Count Bergen! I would wager
he
does not think it a friendly interest, either!”

Both women slyly shifted their gaze to the box next to them, where Count Bergen sat stiffly in the company of Lord and Lady Harris. He stared at Countess Bergen, had stared at her since he had seated himself during the first act. “That poor, poor man. He simply adores her,” Mrs. Clark said sadly.

“And she adores him, Mrs. Clark. Everyone knows she
will soon accept his offer and return to her beloved Bavaria,” Paddy proclaimed.

“My dear”—Mrs. Clark sighed, as if speaking to an ignorant child—“even
Count Bergen
knows she does not
adore
him. She is tolerant of him, to be sure, and I would even go so far as to say she is somewhat fond of him, but she
adores
your nephew.”

Aunt Paddy frowned mightily at her companion. “As I live and breathe, Elizabeth, you know
nothing.
Goodness, he is to be married in three weeks! The dear boy is not a fool—he knows a good circumstance when he sees one, and he would do nothing to jeopardize that! He is very kindly escorting Countess Bergen to an opera, nothing more!”

“Honestly, Clara, you of all people should know that men do not confine themselves to good circumstance! Lord Paddington hardly confined himself to your tidy little fortune, now did he? The duke is a man, my dear, a man who is quite simply captivated by a beauty!” Simultaneously, the women slid their gaze back to the duke’s box. “Dear
Lord
” Mrs. Clark exclaimed, “they are terribly admiring of one another, aren’t they?”

Lauren was smiling into the duke’s eyes, and he—well, even Paddy could not ignore the fact that he could not take his eyes from her. “I tell you, he adores Lady Marlaine!” she insisted weakly, and huffed with exasperation when her good friend lifted an imperious brow.

When the curtain finally fell to thunderous applause, Alex smiled as Lauren leapt out of her seat in enthusiastic praise of the performance. When the last bows were made and patrons began to file out of the house, she turned to him, her face flushed with excitement. “It was
marvelous,
” she said, beaming.

Extraordinary as it was, he would do just about anything to put such joy in her face. “I am glad you enjoyed it.” He suggested they have another glass of champagne as they waited for the crush to clear the house. While he poured, she laughingly compared this performance to the plays she had seen at Bergenschloss.

“Frau Batenhorst had the good fortune to see a play in Munich as a young girl, and she was thereafter convinced that every actress worth her stage bows should wear ostrich feathers. It did not matter what role she was assigned, she wore her feathers. I do not believe I shall ever forget the sight of her playing a poor farmer’s wife with that plume of ostrich feathers sticking out every which way!”

Alex laughed, infected by her enchanting laughter. It was, he recognized, one of the most charmed evenings he had ever spent.

“Grafin Bergen!”

Until now.

Annoyed, Alex glanced over his shoulder at the German Giant and frowned mightily at the intrusion. But his blood began to boil when Lauren smiled broadly at the foreigner. “Magnus!” she gasped. “What a surprise!”

It rankled Alex that she would so easily call that monstrosity by
his
given name.

“Pardon the intrusion, but I saw you from over there,” he said, motioning vaguely across the hall.

“Oh,” Lauren murmured, her face coloring curiously. Bergen shifted cold blue eyes to Alex and studied him openly before remarking to Lauren, in German, that he did not know she was a particular friend of the duke. Lauren hesitated, then laughed politely. She responded in German that she was a particular friend of his aunt, Lady Paddington, who was visiting another box. A knowing smirk creased the count’s face as he countered that Lady Paddington apparently was not aware of their friendship, as she had remained in a separate box throughout the entire performance, and had just left with her companions.

Alex would have liked to stuff the count’s smirk into the back of his throat. “Count Bergen apparently does not understand that in England, a widow does not require a constant chaperone. But then again, Germans are hardly noted for their keen mental insight,” he said coolly, taking great satisfaction in the surprise that flitted across the beast’s face upon realizing he had understood their exchange. Lauren frowned at Alex, which did not make him feel contrite at all.

It made him angry.

The count’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Perhaps not. But Germans are known for—
Rittertum
—” He paused, looking hesitantly to Lauren for the right word.

“Chivalry,” she muttered, her face growing pale.

“Chivalry. We do not allow our women to be placed in questionable circumstances,” Bergen finished.

“Indeed? I suppose you prefer to keep them in your sight at all times, to the point of stalking their every move?” Alex quipped coldly.

Beside him, Lauren’s frown deepened. “You exaggerate, your grace! Bavarians are kindly reverent of their womenfolk,” she said, the lightness of her voice belying the murderous look in her eyes.

An irrational anger boiled in Alex’s veins. It was impossible to accept that she might harbor some affection for
this
man while he practically had to beg her to smile. “I beg your pardon, Countess. I did not realize that in Bavaria it was considered
kind
or
reverent
to take an inheritance from a young widow and send her away. Perhaps in Bavaria, that sort of behavior is the
height
of chivalry,” he countered nastily.

Lauren fairly vaulted from her seat, and sensing an impending explosion, Alex came just as quickly out of his. He recklessly grabbed her hand, slipping it into the crook of his arm and clamping tightly so she could not escape him if she so desired.

“Don’t be a fool, Sutherland,” the count said, his hands fisted at his side. “I will not tolerate your insults.”

“Magnus!” Lauren exclaimed softly. “Don’t take offense. Please, I promised Paul to come safely home. He would be angry to hear of a public dispute.”

Bergen did not seem to hear her, but glared hatefully at Alex. “Magnus,
please
,” she said again.

The muscles of his jaw worked frenetically as he considered her. With some effort, he finally spoke. “I will speak with you another time,” he said simply, and with a withering look for Alex, turned and walked out of the box.

“Good evening!” she called after him, then turned such a burning look to Alex that he actually winced. She impatiently
yanked her hand free of his arm. “You are
despicable
!”

“Pray tell, what is my crime? That I take exception to the fact he would have tossed you out? Or that he stalks you like prey? Does that so sorely offend you, madam?”

“
Yes!
It does!” she cried angrily. “It is none of your affair, none at all! How dare you challenge him so openly! And to what end? To publicly
belittle
him?” She shoved past the furniture in an effort to be gone from the box, but Alex caught her and forced her to a graceful walk.

He felt a little contrite, but not nearly enough to douse his soaring frustration. “I beg your pardon, but this night is mine, fairly won. It did not include your constant shadow!”

“You did not have to humiliate him!”

“I rather doubt the man is capable of being humiliated,” Alex responded evenly.

“And
you
, apparently, are not capable of being civil,” she snapped angrily. “What arrogance!”

Alex groaned. “You act as if I have snubbed your lover. Is that what he is? Is that why you allow him to follow you everywhere?” he demanded impatiently, forcing a smile for an acquaintance.

“My
what
?” she gasped behind a frozen smile as they marched, side by side, toward the grand staircase. “Do not even
presume
to answer that! You know nothing about me, nothing at all! You are overbearing, presumptuous, and meddlesome!”

“Your grace, what a pleasure to see you! I hope you are well.”

Alex smiled grimly. “Good evening, Lady Fairlane. Indeed, I am quite well.”

“Good evening, Lady Fairlane,” Lauren said.

“Countess Bergen,” the woman responded, a little coolly, Alex thought. They began their rapid descent of the staircase, and with a perfectly placid expression, he muttered, “You were not quite through, were you?”

“Hardly!” she choked on a half-laugh, half-sob. “I thought you many things, but
cruel
was never one of them!” She smiled at an elderly couple approaching them.

“Now you must be quite finished. And let me respond with equally heartfelt emotion, madam…” He paused as the couple reached them.

“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett,” Lauren said. Odd, but Alex noticed the woman responded with an unmistakable upward tip of her chin to Lauren’s greeting.

“Sutherland, caught your speech in the Lords! Very inspired!” the gray-haired gentleman gushed, squinting at Lauren.

“Thank you,” Alex said cordially, curious as to Bartlett’s overt perusal of Lauren.

“Good evening, Countess Bergen,” the old man said.

“Good evening,” she replied.

Alex gripped her elbow tightly and pushed her forward. “As I was saying, I may be the most despicable creature you have ever had the misfortune to lay eyes upon, but
you
are the most stubborn,
sanctimonious
little…” He stopped as another gentleman approached.

“Sutherland, hoping to catch you at White’s this week. I’ve got a parliamentary bargain for you, old chum, a potential meeting of the minds so to speak.”

Lauren snorted at that, and Alex squeezed her elbow in warning. “Shall we say Thursday afternoon, Lord Helmsley?”

“That would be fine. Good evening, your grace.” He smiled and bowed low, his gaze sliding surreptitiously to Lauren.

Alex pushed her, none too gently, toward an approaching footman. “The red cloak, please.” He jerked around and stared down at her. “Sanctimonious little
coquette.
How many men do you string along, Lauren? How many hearts will you have served on a platter when it is—”