Jacquie D'Alessandro - [Regency Historical 04] (28 page)

“Indeed? What were you discussing?”

Damned if he knew. And based on Nathan’s overly innocent expression, he was well aware of that. “The weather.” Most likely.

“Ah, yes, fascinating stuff. But I meant did either of them appeal to you as a wife candidate.”

Before answering, Colin tossed back another swal
low of the potent liquor in a useless attempt to drown the emptiness brought on by the thought of marrying either of them. “From a practical standpoint, either would do.”

“And from an impractical standpoint?”

A sense of profound weariness washed through him. “Right now the thought of spending the rest of my life with either of them is…”
Depressing
. “Difficult to imagine.”

“Why do you suppose that is?”

Irritation pricked him. “Because right now I have other things on my mind. Finding a killer. Keeping a murder from happening. Wexhall’s party is next week. Hopefully by the time it’s over, all the questions surrounding that puzzle will be answered, and I’ll be able to concentrate on my bride search.”

“You think you’ll be better equipped to choose one of these Society diamonds after Wexhall’s party?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

Nathan muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “idiotic dolt,” then clapped his hand on Colin’s shoulder. “I wish you luck with that. I truly do. But as someone who has recently gone through exactly what you’re now facing, I can only offer you my deepest sympathy and my best wishes that it works out as well for you as it did for me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The battle.”

“What battle?”

“Between your mind and your heart.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Nathan squeezed his shoulder. “You will. Good luck.”

Alex sat alone at her fortune-telling table, enjoying the brief respite. Her gaze sought out Colin, and she noted
he was once again in the company of a beautiful woman. He appeared to be listening to her, but just then his gaze swiveled toward her. Their gazes collided, and Alex felt the impact down to her feet. She tried to look away, but couldn’t.

Yet clearly he suffered from no such affliction as his gaze suddenly shifted up, over her head. A frown puckered his brow and his eyes narrowed. Then widened. His gaze jumped back to her and he lunged forward, waving his arms in a shooing side motion.

“Alexandra!” he yelled, running toward her. “Move!
Move!
”

Startled, she jumped to her feet and dashed around the table. A heartbeat later a large stone urn smashed onto the chair where she’d sat only seconds before. The chair splintered beneath the weight, and the urn broke apart, raising a cloud of dust.

Shocked immobile, she gaped at the destruction while shouts rose around her.

“Alexandra,” Colin said, his voice low and tense. He gripped her shoulders and gently shook her. “Are you all right?”

“I…I’m fine. Thanks to you.” She tore her gaze from the broken urn and chair to look at him. “What happened?”

“The urn fell from the balcony.”

Dr. Oliver pushed his way through the gathering crowd to join them. His gaze skimmed over Alex. “Were you injured?”

“No.” Realization hit her and her knees wobbled.
Dear God, if that stone urn had hit me…

She closed her eyes, and Colin’s fingers tightened on her arms. The crowd was pressing closer, the chatter of voices rising.

“Madame was not hurt,” Colin said, raising his voice to the guests.

She opened her eyes and their gazes met, his a deep, burning green. “You saved my life,” she whispered.

Before he could reply, Lord Ralstrom appeared. He peered at the mess through his quizzing glass, then said, “Extraordinary. No doubt the urn was moved for cleaning and not resituated properly. You have my deepest apologies, Madame Larchmont, and rest assured, I’ll find out who was responsible for such carelessness.”

She swallowed, then nodded. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Is there a quiet room where Madame can recover herself?” Colin asked Lord Ralstrom in an undertone.

“Of course. Follow me.”

Several minutes later, ensconced in Lord Ralstrom’s private study, under the watchful eyes of Lady Victoria, Dr. Oliver, and Colin, Alex sipped brandy from a crystal snifter.

“I don’t think this was an accident,” Colin said the moment Lord Ralstrom left the room.

“My father ran to the gallery immediately,” Lady Victoria said. “If someone pushed that urn, Father will find him.”

Colin crossed to the decanters and poured himself a generous finger of brandy and tossed back the potent liquor in a single swallow. Fire arrowed down his throat, infusing him with a heat he prayed would relax the tension gripping him.

He closed his eyes, and an image of that urn teetering directly above Alexandra besieged him. The sick realization it was about to fall and that he’d never reach her in time. Perhaps someday he might recover from the stark terror of that moment, but today was not that day.

Anger such as he’d never known ripped through him. Whoever had tried to hurt her would pay. He’d see to it.

A knock sounded at the door and he opened his eyes.
Lord Ralstrom’s butler showed Lord Wexhall into the room.

“Well?” Colin asked without preamble.

“The gallery was empty,” Wexhall reported, “but given the dimness of the area, someone could have pushed the urn without being seen, then escaped through any number of doorways or down the back stairs.”

Colin’s gaze roamed over Alexandra, who, although pale, appeared unscathed. He’d purposely forced himself to keep some space between them since entering the room so as not to simply snatch her into his arms and never let go. Which is precisely what he itched to do right now. Which meant he needed a task.

“As Alexandra is unharmed,” he said, “I’d like to search the gallery myself. I’ll let you know if I discover anything.”

After a thirty-minute search of the gallery that yielded nothing, he returned downstairs. The instant he stepped into the drawing room, where the party had resumed in full swing, he felt someone’s gaze burning into his back. Turning, he found himself face-to-face with Logan Jennsen.

“Is she really all right?” Jennsen asked.

Colin’s fingers clenched. “Yes.”

The American raised his brows at Colin’s clipped tone. “I’d like to see her. Do you know where she is?”

“I do. But as I said, she’s fine. There’s no need for you to see her.”

For several long seconds, tense silence bounced between them. Then Jennsen said in a low tone, “From what I hear, you’ll be returning to Cornwall very soon with one of these fancy Society ladies as your wife. I’m a patient man—and Alexandra is worth the wait.” He offered Colin a cold smile. “Luckily for both her and I, I’m not a slave to some lofty English title. Good evening, Sutton.”

Colin watched him walk away, sick with the knowledge that Jennsen was absolutely right.

Alex forced a smile and bid good night to Lord Wexhall, Lady Victoria, and Dr. Oliver in the foyer of the Wexhall town house, then climbed the stairs to her bedchamber on legs that felt like stone, eternally grateful the evening had finally ended. They’d departed once Colin had returned to the library after his unsuccessful search of the gallery. Between the accident and the hours beforehand, when she’d watched all those women flirt with him, she’d had enough. If she’d been forced to endure watching one more woman batting her eyelashes at him, she would have—

She blew out a long sigh. Done nothing.

For there was nothing to be done. Except swallow her sadness and smile and pretend that it didn’t matter, didn’t hurt so badly she could barely breathe that another woman would soon have the man she so foolishly and desperately wanted for herself.

Adding to her misery was the fear that their interlude might already be over. He’d said it would end when he decided upon a wife—had he chosen tonight which woman to pursue?

Except for immediately after the accident, he’d certainly avoided her all night. Hadn’t approached her fortune-telling table. Hadn’t spoken to her. Her gaze had sought him out more times than she cared to count, but as far as she could tell, although he remained close by for safety’s sake, he never looked her way. Even when she departed the party with the Wexhall group, he’d merely offered her a formal bow, a polite good night, happiness that she wasn’t hurt, and his usual inscrutable expression. He’d made no move to kiss her hand—to so much as touch her—and as much as she tried to convince herself otherwise, his cool detachment hurt deeply.

Where was the man who’d desired her so fiercely just that morning? Who’d been unable to keep from touching her? Whose eyes had burned with want for her? There’d been no sign of him tonight. In his place he’d left an aloof stranger who hadn’t looked at her with the slightest sign of desire. Indeed, it had taken an urn’s nearly crushing her for him to show any emotion at all.

She walked slowly down the corridor, misery gripping her stomach. Clearly, although still concerned for her, he’d already tired of her. Seeing her in the same room with all those glittering Society diamonds had, of course, shown her up as the paste imitation she was, a comparison clearly not lost upon him.

Emma’s warnings filtered through her mind.
Ye know that a man like him would only take ye then leave ye…toss ye aside like yesterday’s trash. Ye know yer heart’ll get broke.

Yes, she’d known. Known their affair, this fairy tale, would end. She simply hadn’t thought it would end so soon. Or that its demise would hurt this horribly. Hadn’t considered that she’d have to see him again after they’d parted ways. It was one thing for propriety’s sake to pretend at a soiree that there was nothing between them. It was quite another to pretend she felt nothing because their relationship was now…nothing. The prospect of maintaining the charade that everything was fine in front of his family, here at the Wexhall home, tied her insides in cramping knots.

Damn it, she wanted to go home. To
her
home. Where everything was familiar. Where she had a purpose. Where she was needed. The Wexhall party was next week. The instant it ended, she intended to go back where she belonged.

She entered her bedchamber, then leaned back against the wood panel. Her eyes slid closed and a weary sigh escaped her.

“Lock the door.”

She gasped, her eyes popping open at the soft, deep-voiced command that rose from the darkened corner. Although she couldn’t see him, there was no mistaking Colin’s voice, and a tremor tingled through her.

Heart pounding, her gaze scanning the shadows, she reached behind her, and fumbled for the ornate key protruding from the keyhole. When her fingers closed around the cool metal, she turned her wrist. The quiet click of the lock slipping into place reverberated through the room. And in that instant the lock she’d kept around her heart opened and a flood of emotion swamped her. Emotion she could no longer deny.

She loved him.

Completely. Irrevocably. And utterly hopelessly.

The words
I love you
rushed to her lips, and she clenched her jaw to silence them. Voicing useless words of love to a man with whom she had no future would do nothing save humiliate her and make both of them uncomfortable.

“Move in front of the fire.”

The husky order came from near the wardrobe, but she could not make out his form in the deep shadows. Storing away her newly minted realization of love, she walked slowly toward the fireplace on legs that felt less than steady. The low flame glowing in the grate warmed her back when she halted—a heat she did not need, as it suddenly felt as if fire surged through her veins.

Questions hovered on her tongue, but her throat felt too dry to utter them. She stared at the far corner of the room and watched a dark form detach from the shadows. He walked toward her, slowly, like a predator stalking its prey, stopping just beyond an arm’s length away from her.

Her gaze moved down his body, over his white shirt, opened at the throat. Snug black breeches hugged his
long, strong legs and were tucked into low black boots. He looked dark, delicious, and more than a little dangerous. Raising her gaze, she looked into his eyes and stilled. His earlier cool detachment was replaced with a glittering hunger that made it instantly clear why he was here.

He wanted her.

Relief nearly staggered her, and she braced her knees, her body and senses leaping to life. She licked her dry lips to moisten them and noted that his gaze followed the movement, his eyes burning like twin braziers at the gesture.

“Colin—”

He touched a single fingertip to his lips. “Shhhh. Don’t speak,” he whispered. “Don’t move.”

She swallowed her words and watched him walk to the dressing table next to the wardrobe. He returned carrying an armless, high-backed upholstered chair which he carefully set about eight feet in front of her. With his gaze hot and steady on hers, he sat, in a lazy, lounging position in complete contrast to the tension she sensed emanating from him. He spread his legs and rested his hands on his thighs, drawing her gaze downward. There was no mistaking the outline of his arousal against his snug breeches.

“Take off your gown.”

The silky command snapped her gaze back to his. His dark head rested on the pale green moiré chair back, and his hooded gaze burned into hers.

Heat stabbed her, settling low in her belly. The way he was looking at her…as if he were ravenous and intended to make her his next meal, pooled moisture between her legs. She raised her hands, noting they weren’t quite steady, and unfastened her gown. Everything in her wanted to rush, but she forced herself to move with a deliberate lack of haste, filled with a surge
of excitement she’d never before known at his rapt, intense expression.

When she’d undone her buttons, she slowly skimmed the garment down her body to her hips, where she released it to pool around her ankles. Backlit by the fire, she knew he could see every contour of her body through her thin chemise.

“Very nice,” he murmured. “Keep going.”

A tremor skittered through her, one she now, thanks to him, recognized as arousal. Using the same unhurried pace, she slipped the chemise down her body, where it joined her gown around her ankles, leaving her clothed in only her drawers, stockings, and shoes. Her nipples tightened, aching for his mouth, his hands, and she arched her back toward him.