Jacquie D'Alessandro - [Regency Historical 04] (30 page)

Aching with the need to touch her, his hands slipped down, over her hips, intending to gather up fistfuls of her bronze skirt. Before he could do so, however, she pushed against his chest, breaking off their kiss, and stepped away from him. When he moved toward her, she back away and shook her head.

“That’s not why I came here with you.”

Something in her voice filled him with unease. Adopting a casual demeanor, he moved toward the decanters. “That’s right. You wished for a nightcap.”

“I’ve no desire for a drink. I wish to talk to you.”

“Very well.” He approached the leather sofa near the hearth rug, noting her rigid stance. “Shall we sit?”

“I prefer to stand.”

His unease multiplied. Bloody hell, had she heard something tonight? Seen something? Had someone insulted her? “All right.” He moved closer, but sensing her need for space, left the length of the hearth rug between them. “What is it you wish to discuss?”

“Us,” she said in a cool voice.

His brows shot upward at her unexpected answer. “What about us?”

“I want to tell you how much I’ve enjoyed our time together. It’s been…magical. And lovely. You’ve been lovely.”

An odd, sick feeling rushed through him, tightening his gut. “Thank you. I’ve enjoyed our time together as well.”

“Please know that I wish you every happiness.”

“As I wish you.” He gave a light laugh that didn’t sound nearly as casual as he’d wanted. “Speaking of happiness, I thought tomorrow you might enjoy an excursion to Bond Street. We could—”

“No.”

He tried to shove aside the sense of dark foreboding flooding him and failed. “If there’s something else you’d prefer to do—”

“I’m leaving in the morning, Colin.”

A cold chill passed through him. “Leaving?”

“Yes. It’s time for me to return to my own home. To my own life.”

“Absolutely not. You could still be in danger.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps not. I cannot disrupt my life any longer for something that may never happen.”

He felt as if she’d slapped him. “Is that what this time with me has been? A disruption?”

“No, of course not. But it is time for me to return home. To take care of my responsibilities. Just as it is time for you to take care of yours.”

“Keeping you safe this past week was my responsibility.”

“You succeeded. And I thank you. But you have other responsibilities.”

“Such as?”

“Marriage.”

The word echoed in his mind like a death knell, clanging a sensation akin to panic through him. Clearing his throat, he said, “If you insist upon returning to your rooms—”

“I do.”

“Then I’ll send my carriage ’round there tomorrow afternoon to pick you up, and we can—”

“No, Colin. Obviously I’ve not been clear. There is no more ‘we.’ Our time together has ended. I didn’t come to this room to arrange our next assignation. I’m here to say good-bye.”

It seemed as if his heart tripped over itself. The hell with giving her space. He erased the distance between them in two long strides and grasped her upper arms. “No.”

The word came out harsher than he’d intended, but that cool voice, that bland detachment in her eyes, angered, and damn it, hurt him.

“Yes. We agreed that our affair would end after Lord Wexhall’s party.”

“Actually, we agreed it wouldn’t end until I’d chosen a wife, and I haven’t yet done so.”

“Only because you’ve been distracted by trying to stop Lord Malloran’s killer from striking again. Now that Lord Wexhall’s party has come and gone, it’s time for you to get on with it.” She briefly looked toward the floor, then again met his gaze. “Our affair
has also distracted you from choosing a bride. Colin, I understand you must do your duty. We both knew our arrangement was temporary.”

He skimmed his palms down her arms to entwine their fingers. “But it doesn’t need to end tonight.”

“Yes, it does.” She slipped her hands from his. “I want it to. I need it to.” Her expression remained neutral, but he caught the faint catch in her voice.

“Why?”

She hesitated, then said, “I’m becoming too comfortable, too accustomed to luxuries I can never have. Finding it too easy to depend on someone whose presence in my life is temporary. I fear that if I continue with our relationship any longer, I risk losing a piece of myself I’m not willing to part with. Ending this now is best for both for us.”

He clamped his jaw tight to keep from saying something stupid. Like begging her to stay. His mind knew she was right. But his heart…bloody hell, his heart
hurt
.

Her gaze searched his, then she asked softly, “Do you understand?”

“You’ve left precious little room for misinterpretation.”

Her obvious relief scraped another layer of hurt over him. “Good. I want you to know…” She paused, and for the first time since they’d entered the room, a fissure of warmth seeped into her eyes. “That I don’t regret a moment we’ve spent together. That I hope your life is a wondrous, happy adventure. And that I’ll miss you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Every day of my life.”

Before he could think, move, react, she brushed a fleeting kiss against his jaw, then swiftly crossed the room. Numb, he watched her quit the room, closing the door quietly behind her without looking back.

He stared at the door, frozen in place, feeling utterly
gutted. He raised his hand and pressed it to his chest, to the spot where his heart used to beat. His heart that felt as if it bore a deep, oozing gash.

If he’d been able to move, he would have gone after her, so it was perhaps best that he remained frozen in place. Because if he went after her, he knew he’d beg her to reconsider, a gesture that, given her obvious determination, would only embarrass them both.

She was gone from his life. As quickly as she’d entered it. He was free to resume his life.

And as soon as he figured out what that was, he’d do it.

An hour after leaving Colin in the study, Alex
paced the length of her bedchamber, determined not to cry. Her body and mind were exhausted, but she simply couldn’t bear the thought of lying alone in the bed she’d shared with him.

Colin
. The mere thought of his name sliced pain through her. Would it always hurt this much? Would this keen yearning, this profound longing, this terrible ache ever fade? Dear God, she hoped so. Because contemplating this awful hurt for the rest of her life was unthinkable.

A
ping
near the French windows leading to the balcony pulled her from her distressing thoughts and she turned quickly. Seconds later she heard it again. It sounded like a pebble hitting the glass. Her heart thudded. Colin?

She walked quickly to the window then cautiously looked out. A light drizzle misted the panes, and the moon bathed the ghostly fingers of fog undulating near the ground in pale silver. She saw no one. Perhaps she was mistaken—

Something
pinged
against the glass right in front of her nose and she gasped. Reaching down, she made certain her small, sheathed knife was still tucked into her ankle boot. Reassured, she opened the door enough to squeeze out onto the balcony. She took a cautious peek over the stone ledge and froze when a familiar figure emerged from the shadows.

“Miss Alex,” came Robbie’s hissing whisper. “I needs to talk with ye. Right away.”

“What are you doing here?” she whispered back.

“I’ll tell ye when ye get down here. Hurry!”

Grateful she hadn’t undressed after the party, she hastened from her room. As soon as she stepped onto the flagstone terrace, Robbie materialized from the shadows and grabbed her hand.

“This way,” he whispered, tugging her along. “Hurry, Miss Alex. He’s hurt.”

Her feet stumbled along with her heart. “Hurt? Who?”

“The bloke. Come on!”

Robbie broke into a run, and she lifted her skirts and ran with him, fear gripping her. Her mind conjured up an image of an injured Colin, and she increased her speed. When they reached the far corner of the garden, Robbie pointed to the gardener’s shed. “He’s behind there. Don’t know if he’s breathin’ or not.”

She pushed Robbie behind her then, reaching down, she slid her knife from her boot. She rounded the corner, and froze. Although it was dark, there was no mistaking the man lying on the ground and her heart flew into her throat.

Dropping to her knees beside him, she pressed her fingers to the side of his neck. His thready pulse beat against her fingers and her insides went weak with relief. He was alive. But for how long? How badly was he hurt?

“Lord Wexhall,” she whispered, lightly patting his face. “Can you hear me?”

He didn’t move, and she gently ran her hands over him, looking for injuries. “What happened?” she asked Robbie, her voice low and terse.

“I were hidin’ in the garden, like I done a few times this past week, watchin’ out for ye even though ye said not to, when I heard a noise. Real quiet-like, I looked to see wot it were. Saw a cloaked figure hurryin’ away from this spot. When I looked, I saw this bloke. Wasn’t sure wot to do, so I got you. Is he dead?”

“No.”

“Is he a friend or a bad bloke?”

“Friend.” Her fingers brushed over an enormous lump on the back of his head—a warm, wet lump. Blood. She jumped to her feet, grabbed Robbie’s hand, then ran back toward the house.

“Aren’t ye goin’ to help him?”

“Yes. I’m summoning a doctor. He’s staying at the house.”

“Ye don’t need me fer that.”

“I’m not leaving you out here alone.”

After entering the house, she dashed with Robbie to the foyer, then settled her hands on his shoulders. “I’m going upstairs to awaken the doctor. You stay right here.” He jerked his head in a nod, but he wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he was gaping at the grandeur surrounding him with a simultaneously awed and speculative gaze she recognized all too well, and she gave his shoulders a quick shake. “Do not steal anything.”

Disappointment flashed in his eyes, but he nodded.

She dashed up the stairs, then ran down the corridor, stopping at the door to the room she knew Lady Victoria and Nathan shared. She knocked frantically on the wood panel and it opened within seconds, revealing Nathan, who clearly had not yet gone to bed
as he still wore his formal breeches and white dress shirt.

The instant he saw her, a muscle jerked in his jaw. “What’s wrong?”

“Lord Wexhall’s been attacked. Head wound. He’s unconscious, in the garden.”

“Alive?”

She nodded.

“Wait here.” He disappeared into the room, and she heard the low murmur of voices. Then he returned, carrying a black leather satchel and a lit lantern. “Take me to him,” he said in a terse tone.

When they arrived in the foyer, Robbie joined them, and as they dashed through the house, then across the yard, she quickly related what the boy had told her.

After she finished, Nathan said, “I told Victoria to awaken the servants and send two footmen to me.”

They reached the shed seconds later, and Alex watched him drop to his knees next to the supine figure. Turning toward Robbie, she crouched down and looked into the child’s wide eyes.

“Tell me about this cloaked figure you saw,” she said, her voice filled with all the fear and urgency gripping her. “Did you recognize the person?”

He shook his head. “Only saw the big black swirlin’ cloak in the fog. Whoever it were ran into the mews, then went that way.” He pointed toward the left. And everything inside Alex stilled.

Colin’s town house was to the left.

She released Robbie, then dashed to Nathan. “The person who attacked Lord Wexhall ran off in the direction of Colin’s town house. He could be in danger. I’m going to him.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Wexhall needs immediate care. I can’t leave here. The footmen will be here shortly—”

“I can’t wait.”

“You can’t go alone.”

“You can’t stop me. We may already be too late. I have a knife. I’m not afraid to use it. Send the footmen when they arrive.” She looked down at Robbie. “Dr. Oliver will need help. You stay here and do what he tells you.” Without waiting for an answer, she ran into the mews and headed toward Colin’s town house.

And prayed she wasn’t too late.

Slumped in an overstuffed chair set before the fireplace in his private study, empty brandy snifter dangling from his fingers, Colin stared into the dancing flames. Unfortunately, the fiery fingers did not appear to harbor the answer to the question swirling through his mind: How was it possible to hurt so much yet feel so bloody numb at the same time?

He couldn’t decide which stung more, her actual words or the cool dispassion with which she’d said them. Damn it, how could she say good-bye and walk away like that? So
calmly
. As if they’d shared nothing more than a casual handshake. Under other circumstances he might have admired her unemotional composure—God knows it was a practiced demeanor at which he himself excelled. But for him, nothing about Alexandra felt calm or casual or unemotional or composed. Hadn’t since the first time he’d laid eyes on her. Yet she’d dismissed him, the intimacies they’d shared, without batting an eye.

He needed to make financial arrangements for her, a settlement large enough not only for herself but for the children she helped.
Of course, if that bastard Jennsen has his way, Alexandra won’t need any financial support from me.

The rational part of him interjected that he should be glad, even grateful, that the wealthy American cared for her. Would and could take care of her. But damn
it, he wasn’t. The mere thought of that bastard touching her, kissing her, loving her, dulled his vision with a red haze. No, he was the exact opposite of glad and grateful for Jennsen. Just as he was that she’d ended their affair.

Of course, she’d saved him the awkward task of doing so. Problem was, he hadn’t been anywhere near ready to end it. Which only added frustration and confusion to his hurt. He
should
have been ready for them to go their separate ways. The weight of his responsibility to find a wife pressed down on him like an anvil, and he couldn’t deny she was right—their affair had distracted him from his obligation. More thoroughly than she even knew. Because he couldn’t think of anyone other than her. Because he didn’t want anyone other than her. Because he…

Loved her.

The realization hit him like a backhanded slap, and he jerked upright, his empty snifter slipping from his lax fingers. He didn’t merely desire her, didn’t simply admire her, he loved her. Loved everything about her. Her intelligence and wit. Her compassion and strength. The look of her. The scent of oranges that clung to her skin. Her smile. Her laughter. The way she touched him. The way she made him feel. Well, except for this evening when she’d made him feel bloody horrendous, but other than that, she filled him with a sense of deep-seated happiness unlike anything he’d ever known.

Unable to sit still, he stood and paced in front of the fire. There was much to consider, not the least of which was did
she
love
him?
He paused and raked his hands through his hair. He didn’t know, but by God, he was determined to find out. And once he knew—

His thoughts were interrupted by an insistent tapping. Frowning, he walked into the corridor and realized that someone was using the brass knocker on the
front door. His mind jumped to who could be calling at this hour. Nathan? Wexhall? Alexandra?

As Ellis had long since retired, he strode to the door, bending quickly to touch his boot and ascertain his knife was in position—just in case his caller was foe rather than friend.

Before turning the lock, he looked out one of the slender glass panels flanking the door, then frowned, surprised and confused as recognition hit him. He opened the door.

“Lady Miranda.” His surprise turned to concern as the pale candlelight from the foyer spilled onto the threshold. Her hair was in disarray, her eyes wide, and what appeared to be a streak of dirt marred her cheek. Grasping her arm, he drew her inside, then closed and locked the door. “Are you all right?”

“Actually, no,” she said, her voice shaking. A visible shudder ran through her, and she gripped his arm. Tears glistened in her eyes. “Footpads…around the corner. They accosted my carriage…me. Made off with my reticule and jewels. My driver ran in pursuit. I…I was afraid to wait alone in the carriage.” Her bottom lip trembled. “I’m sorry to disturb you so late—”

“Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, her tangled dark hair spilling over her black cape. “No. Just…shaken.” She glanced around the foyer. “Your servants have retired?”

“Yes.” Supporting her weight, he led her toward his study. “Let me get you settled and comfortable, then I’ll see to your carriage and alerting the authorities.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She looked up at him, and her bottom lip trembled with a wobbly smile. “I’m so relieved you were home and awake.”

They arrived at his study and he led her directly to the settee in front of the fire, where she sank down with a grateful sigh. His gaze riveted on the stain on her
cheek, which he could now see by the firelight was blood.

“How many thieves were there?” he asked, pulling his handkerchief from his pocket.

“Two.”

“What did they look like?”

“Ugly. Dirty.” Another tremor ran through her. “Horrible.”

Crouching next to the settee, he held his handkerchief aloft and nodded toward her cheek. “There’s a bit of blood. May I?”

“Y…Yes.”

He gently wiped at the smear. “Were you struck?”

She nodded and wrapped her arms around herself. “Yes. Then he grabbed my reticule.”

“I’ll pour you a brandy,” he said, rising. “It will help steady your nerves.”

He turned and crossed the room to the decanters, a frown pulling between his brows. His gut told him something wasn’t quite right here. He poured the brandy, carefully replaying in his mind the moments since he’d opened the door. His frown deepened. She said she’d been struck, and there was blood on her cheek—

But no cut or mark on her skin.

Realization struck, and he whirled around. But he was too late. The pistol she held was aimed at his chest. He quickly calculated the distance between them. Too far to grab her weapon. His gaze flicked to the door. She’d closed and locked it.

“Put your hands on top of your head,” she ordered in a low, terse voice.

He cocked a brow at the gun. “If you shoot me, the noise will awaken my entire household. You’d be caught before you could reach the foyer.”

“We both know I’d get out of here before anyone could reach me. And the first thing I’d do is rid this
world of your lover, Madame Larchmont. Your brother and Lady Victoria, too.” She smiled pleasantly. “I’ve already killed Wexhall. I might as well take care of the rest of his household.” Her smile vanished. “Hands on your head. Now.”

Tension and anxiety collided in his gut, but he forced himself to remain calm and not focus on the horrific images her words branded into his mind. He’d survived worse situations than this. He just needed to bide his time, wait for his opportunity to disarm her.

Slowly raising his arms, he said in a bored drawl, “Do you plan to tell me what this is all about?”

“Oh, yes.” She jerked her head to the side. “Move to the center of the room. Nice and slow.”

He did as she asked, and she moved with him, keeping a steady distance between them. When he stopped, she walked to the decanters. Keeping the gun trained on him, she slipped a small pouch from her pocket, then emptied the powdered contents into the brandy he’d poured for her. After sliding the pouch back into her pocket, she picked up the crystal snifter and slowly swirled the amber liquor.

“Prussic acid, I presume,” he murmured, nodding toward the drink.

She inclined her head in acknowledgment.

“A favorite of yours, but sadly, not of Malloran or his footman, Walters.”

She shrugged. “Walters would have met his end anyway. Malloran simply got in the way. After his party, I accompanied him to his study, where he found a note.” Her lips curved upward in a travesty of a smile. “It took me a while to figure who wrote that bothersome missive, but I finally succeeded.”