Julia London (87 page)

“I have completed most of them, mounds and mounds of them. Naturally,
everyone
wants to be in attendance at a duke’s wedding,” she said suddenly, and unconsciously began to wring the gloves in her lap.

“Marlaine—”

“Your mother is such a dear,” she quickly interjected. “She has been an enormous help. So many people have worked very hard for this wedding, you know, so that it is just right. The florist wants to go over the church arrangements one last time, and the caterer, well, he is so
particular,
when he discovered the number of distinguished guests that were expected at the breakfast, he was quite beside himself. He sent to Paris for special recipes, can you imagine? The entire
ton
is expecting a magnificent event. I—I will make sure the invitations are delivered to the post tomorrow. I won’t delay, I promise. They will all be delivered on time, you must trust me,” she said frantically.

Something preternatural had overtaken him; he felt completely detached from himself and Marlaine. He calmly reached for her hand. “
Marlaine—
”

She shook her head violently. “No, Alex,” she whispered.

“We must talk, love.”

“No!” A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and she bowed her head. Alex moved to sit beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
“Oh, God, please no,”
she gasped, and began to sob.

“I am so very sorry,” he said, wincing at how violently the sobs racked her slender frame. “But I cannot—”

“Don’t do this to me, Alex! Don’t make a fool of me!” she sobbed.

“I’m afraid I will make a fool of you if we wed,” he said miserably. Marlaine stifled a scream and slid off the bench, falling to her knees on the floorboards and burying her face against his leg. Grief stricken, Alex bent over her. Darkness enveloped his mind; he felt despicable, the lowest form of humanity.

“Tell me what I have to do, Alex, and I will
do
it! Just tell me what you want, but don’t do this!” she cried hysterically.

Alex closed his eyes tightly and buried his face in her hair. “Oh, Marlaine,” he breathed, “there is nothing you can do. It is beyond my power to change,” he muttered sadly.

With her fist, she hit his leg. “It’s
her
, isn’t it? You are
forsaking me for
her
!” she cried. When Alex did not answer, she hit him again. And again.

By the time the coach reached her father’s home on Mount Street, Marlaine had fallen into stunned silence. He tried to help her down, but she pushed away from him and alighted awkwardly on her own. “I will call first thing in the morning and explain to your parents,” he said softly, hating the sound of his own traitorous voice.

“Don’t bother yourself,” she muttered acidly, and pushing past him, walked unsteadily to the door.

   After a sleepless night, Alex was shown the next morning to the drawing room of the Whitcomb residence by a butler who regarded him as if he had just crawled up from the bottom of the Thames. As he crossed the threshold, Lord Whitcomb fairly vaulted out of his seat, his face white with anger. Marlaine refused to look at him.

“I don’t know what insanity has overcome you, Sutherland, but you had better assure Marlaine that she has misunderstood you!” Whitcomb roared.

“She has not, Edwin,” Alex said in a low voice. “I deeply regret what I must do, but I cannot marry your daughter.” Whitcomb gaped at him in horror.

“What sort of monster
are
you?” Lady Whitcomb gasped.

“By God, you had better explain yourself!” Lord Whitcomb shouted.

A faint queasiness rumbled through Alex’s gut. There was nothing he could say or do, no fabrication he could create that would ever justify or excuse his actions to the Reese family. Not even the diagnosis of complete madness, which he believed was just shy of true. “I have determined we do not suit,” he said simply.

Whitcomb exploded. “Do not
suit
? Goddammit, Sutherland, think of what you are
doing
! You are about to erase
forty years of association between the Christian and Reese family, do you
realize
that?”

“I do.”

Lady Whitcomb sank, dumbfounded, into a chair. “You are
contemptible
! What manner of
gentleman
” she spat, “would abandon the daughter of Earl Whitcomb for a
wanton—
”

“Do not,” Alex said with deadly calm, “cast aspersions on anyone else but me, madam. There is no one to blame for this but me.”

Lady Whitcomb snorted in disbelief and glanced at Marlaine, who had yet to look up. “Make no mistake, your grace. We blame you
completely
,” she said haughtily.

“I should have known,” Lord Whitcomb growled. “I
defended
you when they called you a Radical! Give the man a chance, I said!
God
, to take it all back now! You must be as mad as they say!”

Alex had, of course, anticipated Whitcomb would abandon his support of reforms. “I would hope your vote would not be unduly influenced by this unfortunate incident. The reform movement is valid and vital to this country—”

“I don’t give a
damn
, Sutherland, do you hear me? You can bloody well look for support elsewhere!”

“I will not have Marlaine’s name disgraced before all of society!” Lady Whitcomb interjected, oblivious to the exchange between her husband and Alex. “As far as I am concerned,
she
abandoned
you
! And believe me,
everyone
will know why!”

“Say whatever is necessary, Lady Whitcomb,” he said blandly.

“Oh, rest assured I will say—”

“Mother!” Marlaine succeeded in gaining everyone’s attention. Pale as a ghost, she slowly stood and glared at Alex. “I think enough has been said. I would thank you to leave now, Alex.”

He desperately wanted a word alone with her, the chance to apologize one last time. “Marlaine, could I—”

“No! Please go.”

“I cannot tell you how very sorry I am—” he attempted.

“You heard her. Get out of my house,” Whitcomb growled. Marlaine lifted her chin and stared at him hatefully. There was nothing else that could be said.

Alex turned and walked out of the drawing room.

   The next day, Alex made one final call. Pulling his hat lower to shield the blinding rain from his eyes, he marched to the door of the Russell Square town house. When the diminutive butler opened the door to his pounding, he did not pause to shake the rain from his coat, but strode inside and demanded to see Paul Hill. It had been five full days since he had looked into her dark blue eyes or heard the melodic sound of her voice.

Five full days that he had worried unto death he had lost her forever.

He had done what he had to do: wreaked havoc in London. His announcement that Marlaine had ended their engagement had set the
ton
on its ear. This morning,
The Times
had carried nothing else on the society pages except speculation as to what extraordinary indiscretion had forced an end to the Match of the Decade. There were several theories: that he had lost a sizable fortune in East India; that the reforms he pushed had been more than the Reese family could endure; that his sudden drinking, obviously indicating a larger problem, had forced her hand. He was in no mood to explain himself to anyone, and least of all, to Paul Hill. Davis pointed to the parlor, and Alex marched inside.

It was Ethan Hill who greeted him from a chair pulled in front of the fire, his stocking feet propped in front of the flames.

“Where is Paul?” he demanded of the enormous man. Lord Hill grinned as Paul emerged from the hall, his cane
forcefully striking the floor. “Come calling again, have you?” he asked blandly. Alex angrily yanked off his gloves.

“Not every day a duke with
five hundred thousand
a year comes calling!” Lord Hill noted cheerfully as Alex carelessly tossed his gloves onto a chair. “A brandy! That’s what we all need. Shall you have a brandy, your grace?” the rotund gentleman asked, grinning.

“No. I have come to learn the whereabouts of your niece.”

“Ah, how marvelous! Had your cousin here a month ago,” Lord Hill chortled.

“She has left London with her fiancé,” Paul announced, expressionless.

Alex shunted an impatient glare at Paul. “Where is she?”

Paul cocked his head to one side and considered Alex. “You may not put much store in formal betrothal agreements, your grace, but the Hills do.”

“Aye,
but
,” Lord Hill loudly and hastily interjected, “until the vows have been said, the Hills will consider
all
offers!”

A muscle in Alex’s jaw flinched. “I do not believe a formal agreement prevents her from speaking to me,” he said, trying desperately to keep his tone even.

“Unfortunately,” Paul remarked, “she does not ever want to speak with you again.”

Paul Hill was playing with fire. Alex deliberately turned to his uncle. “It is extremely important I speak with your niece,” he said with icy calm. “And I am in no mood to argue that point.”

Paul actually smiled at his deadly tone. “Neither am I. You may
think
you can come in here and demand to see her, but I think it only fair to warn you that I will kill you before I allow you to harm her any more than you have. I had your word, Sutherland,” he said in a low voice, reminding him of their wager.

“How do you think you will stop me?” he asked incredulously. “I will not let you, or your uncle, or the whole bloody kingdom stand in my way! Tell me where she is!”

“Perhaps you did not hear me. She does not want to speak with you again.
Ever,
” Paul added emphatically.

A rage was building in Alex that he feared he could not contain. “Tell me where he has taken her!” he shouted.

“Haven’t you done enough? I will not allow you to trifle with her any longer! God, don’t you know that she
loves
you?” Paul shouted, his face turning red.

“And what do you think I feel? Why on earth would I come here, demanding to know where she is? Why in God’s name would I do that?” Alex roared. Paul folded his arms across his chest, fiercely resolute.

Alex’s shoulders sagged. “I have,” he said in a ragged voice, “journeyed to the far ends of this earth and seen everything there is to see. I have climbed mountains, forged through jungles, and thirsted in deserts. I have a title that affords me the greatest luxuries, any woman I could ever want, and wealth so great it is obscene. I have experienced it all, or so I thought. Because never—
never
—in all that time have I been so completely and thoroughly
affected
by another human being! Never have I desired to move the sun just to see one
smile
! I have wended my way through the most tumultuous week of my life, have disappointed everyone I love, have neglected my responsibilities, and have thrown all aside for just the
chance
to talk to her! And
you
think to deny me? I swear to God, I shall bring the full force of my name down on your house!” His voice boomed in the small room. “Tell me where in the hell she is!”

“Good
God,
” Lord Hill muttered, for once speechless.

Slowly, a smile crept across Paul’s face. “Bloody hell, you
do
love her,” he muttered. Enraged, exhausted, and emotionally spent, Alex could do little more than roll his eyes in exasperation and sink into a chair directly across from Ethan Hill.

Paul limped to the sideboard and poured three brandies. “What do you intend to do?” he asked casually, handing the brandies around. “She is formally betrothed to Magnus.”

Alex groaned as he accepted the glass. “I do not know,” he answered truthfully.

“If you think to end our agreement with the Bavarian, there will be damages to consider,” Lord Hill interjected. Alex and Paul ignored him.

“You had best devise a plan, my friend. Magnus Bergen is not an easy man to deal with,” Paul warned him bluntly.

“Ha! He pales in comparison to Lauren,” Lord Hill snorted. “Now
there
is a stubborn little wench for you.”

Paul smiled wryly. “She will not see you, you know that. Unless, of course, your head is on a pike.”

“Where is she?” Alex quietly insisted.

Paul exchanged a look with his uncle. “Rosewood. They intend to marry and depart for the continent the first of August.”

“Bloody grand,” Alex muttered, springing to his feet. He stalked to the door, pausing only to retrieve his hat and gloves.

“Sutherland!” Paul called. Alex’s hand stilled on the doorknob as he turned to Paul one last time. “Godspeed.” Alex nodded curtly and walked out the door, slamming it resoundingly on Lord Hill’s cheerful prediction that there would be a duel before it was all said and done.

Mrs. Peterman met him at the door of the Rosewood manor wearing the same disapproving scowl she had worn the first time he had come. Folding her arms tightly across her dirty apron, she eyed him suspiciously.

“Is Miss Hill about?” he asked, dispensing with any greeting.

Mrs. Peterman did not answer right away, taking in his clothes, his boots, and even his mount tethered nearby. “Is she expecting you?”

“I rather doubt it,” he responded dryly.

“Never know who is going to call anymore,” she grumbled. “Bout fell out of my chair, I did, when that giant brought her home. Said he was going to marry her. Poor Mr. Goldthwaite, he—”

“Mrs. Peterman, is she here?” he interrupted.

She frowned. “No, she ain’t.” Alex’s heart lurched against his chest—he had come too late. “Mr. Goldthwaite took her and the children to Blessing Park,” she said curtly.

“If you don’t mind, I’ve enough to do to get the children fed today,” she said, and closed the door.

Alex pivoted on his heel and marched to his horse.

   At Blessing Park, Jones showed him to the gold drawing room, where he anxiously paced until Michael came bursting into the drawing room, a broad grin on his face.

“No doubt you’ve come to scold me for leaving London unexpectedly,” he said, chuckling. “That, or someone has died,” he added cheerfully, striding across the room to greet his friend. As he neared, his grin faded. “God forgive me,” he exclaimed. “
Has
someone died?”