Jacquie D'Alessandro - [Regency Historical 04] Read online

  Her stomach rushed upward. For the space of a heartbeat she felt as if she were flying, then she landed lightly, bending her knees and touching her palms to the cool, moist earth. When she stood, she nearly laughed from the sheer exhilaration of her feat as she brushed off her hands. She was free. All she had to do was melt into the shadows. She turned, intending to head toward the mews.

  And found herself staring at a snowy white cravat.

  A snowy white cravat that was mere inches from her nose. She sucked in a startled breath and caught the scent of freshly starched linen mixed with a whiff of sandalwood. She took a hasty step back but halted when her shoulders hit the rough stone of the town house. Strong hands gripped her upper arms.

  “Steady,” came a deep, masculine voice.

  Dear God, when had her luck turned so horrendously…unlucky? This night just went from bad to worse.

  Fingers flexed against her skin left bare by her gown’s short, puffed sleeves, and she noted he wasn’t wearing gloves. A heated tingle that was surely nothing more than annoyance skidded through her. Determined to talk her way out of this irritating further cog in her escape plans quickly, Alex lifted her chin.

  And looked into the hauntingly familiar eyes of the stranger.

  Two

  Alex’s annoyance evaporated and alarm roared through her with such force she actually felt light-headed. A tiny inner voice commanded that she step away from him, but she couldn’t move. Could only stare into those fathomless eyes, which regarded her with an unreadable expression. Every muscle tensed, gripping her with the strangling fear she thought she’d long ago conquered.

  Tense silence that seemed to last an eternity swelled between them while Alex fought to master her dread and appear outwardly calm.

  Something flickered in his gaze…something that disappeared before she could decipher it. Something she prayed wasn’t recognition. Yet what else could it be? Surely it was no coincidence that this particular man appeared just below this particular window at this particular time.

  The years she’d spent running from her past had finally caught up with her. In the form of this stranger who continued to hold her in a firm grip. Drawing on all her reserves, she bludgeoned aside her apprehension, and grasped her aplomb. She knew how to bluff her way out of difficult spots—although nothing about his demeanor labeled him an easy mark, an observation she’d foolishly chosen to ignore four years ago.

  “Are you all right, Madame Larchmont?”

  Any tiny flicker of hope that he didn’t know her identity vanished with his question. Straightening her spine, she lifted her chin. “You know who I am.”

  One dark brow jutted upward. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  A girl can dream…“I wondered since you’ve obviously forgotten yourself.” She flicked a pointed glance down at his hands, which still held her in place. “You may release me, sir.”

  His grip instantly loosened, and he stepped back. Alex fancied that his fingers trailed for a fraction of a heartbeat over her bare skin before he released her. A tremor ran through her, surely the result of the brisk night air brushing over the spot his palms had warmed.

  “Did you hurt yourself when you stumbled?” he asked, his voice laced with unmistakable concern as his gaze ran down her form.

  “Stumbled?”

  “Yes. I was walking in the garden and heard a sound. When I turned the corner, I saw you rising and brushing off your hands. You are not injured, I hope.”

  “N…no, thank you. I’m fine.” Alex’s mind whirled, and she studied him carefully. She prided herself on her ability to read people, and his expression, easily visible in the full moon’s glow, revealed nothing more than polite concern, with perhaps a touch of curiosity. It seemed he didn’t know she’d jumped from the window.

  She looked at him again. Not the slightest flicker of recognition flared in his eyes. Was it possible he didn’t remember their previous encounter? That he only knew her from tonight? Relief rushed through her, only to halt. The intensity with which he’d stared at her in the drawing room had to mean something. If he didn’t remember her, then what?

  He moved, and her muscles tensed, but he only pulled a handkerchief from inside his waistcoat. Presenting the white linen square to her with a flourish, he said, “To wipe your hands.”

  With her composure now fully collected, she concealed her wary suspicions of his motives with the skill of a seasoned actress and shook her head. “Thank you, but my gloves protected my hands. I’m quite all right.” She then favored him with her most imperious look. “What are you doing in the garden?”

  He smiled, and she fought the urge to blink. Under other circumstances, she might well have been dazzled by that devastatingly attractive flash of even, white teeth, as she imagined most females were. Luckily, she was immune to this man’s allure.

  “Like you, just getting a much-needed bit of air,” he said. “Along with a desire to get away from the crowds for a moment…although coming upon Madame Larchmont is an unexpected pleasure.”

  Still suspicious, but willing to play out the game, she inclined her head in silent acknowledgment of his compliment. “You have the advantage over me, sir, in that I do not know your name.”

  A sheepish look too genuine to be feigned passed over his handsome features and he tucked away his handkerchief. “Forgive me. I am Colin Oliver, Viscount Sutton.” He made her a formal bow. “At your service.”

  Alex swallowed the lump of dread in her throat. Of course she recognized the name. Lord Sutton was one of the Season’s most eligible bachelors, made even more so by the news that he was actually looking for a wife and wouldn’t have to be dragged to the altar. A well-respected peer with power to wield. If he were to remember her from before…a shudder ran through her. He could ruin everything she’d worked and fought so hard to achieve.

  He flashed her another grin. “It appears by your expression that my name is not unfamiliar to you. Perhaps you read the snippet in today’s Times?”

  Her relief at not being instantly recognized was tempered by an unreasonable prickle of pique that he didn’t recall her—especially since she recalled him in such vivid detail. Was she so unmemorable?

  She shoved the ridiculous question aside. Good God, she should be kicking up her heels at his faulty memory. And really, why would he remember her? Their encounter had been so brief. A lofty member of the peerage would hardly focus on the face of a dirty street urchin.

  The cloud of disaster that loomed over her livelihood, all her plans for her future, receded…slightly. She couldn’t dispel the odd feeling that, contrary to all appearances, he was somehow toying with her. She needed to stay on her guard, and to do so, she needed information. The cards had predicted this stranger’s reappearance in her life—and that he’d somehow figure prominently. But what she didn’t know, and needed to know, was why.

  Offering him her best mysterious Madame Larchmont smile, she said, “I did indeed read the snippet in the Times. I believe half of London hopes I’ll be able to predict whom you will marry.”

  He chuckled, a deep, rich sound. “I’m hoping so myself. It would certainly save me a great deal of time.” He extended his elbow. “May I escort you back inside? I’m looking forward to my turn at your fortune-telling table.”

  Alex paused. She had no desire to return to the house where the murderous Malloran servant and his unseen cohort she’d overheard moved amongst the guests.

  “Thank you, but I was on my way home.”

  “So early?”

  She spread her hands. “When the spirits call me home, I must obey.”

  “Has your carriage been called?”

  She hid her grimace of distaste. Typical spoiled aristocrat, assuming everyone had a carriage at their disposal. She lifted her chin a notch. “I intended to hire a hack.”

  He waved her intention aside with a dismissive gesture. “Nonsense. It’s far too late for a lady to be traveling alone. I’ll have my carriage brought ’round i
mmediately and escort you home.”

  “I appreciate the offer, Lord Sutton, however, I’m well accustomed to seeing myself home from these soirees.”

  “Perhaps. But it is not necessary for you to do so this evening.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of dragging you away from the party where you might well meet your future wife.”

  “I’ve already seen this evening’s offerings, and I’m quite certain the woman of my dreams is not in Lady Malloran’s drawing room. Indeed, by far the most interesting woman I’ve met tonight is standing in front of me.” His smile was warm, friendly, and tinged with a hint of flirtatious mischief. “Believe me, you’d be doing me a great favor by allowing me to escort you home.”

  Was he playing games with her? Perhaps. But if so, she needed to know. Since she found herself inexorably curious about this man who, she was convinced, was the one who’d figured so prominently in her card readings for years and because she couldn’t think up any reason to refuse his offer that wouldn’t sound churlish, she nodded. “Very well.”

  He extended his arm at the perfectly proper angle. “Careful where you step. I wouldn’t want you to stumble again.”

  Was that a glint of dry humor in his voice? She studied him, but his expression didn’t waver. “No, I wouldn’t wish to stumble again,” she agreed. She wrapped her gloved fingers around the crook of his elbow, and they made their way over the narrow strip of grass running along the side of the house toward the front. The hard muscles of his forearm flexed beneath her fingers, indicating a likely love of riding. She noted with surprise that he walked with a slight limp, favoring his left leg. He hadn’t suffered from any such affliction four years ago. In fact, he’d been extraordinarily fleet of foot. Frighteningly so.

  When they reached the front steps, a footman appeared, and Alex stiffened, fearing the tall, dark-haired servant was the person she’d heard in the study.

  “Your carriage, Lord Sutton?”

  She let out a long breath and forced her muscles to relax. Not his voice. Not the same man.

  “Please,” Lord Sutton replied. He then turned to her. “Do you have a wrap or any belongings that require fetching?”

  Heavens, in all the confusion, she forgotten about that. “Yes. My bonnet and green velvet cloak.” She eyed the wide double doors leading into the foyer. She supposed she should go back inside and say good night to Lady Malloran, but the mere thought of doing so edged unease down her spine.

  “Why don’t you wait here while I see to our belongings and bid our hostess good evening?”

  She hoped her relief didn’t show. “Thank you,” she said in her most regal tone.

  He entered the house, and she drew her first easy breath since she’d first seen him in the drawing room. Perhaps he wasn’t the man who the cards repeatedly predicted would reenter her life, but her instincts, which had always served her well, told her he was. If she were able to read his cards, she might be able to discern more. Yet in order to do that, she’d need to spend more time in his company. If she did, would she run the risk of his remembering her?

  Now that she could think clearly, she realized she could simply deny any previous encounter. Claim she must just resemble someone he’d once briefly met. Obviously his memory didn’t ring with the crystal-clear vividness of her recollection of him. He’d rendered himself unforgettable in the course of several frantic heartbeats.

  Clearly she was not made of such memorable stuff—something for which she again inexplicably found herself miffed. She looked skyward. Miffed? She was a candidate for Bedlam. The fact that he didn’t remember her could only be described as a miraculous blessing.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when an elegant black lacquer carriage, a coat of arms decorating the door, pulled by a handsome pair of matching grays halted in front of the town house.

  “Perfect timing,” came Lord Sutton’s deep voice from behind her. Before she could turn around, he settled her cloak around her shoulders. When she reached up to grab the ties, her fingers brushed against his. She felt him go perfectly still, and realized that he stood very close to her. Scandalously close. So close the warmth of his breath caressed her nape. The heat of his hands penetrated her thin lace gloves, and her skin tingled at the contact. Before she could react in any way other than simply to stand there and absorb this unsettling reaction to him, he stepped back.

  Irritated at herself, she jerked on the ribbons at her collar, but to her further annoyance, her fingers weren’t quite steady as she tied the long strings, resulting in a sloppy mess of a bow.

  Lord Sutton moved to her side. Appearing completely composed and unruffled, he handed her her bonnet, which, given her current poor ribbon-tying abilities, she opted not to don.

  “Lady Malloran is bereft at your departure,” he said, “so I took the liberty of explaining that when the spirits speak to you, you have no choice but to heed, and they’d expressly told you it was time to go home. I hope that meets with your approval?”

  She searched his countenance for any indication he was mocking her, but his voice and expression were perfectly serious. Light spilled from the town house’s tall windows, highlighting his handsome features, and she instantly recalled how she’d been unable to tear her gaze from him when she’d first spied him in the crowd at Vauxhall four years ago. Tall and devastatingly attractive, he’d stood alone, under a tree, his back propped against the sturdy trunk, watching people walk by him, and she’d immediately felt a kinship. She knew exactly how it felt to be alone. To watch people pass you by. One look at him, and every impossible fantasy she’d ever secretly dreamed of being whisked away by a handsome, dashing hero had converged in her mind, casting him as her knight in shining armor. The one who would keep her safe, slay her dragons, and make the aching loneliness, the always present fear, go away. Silly, impossible dreams as her mind well knew but that her foolish heart clung to just the same.

  Over the years she’d observed countless aristocrats and dismissed them without a thought, but something about him had captured her imagination and stirred her in a way she’d never before experienced. A disturbing, exciting, heart-pounding way that had simultaneously confused and intrigued her. In spite of his outward gentlemanly mien, he’d exuded a contradictory aura of wistfulness mixed with danger and mystery that had drawn her like a thief to a cache of jewels.

  He clearly belonged with the members of the ton wandering the grounds, yet he remained apart from them. Every aspect of his appearance, from those compelling eyes to the slash of his high cheekbones and straight, classic nose to his firm, square jaw to his very bearing marked him as a highborn gentleman. Not the sort she’d ever fancied, and certainly not the sort who’d ever fancy her.

  She now found herself studying him, and her gaze rested on his perfectly shaped upper lip, then his fuller lower lip. How did his mouth manage to look soft and firm at the same time? Surely a man blessed with such extraordinary good looks would have no trouble finding a wife. Indeed, he’d no doubt require a broom to sweep the dozens of willing young women from his steps. Hmmm…was there any truth to the rumor that a full lower lip on a man indicated he possessed a sensuous—?

  “Does what I told Lady Malloran meet with your approval, Madame Larchmont?”

  The softly spoken question jerked her gaze upward. Lord Sutton was regarding her with an unreadable expression that made it impossible for her to know if he’d noticed her fascination with his mouth, but regardless, she sent up a silent prayer of thanks that she’d long ago lost her ability to blush. If he had noticed, the knowledge obviously hadn’t elicited any sort of reaction in him, with the possible exception of boredom—something that shouldn’t have, but nonetheless surprisingly pricked at her feminine vanity.

  Good heavens, perhaps she was a candidate for Bedlam. This man, in less than an hour’s time, had ruffled her normally never-out-of-place feathers more than any other man ever had over any period of time. Indeed, the only other man who had ever ruffled her so was…him. Four y
ears ago. Yes, and look at how disastrously that encounter went.

  He must be well accustomed to gawking females. An overwhelming desire to assure him that her gawking had been a completely uncharacteristic, inexplicable aberration assaulted her, but she managed to swallow the urge. Instead, she looked him straight in the eye, and said, “As what you explained to Lady Malloran is perfectly true, yes, it meets with my approval. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He nodded toward the carriage. “Shall we?”

  Waving off the footman, he helped her step up, then asked, “What is your direction?”

  She named a part of the city that, while not the most fashionable, was certainly respectable. After repeating her words to his coachman, Lord Sutton joined her, settling his long frame on the soft, gray velvet squabs opposite her. Seconds after the door closed, the vehicle jerked into motion.

  The confines of the luxurious carriage made Lord Sutton’s large, robust frame appear even larger, his shoulders wider, his muscular legs longer. Unsettled in a manner she neither liked nor could explain, she pulled her attention away from him and looked down, but found no relief as her gaze riveted on the hem of her cloak resting across the toe of one of his polished black boots. An odd feeling rippled through her at the sight of her clothing touching his. It somehow looked too…intimate, and she shifted in her seat so the green velvet would slide from his boot.

  Refusing to examine her relief too closely, she drew a breath, and any sense of inner calm vanished like a puff of steam as her senses filled with the pleasing scents of freshly starched linen and sandalwood she’d smelled when her nose had nearly been buried in his cravat. He smelled…clean. In a way she normally did not think of men smelling. In her experience, they reeked either of perfumes or of unwashed body odor.