Edith Layton (24 page)

“No,” Leigh said, “Estate matters. But a wedding in six weeks?”

“Eight when we decided. By the time the arrangements were settled enough to issue invitations it was six. Believe me, I keep count. Leigh, I’m as astonished as you are.”

His friend leaned back against the porcelain fittings in Alasdair’s sumptuous bathing room. “I’m delighted. So I assume there’ll soon be another St. Erth arriving on this poor old planet to pester the virtuous and otherwise complicate people’s lives?”

Alasdair surged up from the porcelain bath he’d been sitting in. He stood, soapy water sluicing down his body, slopping over the rim of the bath to the mosaic floor tiles. His eyes narrowed, he clutched his sponge till it flowed like a spigot. He was a powerful man and every muscle in his body was corded with tension, most of them on view. He looked dangerous, but his friend only stood and watched him with an expression of inquiry.

“No,” Alasdair said through teeth clenched so hard on the cigarillo that they met in the middle. “There is not. By God!” he muttered, obviously checking whatever he was going to say next. He cast the cigarillo into the bathwater and, picking up a bucket of water, poured it over his head to rinse the soap away. “You too?” he asked angrily as he stomped out of the tub and snatched up a towel.

“You could simply say no,” Leigh said mildly. “Now your man is going to have to spend the night mopping. There’s no sense building yourself such a
lavish modern bath if you’re going to treat it like a woodland stream. So, it is no? I don’t mean to be insulting, but given how lovely she is and how powerfully you react to her, plus how soon you’re getting married, I am surprised.”

Alasdair ran a hand over his sopping hair. He gave Leigh a level look. “There is no way on earth she could produce another St. Erth right now, trust me on that. I know the proprieties and that she values them, and have
some
semblance of dignity and a scrap of discretion left to me. As well as control. The problem is that it’s eroding.” He tossed the towel over his hair and rubbed at it. When his head emerged again, his lips were lifted in a curious smile. “Leigh, the thing is, I can’t keep my hands off her.
Me!
Isn’t that absurd?”

Leigh smiled. “No, that’s very good.”

“But even at teatime!
Tea time
, in the Swanson parlor! Her aunt walked in along with Sibyl and one of those fierce older sisters. They were shocked. By God,
I
was shocked. We were entangled, but vertical, you can put your eyebrows down now. But that’s not like me. I seem to have no control when it comes to Kate, and so I reason we’re better off marrying now. Leigh, she’s wonderful. I’m lucky beyond my deserts. I’m glad my body made up my mind for me. I don’t believe I deserve her, but I can’t and won’t disgrace her or give her any more cause for concern. Given my past, and the way gossip flies, she’ll have enough on her plate just by marrying me. There’s nothing for it but wedlock, as soon as may be.”

Leigh picked up a shaving brush and admired its silver handle. “Will it be lucky for her, too?” he asked softly.

“I intend to make it so.”

“And so you’re giving up your vengeful plans for her cousins?” Leigh asked too mildly.

Alasdair swung around and padded out to the door to his dressing room and waiting valet. “No of course not,” he said over his shoulder. “The best is yet to come. But don’t worry, and don’t nag at me. It’s almost done. You can wait here, or in the library,” he added before Leigh could ask any questions. “I’ll only be a moment, then we can be off to dinner. Then, it’s the theater, isn’t it?” He stopped and turned. “Come to think of it, this may be your final performance at the theater, at least on my behalf. I thank you for all your help, but my mission’s accomplished. You don’t have to shepherd the littlest Swanson anymore.”

“Yes, maybe so,” Leigh said. “But if I suddenly cut the child off, it would hurt her feelings, I think. I’ll keep accompanying you, if I may, and with Sibyl in tow, at least for a while longer. Given the circumstances, even if she doesn’t need me, you may. You need someone who feels free to stop you when you verge on something ill-advised. Kate’s obviously too besotted by your famous charm. On the other hand, I am not. If I’d been with you at that fateful tea, you might not be sending out invitations so hurriedly now. For example, I knew you weren’t going to hit me when you emerged from the tub. The time to worry about you is when you least think you have to. I’ll wait downstairs,” he added, as Alasdair laughed.

Alasdair dressed in silence, only replying to his valet in monosyllables, his thoughts far from cravats and waistcoats. Lately he found himself enjoying thoughts of where Kate would be and what they’d soon be doing when were married, especially as he engaged in the most intimate, commonplace activities. He was
dressing to go out for the evening. If they were already wed, would she be perched on his bed, casting a critical eye on his toilette? Or would she hint his valet from the room and help him undress instead?

He blinked. Would she want her own bedchamber? He’d have to remember to ask her that, and pretend to be pleased if she did. No, he wanted her with him when he woke in the morning and went to sleep at night. He’d better state his preference, because she was still shy of him. By God, he couldn’t wait to see what he could do to end that. He smiled, thinking of all the ways he could.

“Will there be anything else, sir?” his valet asked, because he was done ministering to his master, yet Sir Alasdair stood, not moving from the spot. The valet’s keen eye could see nothing amiss. His master’s hair was brushed and shining, his jacket fit his broad shoulders without a wrinkle, his black satin evening breeches were flawless, his high neckcloth a work of art, his hose spotless. In all the man was perfection.

“What? Oh. No, you’ve done well, as always,” Alasdair said. “I was just thinking…Don’t wait up for me.”

Alasdair took the long stair downstairs. “No time to dawdle,” he called to Leigh as he did, summoning him from the library. His butler helped him on with his evening cape. He took his walking stick, and went to the door his footman, Paris, held open.

Then he paused.

“A moment,” he told Leigh. “Was the invitation delivered?” he asked Paris.

“Yes, sir, as you asked.”

“And was there an answer?”

“No, sir. But I told their man that he was to give it directly into their hands, and I’d wait for an answer, as
you said I should. I waited, and when he returned he said they’d read it, but that neither of the Scalbys had an answer.”

“Very good,” Alasdair said.

“You said it was almost done,” Leigh murmured as they went out the door. “It seems far from it. What will you do if they
do
come to the wedding? Surely you can’t mean to accost them there? With all their family around them? And Kate, on her special day?”

Alasdair gave him a tilted smile.
“Surely?
A word I seldom use. I don’t know what I’ll do if they come. But neither do they, and there’s the pleasure in it.”

Leigh stopped on the pavement. “A wedding is a holy event,” he said sternly.

“And the Scalbys are unholy,” Alasdair retorted. “Let be. The plan has a life of its own now. Love is one thing, justice, another. They have nothing to do with one another. If my wedding is accompanied by unholy glee at a final victory, how much sweeter the taste of my wedding feast. What better gift could I be given? For that matter, what better gift for Kate than a husband with a free heart and mind? A clear future, all grudges forgotten, all debts paid—and paid in spades.”

“In front of her?”

“Give me more credit than that,” Alasdair said. “If it’s done in back of her, it’s just as good for me.”

“But can you give them more credit? Even snakes fight for their lives.”

“Their lives, as they knew them, are already over. They know it. Why else are they in hiding? Do you think they’d actually come? The invitation is merely a knife to twist in their wounds. I’ll settle it before I face the minister. I have six weeks, after all. Napoleon’s defeat at Waterloo took less time, for that matter, so did Creation itself. Forget it. Don’t worry. I don’t.”

Leigh gave him a troubled look as they stepped into Alasdair’s carriage. Alasdair told the coachman to drive on, and as they did, he chatted with his friend as though he hadn’t a care in his head. He’d told Leigh the truth. Tonight, he didn’t worry. He refused to. He didn’t forget, though. He never did.

K
ate’s parents didn’t dislike him, Alasdair realized, or even distrust him, in spite of his reputation. They just didn’t want him.

Marion Corbet was a handsome woman who wore her years well. Though she had blue eyes and was taller than her daughter, it was clear where Kate had got her curly hair and heart-shaped face. John Corbet was a handsome man of fifty-odd. His brown eyes were like his daughter’s, except they didn’t warm when they looked upon his future son-in-law. Kate had gotten her laughter and easygoing charm from her parents, too, Alasdair realized, to judge from the way they reacted to everyone else, aside from him.

The Corbets hadn’t brought their three sons to London to meet their daughter’s fiancé, to Alasdair’s great relief. Two people ignoring him was enough. He was used to distrust and had expected dislike, but he wasn’t used to being so obviously excluded and roundly ignored.

The first night the Corbets arrived in London they were feted at the Swansons’ house. There was a merry dinner, a laughter-filled evening, even the grumpy elder Swanson sisters were jovial. There were many tender good nights when the Corbets went back to their hotel. The next night, everyone went to a fine restaurant, where old family tales were retold until the waiters were yawning and leaning against the walls. The third day Alasdair took them in his carriage, with Kate, to drive through the park as Alasdair pointed out the sights to them. That was all he could do, since they addressed all their questions to Kate. Then they all went to the theater, where it was even easier for them to ignore him.

“You were very quiet this evening,” Kate told Alasdair that night as they sat on a sofa in the salon. The Swansons were leaving them discreetly alone for a few moments, her parents having gone back to their hotel.

“I didn’t grow up in your family,” he answered simply.

She flinched. “Right, right,” she murmured, lifting one shoulder. “Well, I told you how it was. I just didn’t know how it would be. I’m sorry. It’s not you.” She sighed. “They’ve already begun involving me. Mother says there’s no way
she
can get my brother Simon to go back to school this autumn, since he’s taken it into his head to go to the Continent, be a vagabond, and write a journal.
Simon?
Well, you’d have to know him. He was also going to be a balloonist, until he tried his wings by climbing to the top of the barn. He looked down, got dizzy, and fell like a stone. We were lucky all that broke was his wrist.”

They shared sympathetic grins, and she went on, “At least I talked him out of running away to join the gypsies. She says I’m the only one he’d listen to. It’s
true. If he’d told me his plans for becoming an aerialist, I’d have been able to stop it, too. And ditto for my brother Lawrence. He’s begun making noises about courting the squire’s daughter, and my parents are panicked. He’s so rash. He’s only sixteen, and you’d have to know the squire’s daughter to know what a disaster that would be! And Mama says my brother Robin’s sulking because I haven’t come home yet, and Father insists no one else can name the new mare but me, since I’m so good at such things. But he reminds me I can’t till I see her.”

Alasdair took one of her hands in his. “And do you want to? Go home, that is?”

She looked at him helplessly. “I only want to be with you.”

They didn’t speak again for a while. Then it took all of Alasdair’s training and control to finally put her at arm’s length, away from him. He steadied his breathing and smoothed back his hair. Looking at her made him reach for her again. Her curls were mussed, her mouth looked as soundly kissed as it had been, her dress was delightfully askew.

“You can’t say such things to me,” he said in a thickened voice. “You should be able to, but I’m not myself when I’m with you. I hardly know myself when I’m with you,” he confessed, looking as exasperated with himself as he was genuinely puzzled by his reactions to her.

She straightened her gown, then fussed with her hair. He smiled to see how she set it to rights by rumpling it more artistically. It was just that kind of absurd thing that made his pulses beat and his heart grow foolishly fond. “You haven’t answered my question,” he said softly.

“You didn’t let me.” She ducked her head. “No,
that’s a lie. I didn’t want to. The truth is that I adore them. But I
cannot
be without you.” She looked at him with defiance. “If it tears me in two, that’s how it has to be. I don’t say it makes me happy, it just about kills me. But I’ve made my choice, and they can only make me feel guilty and sad. I can’t and won’t go back on my decision. I’ve chosen you, because that’s the only way it can be for me.”

He leapt to his feet. “You can’t say things like that to me now,” he said in what might have been real indignation. “Not one more word! Not when it’s time for me to leave. I hear footmen shuffling at the door. I won’t embarrass myself again, I can’t, Kate. One more incident, and your family won’t trust me to so much as take you for a stroll before the wedding. And who can blame them? But thank you. For your decision, and your trust in me. It isn’t misplaced, I promise you.”

She got to her feet when he did. He took her hand and kissed it—and then dragged her into his arms.

“Oh, damnation,” he groaned against her cheek when he finally was able to find the discipline to say anything. She giggled into his ear. “Now I hear your aunt coughing at the door. Either she’s got consumption, or I’ve done it again.”

“Mr. Corbet!” Alasdair said, taking Kate’s father’s hand before he took a chair next to him in the reception room of the Corbets’ hotel. He was pleased to see they sat far away from others who were chatting, loitering, or having tea in the vast room. “So glad you could take the time to see me.”

John Corbet eyed Alasdair closely. “You said it was a matter of some importance.”

“So it is. Don’t get your hopes up,” Alasdair said.
“I’m not about to tell you that I’m ending the engagement.”

John Corbet’s polite smile faded, he looked surprised.

“That’s just the point,” Alasdair went on doggedly, “and I want to get to that point with no delay. I’m going to marry Kate. She wants that as badly as I do. You and your lovely wife clearly do not.”

Alasdair fixed Kate’s father with a dark stare. “I can’t make you like me,” he said flatly. “I can’t even make you tolerate me. If you choose not to, that’s the way it will be. But I’m here to tell you it will be that way forever, or for so long as I live, and I come from a long-lived family. Baring accident, of course, I intend to be around to be the father of your grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, if I’m lucky. I can live with your dislike. But I don’t wish to live with Kate’s unhappiness about it. So I came to ask if you’d at least accept that I am here, and will remain so. And to beg you to hide your dislike, at least for her sake.”

Kate’s father sat still, his eyes on Alasdair. “Well,” he finally said, “there’s plain speaking.”

“Indeed.”

“We don’t dislike you,” the other man said slowly. “It’s just that we’re not best pleased at losing our little girl.”

“She’s not a girl, and you won’t lose her unless you force her to choose between families. Ours—for when we marry, we will be one—and yours. And I don’t ask you to be pleased. Only to accept the facts, and if you can bear to, to occasionally speak to me—at least in front of Kate. I can fully accept your ignoring me when she’s not around. It’s her happiness I’m here for. I hope that’s your goal, too. Whatever you’ve heard about me, let me assure you her tranquillity is my primary
object. I won’t mistreat her. I’ll always take as much care of her feelings and person as you would. That’s exactly why I asked for this meeting, and why I’m here at all.”

John Corbet tilted his head, looking Alasdair full in the eye for the first time since they’d met. “Well, you’ve landed me a facer, haven’t you?” he asked roughly. “This is the lofty St. Erth I heard about. The arrogant fellow everyone wrote to me about. And yet unbending enough to ask for a favor? And in the process making me feel smaller?”

Alasdair’s expression remained calm, but he winced inwardly. He’d failed. He’d tried to scotch a problem by uncovering it, because he more than anyone knew the dangers of hidden feelings, how they could eat away at a person’s soul. The Corbets might only resent him now, but unchecked resentment always grew to be dislike, and worse. But bringing the thing out into the open hadn’t ended it, as he’d hoped. He’d have to see if there was anything retrievable. He started to speak, but the older man put up a hand to stop him.

“No, please don’t interrupt, Sir Alasdair. You’ve had your say, now hear mine.”

Alasdair sat quiet, bracing himself, reining in his temper.

“You’re right,” Kate’s father said.

Alasdair blinked.

“And if it makes you feel any better, it wasn’t you, or your reputation,” her father went on. “Your birth is good, your fortune’s solid.” He cast an eye over how neatly Alasdair was dressed, and added, “You’re a good-looking fellow, neither a tulip nor a buck, but seem to be a sound and steady man. I heard about your reputation, and discounted it. My Kate’s got a
good head on her shoulders. Which is why we wanted to keep her, I suppose. That’s all it is,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and looking glum.

“Her mother and I adore her. Yes, I suppose it is time she flew on her own. All her friends are married, what has she got at home but us? That’s enough for us, but for her? I expect we didn’t want to see it. Love’s a funny thing. Too much is as bad as too little. It
is
possible to love too well, and that’s the plain truth.”

“I hope to discover if that’s so,” Alasdair murmured, his relief easy to see in the way he sat back in his chair.

“Oh, it is, it is,” John Corbet murmured. “Well. I can’t say this was pleasant, but it was for the best. I like a man who speaks his mind. Now, if you don’t mind, may we just sit a while and talk? I’d like to get to know more about you, if you’d permit?”

“I’d like that,” Alasdair said, and hesitated. “But as to your good wife?”

“That’s just it. She is good. Don’t worry, leave her to me. She’ll see the light, but if the messenger is to be killed for bringing it to her, let it be me. I’m used to it.” He chuckled. “So. Tell me, where do you two intend to live? In London or on your estate? I hope it’s the latter, because it’s closer to us. But you don’t look like a countryman, so I suppose it’s to be London.”

“My valet mightn’t like it, but I was once a countryman and intend to be so again. Only it’s not sheep or pigs I’d like to raise. I’ve an eye to horses.”

“Horses?” the other man asked eagerly. “Well, well. We do have something in common.”

They had the love of Kate, Alasdair thought, but didn’t say it. For the first time, he realized it must be a hard thing to give up someone you loved, just so she could be happier. But how could he know that? He’d
never had a choice. The only two he’d ever loved had gone, first one and then the other, without any leave of his. That was what he’d spent his life trying to avenge.

“You don’t like Arabian stock?” John Corbet asked in disappointment.

“Oh. No, I always have,” Alasdair said, dragging his attention back to what was being said rather than what was going on his head. He buried his thoughts and hid his plans, even from himself, as he’d always done, and went on to pass the morning talking about horses.

Only four more weeks, Kate thought, and shivered, and wrapped her arms around herself, remembering how he’d held her in his arms tonight. She stood at her bedroom window looking out into the dark. She couldn’t have seen much even if there was light, except for a narrow alley and the wall of the house next door. But she wasn’t looking at anything that was there.

Apart from him for only two hours, and
Lord
, how she yearned for him! Yes, she loved talking to him, and, of course, she relished his wit, and how good it was to hear what he thought about what she did and said. But that was nothing to the way she felt when she looked at him. She got such strange reactions from just watching him do mundane things.

Just a chance glance at his chin tonight showed the first growth of his beard darkening the notch in his otherwise smooth-shaven chin. It sent a surge of warmth to her heart, and regions much lower than that. Even that was nothing to the dizzying feeling of possessive joy she’d felt when she’d looked at his hand on his wineglass. But the bottom dropped out of her stomach when he’d looked back, caught her mooning
over him, and caressed her with his dark, equally avid stare.

And when he caressed her! Where he led, she followed. She’d been a prudent girl and was a sensible woman, but when he kissed her and touched her, he made her want to shuck out of her clothes and peel off her skin, anything to get closer to him. She couldn’t wait to marry him and join him in bed. She knew it was outrageous. She understood she was in a fever of desire. She didn’t care.

Oh, Alasdair! she thought, and hugged herself hard. How can I be so lucky? And so tormented by having to wait four weeks!

Only three weeks,
Kate thought, as she paced by her window and saw the first stains of oncoming dawn light the sullen night sky. Three weeks until they were married! And it wouldn’t be a moment too soon. Things had gotten so strange and exciting and dangerous tonight, when they’d been alone in the garden after dinner. Such a tiny joke of a London garden, scarcely room for a bird to waltz with his beloved, Alasdair had joked. But it was dark, and the night was so soft, and he’d taken her in his arms, and there was room enough for everything they wanted to do.

His lips at her mouth, her neck, her breasts. Her hands on his chest, feeling the wild beating of his heart and the heat of his skin burning through his thin linen shirt. His hands on her, pushing up her skirt. The way she’d sucked in her breath when his hand caressed her thigh, her inner thigh, herself where only she’d touched herself before while bathing. She’d jerked and started to pull away, and he’d whispered, “No, wait, see, relax, and see, oh, Kate, yes, do you see?”

She hadn’t seen anything, but as he’d kept up she’d
felt thrilling new spikes of pleasure, felt a thrumming in her body, a relaxing and yet a tensing of her whole self radiating out from there—there—
there
! She’d been shocked, delighted, weak, and trembling. He’d slowly withdrawn his hand from her flesh, and like a cold breeze blown through a newly opened window, loss had followed the warmth of pleasure. He must have known, he kept his other arm around her.