The Season (19 page)

Rushing though the dark garden that connected Worthington and Blackmoor houses, Alex did not take any time to think about what she would do if she were to interrupt a dreadful event. Instead, she thought only of Gavin: his grey eyes the color of the winter sea; his bold smiles that heated her very core; his generous spirit. Thinking of him focused her mind on one thing ... she had to reach him before anyone else.

As she broke through the trees and found herself in the Blackmoor House garden, she
pulled
up short and inspected the house. She could see dimly lit windows on the upper floor, reserved for servants, but the rest of the home was dark, appearing uninhabited and forbidding.

She was just deciding how to enter the house when she sensed movement nearby.
falling
back to press herself against a tree and blend in with the shadows, she watched as a
small
, dark figure crept across the back garden toward the window she knew led to the Earl of Blackmoor's study. She focused intently on the figure, attempting to identify him. Try as she might, she couldn't make out his face, although his physique seemed vaguely familiar.

She watched in surprise as he worked the latch on the window, quickly unlocking it from the outside and lifting the sash, pushing it open.

It was clear that he was breaking into the house. It was also clear that she had to do something to stop him.

She gathered her courage, prepared to rush at him and stop his actions, when a light beamed brightly from inside the study, surprising her and sending the intruder scurrying off like a rat
—
around the corner of the house and across the garden. As she watched him hurry off, she felt a jolt of recognition. She was certain that he was the Baron Montgrave.

"My God!
Ella
was right!" she whispered to the night air. She'd made light of her friend's overactive imagination and, this time, she should have listened!

Once the baron was out of sight, she
followed
his steps to the study window, which was
still
cracked open. Stepping into the soft earth beneath the window, she peered into the room to see Blackmoor at his desk, staring into nothingness, clearly lost in his own thoughts. She released an enormous sigh, grateful that he was unharmed
—
desperate to touch him and confirm his safety.

Reaching up, she rapped on the window pane sharply, startling Blackmoor from his thoughts. He stood up quickly, squinting at the window. Alex realized that he was unable to see her for the reflection of the light in the glass, so she
called
out softly, "It's me!"

His eyes widened in surprised recognition as he moved quickly toward her, saying, "I'm certain I must be dreaming. There's no way you'd risk your reputation quite so baldly."

He threw open the window and leaned down on the
sill
, peering out into the night, meeting her nose to nose and continuing drily, "Tel me I'm dreaming, Alexandra."

"I regret I cannot do that, my lord. It is indeed I standing in your flower bed ... quite clandestinely." Placing her han
ds next to his on the windowsill
, she continued, "I need to speak with you. Help me in?"

He considered leaving her in the garden and then thought better of it. Reaching down, he grasped her arms and hauled her through the opening and into the study, waiting for her to steady herself before turning and closing the window. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off as he turned around. "You risked your reputation to
follow
me back here and, quite frankly, you had better have a decent reason to be skulking around my gardens instead of dancing the night away at your parents' house."

"I do. I've several reasons, actual
l
y, including the fact that it seems I'm not the only person skulking about your gardens this evening."

His eyes widened in surprise at her words. "I beg your pardon?"

She stole a glance at the clock on the fireplace mantel. "I cannot stay long, and neither can you. We have to return to Worthington House."

"Why? Haven't we been to enough
balls
this season?" he quipped.

"It's not the
ball
. It's that you cannot stay here by yourself. Someone is planning to
kill
you. I just watched an aborted attempt to enter the house through this very window. I think it was Baron Montgrave.

"He's gone now, and I can't be sure. You scared him off with the light." She pushed on, urgently. "I know that wasn't the most tactful way to
tell
you, but we don't have much time. You see ... only moments ago at the
ball
, I overheard a private conversation between two men who sounded very much involved in what could only have been espionage. They made it quite clear that you have access to some very dangerous information or, rather, that your father was privy to some information that he should not have been privy to and, more importantly, that they were
willing
to
kill
to be sure that, first, you don't have the opportunity to share this knowledge you may or may not have with anyone else, and, second, you do not have the opportunity to learn this information to begin with." She grasped his hand and
pull
ed. "We have to leave here. Now."

He did not move. "We're not going anywhere until you've explained slightly more than you already have."

She sighed impatiently. "I don't have time to explain anymore! Someone could climb through that window at any moment and surprise us!"

"It does seem a popular entryway," he observed.

"How can you jest at a time like this?" she said. "Did you not understand me? Someone is plotting to do away with you!"

"Alex. Try to stay calm."

"Stay calm?" she burst out, frustrated. "You weren't there! You didn't hear them speaking as though
killing
you would fit in between breakfast and morning visitors!"

"You're not hearing what I'm trying to say, Alex," he said calmly. "I know.
all
of it. I know that my father had information damning enough to
kill
for. I know it related, in some way, to the war. I know that information is believed to be hidden somewhere in Blackmoor House. I know that whoever
killed
my father is out for me. I know, and so does most of the War Office. We're
all
waiting for the knave to make his next move, which we expect
will
be some time soon.

Could have been just now, if what you say about an intruder running off is true. I assure you, we're
all
prepared for it."

"What?
You know of it? But how? Why didn't anyone
tell
me?"

"I've suspected it to be the case for months
—
you know I never
really
believed that my father's death was an accident. The only other people who agreed with me were your father and Lord Langford, but none of us could prove anything, or so I thought. Once Blackmoor House was robbed and nothing of importance taken, I knew it must have been related to my father. Your father, Lord Langford, and I have been trying to root out the thief ever since."

"But you could be
kill
ed!"

He shook his head firmly. "While that is certainly a possibility, between my very frequent, very
public
appearances and the
skilled
Bow Street Runners who are patrol ing the house, I don't think that's going to come to pass."

"Need I remind you that Baron Montgrave was skulking around the house just moments ago? Where was Bow Street then?"

"I thought you couldn't be sure it was Montgrave?" he asked, evading her question.

"I can't be. But I feel that it's better we are safe than sorry in this particular situation. I shan't be inviting the baron to tea any time soon."

"Alex. First, if indeed it was the baron, I assure you I could have easily held my own." He ignored her
rolling
eyes. "Second, there is no
we
in this situation. Part of the reason you were not apprised of this situation is because we
all
preferred you
not
know, as we understand you and
Ella
and Vivi more than you think. We knew that once you got wind of this, you would find it difficult to stay out of it. That said, I want you to remain out of it.
Thoroughly
out of it. This is no game."

"I
know
this is no game, Gavin. I'm not a child. And I cannot simply stay out of it. It's too late for that."

"No, it's not. I want you to pretend you didn't hear what you heard this evening. If ever there was a time for you to be a delicate flower, now is it. Is that understood?" He didn't wait for her answer. "Good. As it is, I should turn you over my knee for traipsing about in the darkness, but I
shall
refrain, because I cannot deny the fact that I'm rather happy you're here."

She opened her mouth to argue and he stopped her with a raised hand. "You see, I have rather a lot to say. I'm sorry that I hurt you earlier. I never meant for you to believe that I think kissing you was a mistake. In fact, if you asked me what I've wanted more than anything in the last week, what I want more than anything right now, I would answer, without question, not that I want to find the burglar who ransacked my home
—
not that I want to know the truth about my father's death
—
but that I want you."

She felt his gaze hot on her face as he continued, "I didn't use the term 'mistake' because of you. Never because of you. I used it because your brothers are the closest things I have to brothers, your father"
—
he paused, then pressed on
—
"the closest thing I have to a father now. They
all
trust me with you.

They believe that you are safe with me. My behavior toward you is a betrayal of that trust. And a betrayal of your trust as
well
."

Distracted by his impassioned words, she asked, "Why a betrayal of
my
trust? I do trust you.
still
. I trust you to be the same Gavin you've always been."

"That's the problem. The feelings that I have for you now are nothing like the ones I've always had. I'm not the same Gavin. I used to think of you as my friend. Now I think of you as something ... more."

She wanted desperately to ask him to elaborate on his statement, but first, she had to know whether it was her
specifically
or rather the idea of her which was driving him
to make such a confession. She blurted, "Are you planning to offer for Penelope Grayson's hand?"

The words were out of her mouth before she knew what she was saying. She dipped her chin, a blush spreading across her cheeks. She had no idea why she had asked such an inappropriate question. More than that, she had a sudden intense dread of his answer.

If she had been looking at his face, she would have seen the look of shock that passed over it and known his answer before he spoke it. "No. Alex. No, I have never intended to propose to Penelope. She's very beautiful, but..." He paused. "She's not you."

Her eyes flew to meet his as she realized just how monumental this moment
—
that statement
—
was.

"I confess, earlier in the season, I had plans to court Penelope. She seemed the ideal ... candidate."

"Charming sentiment," Alex said, adding, "It's incredible that men think of finding a wife in the same vein as electing a politician."

Ignoring her pontification, he continued,
"However...
that's
all
changed now. I can't imagine being with Penelope. Because I seem only to be able to imagine being with you."

Attempting to ignore the lurch in her stomach that occurred in response to those words, she asked, "What does that mean?"

"It means that you've become the standard to which I hold
all
the other women in my life. Are they as humorous as you, as easy to speak with, as charming, as witty, as ..." He stopped.

"Go on," she prodded.

He smiled at her shameless ploy for more compliments. "As wonderful as you. As clever. As beautiful."

She blushed shyly. "I'm not beautiful."

"Yes, love, you are." He stepped closer to her,
pulling
her close and tracing the curve of her cheek. "So beautiful that I rather wonder how I could have missed it before this season."

And, with that, he kissed her. She lost
all
her strength as his lips played over hers, but he held her in his strong arms without any difficulty. She lifted her hands to run them through his soft hair before wrapping her arms around his neck and giving in to the sheer pleasure of the moment.