Midnight My Love (21 page)

Alex observed Carlisle alone for the moment
and made her way purposefully toward him. Even if she never won
Rochdale's love, she couldn't marry Carlisle. It would be unfair to
enter into marriage when she had such strong feelings for another
man.

If she failed to make Rochdale love her,
Alex decided she would never marry. She possessed a comfortable
fortune and the house in Bath was hers, inherited from a great aunt
on her mother's side of the family. She could continue her
astronomical studies and be a doting aunt to Robert and Jenny's
children.

Alex sighed, then resolutely straightened
her shoulders. She summoned a bright smile when she reached
Carlisle. "I've come to say goodbye. It was a lovely picnic."
Taking a deep breath, she plunged on. "I also want to tell you I've
decided not to accept your very generous proposal. You're a good
man, Carlisle, but I don't think we would suit. I'm sorry I kept
you waiting so long for my answer. You've been most patient with
me."

She laid a hand on his shoulder. "I hope we
shall remain good friends. I also hope you will allow me to
continue my friendship with Jonathan."

Carlisle bent and kissed her cheek. "Of
course, my dear. Are you sure this is what you want? I've seen the
looks exchanged between you and Rochdale. I've noticed the way he
watches you. The viscount is a dangerous man. Be careful in your
endeavors, and always know I wish you happiness."

"I wish you happiness, too. Felicia has been
most attentive and she's taken a great liking to Jonathan."

Carlisle looked sheepish. "She's very young.
And she is still engaged to your brother, though I know she can't
love him."

"Betrothals can be broken," Alex said. "The
sooner that one ends, the better for all parties concerned."

Carlisle took her hands
and kissed her cheek again. "You're a beautiful woman, my dear.
Good luck with your
Demon
."

****

Damien swore. His day had not gone at all as
he'd planned. He had looked forward to a pleasant morning's fishing
with Garr, only to find it spoiled by Carlisle, whom he could
barely tolerate. Carlisle's idea of fishing was to sit at the edge
of the pond while a servant cast out the line. Then the squire
would hold the rod himself until a fish took the bait. Handing the
rod back to the servant, Sir Howard was content to watch his catch
reeled in.

Damien and Garrett had ignored Carlisle and
managed to enjoy the morning, catching a respectable amount of
nice-sized bass. Lord Thane took himself off to wade-fish in the
stream, muttering that it was too much for him to watch Carlisle
making a cake of himself and the manly sport.

When it was time for the picnic, Damien was
greeted with the sight of one of his former mistresses lying in
wait. He and the Nugent had enjoyed a year-long liaison when Lord
Nugent was on a diplomatic assignment in India.

Marcella had latched onto him and stayed by
his side throughout the rest of the day. She had coerced him into
the maze, then badgered him until he'd agreed to walk with her in
the orangery.

For the past hour, she had
been begging him to take her home. She made it perfectly clear she
wanted to renew their friendship. Damien had no desire for her
company. Their
affaire
had ended with tears and recriminations. The lady had wished
to continue the liaison; he had grown weary of her affected manners
and jealousies.

Emerging from the orangery with Marcella
still hanging on his sleeve, the first thing Damien saw was
Alexandra and Carlisle in deep conversation. He could see her face,
but Carlisle's back was to him. Damien watched as Alex laid a
gentle hand on the squire's shoulder and smiled up into his face.
His blood rose when Carlisle leaned over and kissed Alexandra.

Damn her soul to hell, Damien thought. She's
a faithless and conniving wench, just like all the rest. His blood
raged in his veins when Sir Howard kissed Alex a second time. He
didn't know which would give him more pleasure--killing Carlisle or
strangling Alexandra.

Marcella tapped his arm with one
well-manicured nail. "Why so tense, darling?" She followed his
gaze, then narrowed her eyes. "Are you not pleased with dear Alex's
choice of company? I believe they make a charming couple," she
said, her voice honey-sweet. "Is it true they're going to make a
match of it at last? It's high time Miss Turlington looked about
for a husband. She's been on the shelf for years. They tell me
she's something of an eccentric staying up in that tower of hers
until all hours of the night gazing at the stars for long periods
of time. Miss Turlington is lucky to find such a good catch as
Carlisle."

"I'm taking you home," Damien said
curtly.

"I'll make it worth your while, my love,"
she purred in his ear.

Damien dragged Marcella
with him to take leave of his host. Alexandra paled as they drew
nearer. She looked like a wounded fawn, though why she should be
hurting he hadn't a clue.
She
was the one kissing the squire. For the first
time that afternoon, Damien was glad of Marcella's
presence.

Her ladyship's husky laughter filled the
air. "Wonderful luncheon, Carlisle darling. We must get together
again soon. Thank you for inviting me."

"I'm delighted you enjoyed yourself," Sir
Howard said, his manner stiff.

Damien's lips tightened. "Congratulations
must be in order, Carlisle. I saw you exchanging kisses with Miss
Turlington. When will the ceremony take place?"

"You mistake the matter, my lord," stated
the squire.

"Do I?" Damien asked, searing Alex with
scathing eyes.

Marcella smiled. "You have
a thing or two to learn about carrying on your
tête-à-têtes
in public, my dears.
You should seek out secluded spots for
amour
. The orangery, for example, is
the perfect place. Am I not right, Demon?"

He stood silent, searching Alex's face for
something, anything. After one fleeting glance, she lowered her
gaze to the ground. Damien had wished it had been Alex walking in
the orangery with him, instead of Marcella. As he had deftly
avoided the lady's ploys and maneuvers, he had tried to imagine
what it would be like if Alex desired him as much as he desired
her. Then he'd found her being kissed by the squire.

He stared at the bent head. The chestnut
hair glowed in the afternoon sunlight. Even now, after witnessing
her perfidy, he wanted nothing more than to bury his fingers in the
silky tresses. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets. "I've
decided to escort Lady Nugent home."

Alex jerked her head up
and looked at him, recoiling as if she'd been slapped. Damien
almost faltered from his resolve, then reminded himself
she
was the guilty
party.

Carlisle looked uneasily from him to Alex.
"What about your horse, Rochdale?"

"One of the outriders will lead her. I
prefer to ride inside with Marcella."

Hugging Damien's arm tighter, Marcella
smiled. "So much more comfortable and better situated for . . .
conversation, don't you agree?" She gazed up at the viscount with
hungry eyes. "We have so much to catch up on. Ta ta, darlings!"

Damien turned and walked briskly to the
stables, painfully aware that Marcella glanced triumphantly back at
Alexandra.

They met Garrett coming up the path. "Been
checking on the horses," he said, a curious expression on his face.
"Where are you two going in such a hurry?"

"Rochdale has agreed to take me home,"
Marcella said, sounding unbearably smug.

Garr looked surprised. "That so, Demon?"

"Yes," he said bluntly.

Garrett whistled low under his breath
shuddered slightly at the sight of Marcella clinging to him. "Don't
do anything rash, dear boy," he entreated. "Sometimes things aren't
what they seem."

"Don't I know it?" Damien sneered. "When did
you become such a knowing one, Garr?"

"Got eyes, don't I? Perhaps I know a thing
or two you don't--ever think of that, Demon?"

"The thought unmans me," Damien answered
curtly. Then, relenting to the concern on his friend's face, he
slapped his shoulder. "Don't worry. I know what I'm about."

Garrett stared from him to Marcella, then
back to him again. "I hope so, Demon. I certainly hope so."

The ride to Willowmede
passed in a blur for Alexandra. She tried to feel happy for Jenny,
who sat in a beatific dream all her own. Aunt Haygood dozed against
the squabs as the carriage conveyed them home.

Alex hoped she never had to spend another
day like this again. Thank God, it was over. She was tired of
trying to keep her countenance in front of so many people. Once she
was safely home, she would retire to her bedchamber and indulge in
a cleansing bout of tears.

The first shock had been the presence of
Lady Nugent at Bramble Court. Knowing her past relationship with
Damien had made it difficult for Alex, and watching the woman
blatantly throw herself at him had been all together too much. He
had not seemed pleased with his former mistress, but Alex thought
Damien should have offered less encouragement to her obvious
lures.

Marcella had clung to Rochdale like a vine.
Alex had wanted to tear the woman away from him. She wanted to
scratch her eyes out. The woman had no right to touch him, caress
him.

Damien was
hers
--and she loved him.
She longed to feel his arms around her again, see his golden eyes
suffused with passion.

Instead, Alexandra
remembered the final insult of the day. Damien had deliberately
offered to escort Marcella home, coldly watching for Alex's
reaction. He'd
wanted
to hurt her. Why?

She had been standing with
Carlisle, giving him his
conge
. Alex was glad the parting
with her neighbor had been friendly. She could never love Carlisle
enough to marry him.

No, she had the misfortune of loving a rake.
A man who intentionally did things to hurt her, who went off with
his mistress right under her nose, who would not admit to himself
he loved anyone or anything.

How could she make Damien recognize what was
staring him in the face? And if she should succeed in making him
admit he loved her, would he give up his rakish way of life? Would
he be true to her?

It all seemed overwhelming, the obstacles
insurmountable. Alex was thankful when they reached Willowmede. The
carriage halted and the steps were let down. Pleading the return of
her headache, she ran upstairs to her bedchamber.

****

All the way to Nugent Manor, Damien rode his
bay mare beside Marcella's carriage. The Nugent had pouted and made
a fuss when he handed her into the coach, but he'd changed his mind
about sitting with her inside and stood firm in his decision to
ride his horse.

He regretted his impulsive offer to escort
her home. Damien was in no mood to make love to a woman he no
longer desired. Remembering Marcella's sensual promiscuity, he knew
she would have thrown herself at him once the carriage door
closed.

The ride had given him time for reflection.
He had done many things in his life--some outrageous, some truly
wicked and immoral. Never had he felt the slightest remorse for his
conduct. Lately though, he had begun to regret his past behavior .
. . because of Alexandra. She never missed an opportunity to throw
his reputation in his face. He hated seeing those green eyes
regarding him with contempt.

What he wanted was her
respect.
What he wanted was
her.

His thoughts were interrupted when they
reached Nugent Manor. Dismounting, Damien waited for a groom to
assist Marcella from the carriage. He ignored the passionate looks
she cast his way.

When he'd offered to take her home, Damien
had every intention of bedding her. It would relieve the tremendous
tension in his body, and he thought he would enjoy exacting revenge
on Alex. He resented the feelings she engendered in him--the
strange bouts of savage desire alternating with fits of tenderness.
All he could think of was holding Alex, stroking her hair, kissing
her, making love.

He reluctantly followed Marcella into the
house and to the library. He couldn't do it, couldn't sleep with
her. He would leave as soon as possible.

Closing the door, Marcella walked up to him,
boldly put her arms around his neck and kissed him fully on the
mouth. Damien stood perfectly still, not responding.

She pulled back a little and smoothed his
hair from his brow. "Something wrong, darling? Have I been a bit
premature? You used to like it when I cut to the chase.
Remember?"

Damien grasped her wrist and set her away
from him. "I'm sorry, Marcella. It's I who have been premature. I
shouldn't have escorted your home. It's been good to see you again,
but I must return to Willowmede immediately."

Marcella's eyes widened and she slapped him
as hard as she could. "You bastard!" she shrieked. "You've led me
on all afternoon." Whirling around, she ran to the mantel, picked
up a Sevres vase and hurled it at him.

He dodged the priceless missile, and it
crashed against the wall behind him. She picked up its mate, but he
was beside her in an instant and grabbed her wrist. Damien
retrieved the vase and set it carefully back in its place. "I had
forgotten this lamentable habit of yours, my dear."

Marcella jerked out of his grasp and stood
panting before him. Damien wondered why he had ever desired her.
She really was a bitch. Like all women. No . . . not all of them,
he corrected himself.