Lions and Lace (33 page)

Trevor scowled and said to Mara, "You needn't waste your time thinking about that lad. Caroline Astor will keep him so busy he won't have time to be calling on you."

"Oh, you're right." Mara's exuberance wilted like an overblown rose.

"Nonsense!"
Alana reached over and squeezed Mara's hand. "He'll be in the park Thursday, love, I'll bet on it. And I'll make it clear he's more than welcome to call on you."

"You will?" Mara exclaimed, the joy back in her face.

Of course I will. After all"—she gave Trevor a meaningful look as he sat stiffly in the shadows—"that's what I'm here for."

"I wish to speak to you, wife, when we arrive home," Trevor said through clenched teeth.

"Certainly, husband dear," Alana answered, having too much fun to be ruffled by his menacing tone.

When they arrived at the mansion, Trevor said good night to Mara,
then
proceeded to the library. Alana loved the room. She should have hated it because that was where she had made her bargain with this Irish devil so many weeks ago, but it was her favorite room in the mansion. It was like Trevor's bedroom. There wasn't a curved line to be found. This modern style was promoted by a man named Charles Lock
Easdake
, and she decided if she and Christal ever had a home of their own, it would be decorated according to his
Hints on Household Taste.

"You're encouraging this courtship just to taunt me, and I don't like it." Trevor crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her.

She breezed by a horsehair sofa and wandered to the built-in bookcases where she perused the titles. "We can't stand in the way of true love, Trevor."

"This is your exit, isn't it? You're going to get Mara into this boy-duke's clutches, and when she's married, you think you'll be able to wave good-bye, job done. But I won't let you off that easily."

She giggled. "Good heavens, Trevor, you're jumping the gun. Granville likes Mara, and I see no reason to discourage him. He seems like a fine young man who, surprisingly, lacks the prejudice that has kept a lot of Knickerbockers away. I'd think you'd be ecstatic such an illustrious young fellow has taken to our Mara."

Angered, Trevor turned away. He bit out, "Fine. Let Granville see Mara. I can deal with him should the need arise. But don't think your annulment is looming on the horizon. The man who marries my sister will have to prove his love five times to please me. Not an easy task."

Alana had had a retort on the tip of her tongue until Trevor said the word
annulment.
It wasn't going to be very long before they would get one. Mara had not yet found her mate, but it was only a matter of time. She'd proven as easy to bring out as Alana had suspected she'd be. It wouldn't be more than a couple of months at most before someone would offer for her hand.

A couple of months.
Alana stared at her husband. She thought of his mistress, Daisy, and wanted to hate him. But the vile truth was she didn't hate him. Her feelings were very much to the contrary, and that was why he'd been able to hurt her so. She looked to the future, a future without the handsome angry man who stood before her. So much of it was built on dreams—dreams of white houses, freeing Christal, and shadow men who were going to one day save her—dreams as sturdy as cobwebs.

Suddenly everything she wanted to deny overwhelmed her. Her dream ran through her mind's eye with astonishing clarity—to the moment her shadow man turned around and she could finally see his face. Then, like a daguerreotype, the picture of his face froze in her mind, and all she saw was Trevor as he was now, turning to face her, his features burned into the shadows of her memory until she knew she would never forget them.

"You're not going to be off the hook that easily," he went on smugly. "Mark my
words,
you'll have to work a lot harder than you have been to find a man good enough for Mara."

He implied that their marriage was destined to be longer than expected, but she could only wish that that was going to be true. From what she had seen of Granville, she wouldn't be surprised to find Mara married within months, even weeks.

He asked her something, but she didn't hear him. All she could think about was how pitifully lonely she was going to be when their annulment came. She felt like Cinderella after the ball. Now that she had found her prince, her shadow man, he happened to be the one man she would never have.

"What, no witty set-down? No defiant retort?"

She stared at him. There was so much not to like about him. She even hated this mansion that he lived in. It was too big, too vulgar, too overdone. But when she thought of finally getting her white clapboard house along the beach and living there alone for the rest of her days, she knew how unhappy she would be. She'd pine for this harsh, angry man the rest of her days. The thought of never seeing him again, never taunting him, never sitting quietly in the drawing room holding hands and listening to Mara play the harp, made her want to throw herself to the sofa and keen as loudly as the Irish.

"I've never seen you so quiet. Has the cat got your tongue?"

"I—I'm not feeling well. I want to go to my room." She put her hand to her burning cheeks and backed away. She left the library without another word while Trevor stared after her as if she were mad.

It was almost two o'clock in the morning when Alana heard the banging at her door. Red-eyed and wide awake, she wiped her tear-stained cheeks, checked that the buttons on the neck of her peignoir were properly fastened,
then
went to the door.

Secretly she nursed the hope that Trevor had come. In the small hours of the morning she'd spent pacing her room, she'd reconciled herself to the fact that she had somehow fallen in love with him. What she found difficult to accept was the hopelessness of the situation. And it was hopeless. She could never imagine that cold Irishman loving her, not when she represented everything he despised.

With that thought giving her a grim resolve, she threw open her door and found Eagan smiling
besottedly
down at her.

"What are you doing here at this hour?" she whispered, her eyes reprimanding.

"I jus' got back from the
Hoff'n
House." He walked passed her into her room.

Her eyes widened, and she scurried in front of him. "You can't come in here!" she said in a loud whisper. "Don't you have any manners? This is a lady's bedroom!"

"Not to worry, Alana.
I been
in a lady's
bedrum
afore. I jus' came from one,
ackshally
."

"I can tell," she answered, waving her hand to clear the air of the violet water that reeked from Eagan's clothing.

He sat down on her fringed and tufted chaise longue, looking ridiculously masculine slouched against all that pink satin. It wasn't nearly big enough to accommodate his healthy frame, and every time he adjusted his seat, she was sure he was going to slide drunkenly down to the floor.

"Oh, Eagan, you're hopeless." She went to him. "What are you doing here?"

"I never had a mother, Alana
. '
Least not as I can remember much. I want to talk to you like you're my
mam
. Can I do that?"

Taken aback, she nodded lamely.

He gave her a wicked smile,
then
winked.
" 'Course
, I feel things when I'm with you that I pray on me grave I'd never feel for me own
mam
."

Alana blushed and put a nervous hand to her neckline, wondering if her gown was too sheer.

But before she could do anything about it, Eagan dropped his head in his hands and sighed. "Alana, I'm
tireda
havin
' all this fun. It's
killin
' me. For once I want to stand on me own two feet without Trevor behind me
pullin
' the strings."

The honest ache in his tone touched her heart. She knelt before him and put a hand on his head. "He doesn't pull the strings, Eagan. You just think he does. Trevor admires you. He's always talking about how smart you are."

"He's the one
t'admire
. He's his own man."

"You're your own man too. You just need to sober up a bit. I take it, it didn't go well at the Hoffman House with your latest—uh . . ." She didn't quite know what to call that woman she'd seen him with at the Academy. When she thought of Trevor's word, she almost giggled.

He looked up and clasped her arms. In utter earnestness he said, "For once, I want to bed a woman I love. I want to know if it's any different.
If it's special."

She tried to pull away. Struck by a fit of nervousness, she said, "Oh, Eagan, why are you telling me this?"

" 'Cause
I want to bed you. I want to see if I might love you. I think I might."

Shocked to her core, she sputtered, "This—this isn't what you want, Eagan. You don't love me. You just want to lash out at Trevor."

He stared at her, bleary-eyed. Taking her logic a step at a time, he finally cracked a smile. "But I do find you beautiful.
Don't that
count?"

"No," she said sternly.

"And Trevor ignores you
somethin
' terrible, don't deny it."

That truth lacerated her. She didn't comment.

"Come along, Alana, what'll he care if you kiss me?" Eagan pulled her to him until she was half sitting, half struggling on his lap.

"Eagan, stop this!" she said, unable to stifle her nervous giggle when he tried to put his lips to hers but in his besotted state kissed her chin.

"Aw c'mon,
luv
, many a
woman'd
like to kiss me. . . ."

"And has!" she answered, laughing and struggling in the same breath.
"Oh, you bad man.
For shame!"
The words were barely out before Eagan lunged for her. That made him lose his precarious balance on the tiny chaise longue, and they both landed on the floor in an undignified heap.

Alana became nearly hysterical with laughter, perhaps because she was trying so hard to dispel her gloom over Trevor. Eagan, being the man he was, simply took advantage of her good spirits. He gripped her waist and pulled her down onto him.

He had just made an attempt to kiss her again when a voice shattered the moment, freezing both of them where they lay. "I ought to whip you like a cur, Eagan."

Terrified, Alana looked behind her and found Trevor standing in the doorway that separated their suite, his expression was hard and angry. He stared at her, and guilt seeped into her like water to a sponge. She scrambled off the floor, doing her best to pull herself together. In her peignoir, it was difficult.

"This isn't what it looks like, Trevor," Eagan said, staggering to his feet.

Trevor didn't say a word. His stare burned into his brother until Eagan visibly flinched.

"You're mistaking this for something it's not," Eagan went on. "Now I grant you, I shouldn't be here at this late hour, but it's not—"

"Get out."

It stunned Alana that Trevor could make two words seem like two hundred.

At a loss, Eagan said, "Trevor, I know what you're thinking, and you're wrong. I'd never cuckold—"

"Get out."

"Let me explain!"

"And what will you say?" Trevor snapped, glancing at his brother, then his wife, who clutched the neck of her peignoir like a terrified bride on her wedding night. "Will you say you don't find my wife attractive? Will you say you think of her as a sister? Well, I'd never see you carry on with Mara like that."

Eagan glanced at Alana, his expression absolutely sober. He said to Trevor, "It was just me playing. I meant no harm."

"You ought to be gelded for such play."

Losing control of his temper, Eagan snapped, "Your wife might not be such a temptation if you kept her busy yourself."

Trevor moved forward, and Alana gasped. She thought they might get into a fistfight, but her husband stopped, his jaw clenched in one angry tight line. "Leave us," he growled, his temper barely leashed.

But Eagan would not leave without a final word. Angrily he said, "Admit it. It really bothers you to see Alana laughing with me, doesn't it? I don't think you even mind me touching her, but you can't stand the thought that she might be having a good time—a good time that doesn't include you."