Wickeds Scandal by Kathleen Ayers

5

“Idon’t suppose the devil takes tea, so I should have nothing to fear.” Alexandra smoothed the pleated folds of her yellow-sprigged gown and tried not to think about the fact that she was about to be entertained by Lord Cambourne’s sister and elderly grandmother. Alexandra wondered again at the odd coincidence. Certainly, God must have a sense of humor.

A note arrived that morning written in a spidery, elegant hand. The note instructed Alexandra of the Dowager’s expectation that Alexandra join the elderly woman for tea today. She tossed the note at her uncle and flew up the stairs to find something suitable in her wardrobe. The thought of escaping her uncle’s townhouse, if only for an afternoon, filled her with delight and an odd sense of expectation. But what if she saw him?

Alexandra’s fingers fluttered nervously until the digits found a curl lying across her shoulder. Her bottom wiggled against the settee as she tried to control her agitation. She twisted the curl round and round her finger, while she imagined what she would do if Lord Cambourne appeared. He won’t remember me, Alexandra told herself for the tenth time. I am fairly plain and he was toying with me. Besides, if she would regain her independence and save Helmsby Abbey, she didn’t need her meeting with the biggest rake in London to become common knowledge.

Her face grew warm in the cool air of the Dowager’s parlor. Last night she had dreamt of Lord Cambourne and the infamous dragon tattoo. He had kissed her while the dragon’s tail unwound from his torso to wrap around her. Her hands wove through the dark strands of his hair. She awoke this morning with her nightgown around her waist and a painful throb between her thighs. She could still smell the scent of cinnamon coming off his skin, the sound of his voice whispering, “Alex.”

The clock struck the hour and she jumped, her gaze flying to the door. The dark paneled walnut remained shut. She had been waiting nearly thirty minutes—giving her far too much time to dwell on fantasy. Her aunt had warned her about men and marriage long ago, using the examples of Grandfather Dunforth and Lord Burke. Men were trouble Aunt Eloise instructed her, titled men more so because they felt they deserved everything. Alexandra plucked at her sleeve. Lord Cambourne was nothing more than an adventure, something for her to remember in the autumn of her life.

She leaned back into the couch and allowed her eyes to roam over the comfortable sitting room. The walls were a muted cranberry color with a motif of leaves drawn in a pattern around the edges of the ceiling. A large, plush Persian carpet in soft tones of brown and green covered the floor. The carpet’s weave was so deep that her heels sunk into it. She had never seen any room so elegant. Certainly nothing in her uncle’s garish townhouse compared to this. A light breeze blew through the open window and Alexandra could smell a combination of floral aromas from the gardens behind the house. The comfort of the room made her homesick for her study at Helmsby Abbey.

She had written out yet another note to Mr. Meechum, the family solicitor, the third in as many days. She wondered at his lack of reply thinking that he possibly was out of town. Not trusting Tilda, the lady’s maid her uncle hired to wait on her, Alexandra asked one of the stable boys to take the note to Meechum and Sons. The young lad tugged his forelock and went running down the mews from her in what she hoped was the right direction. Upon her return to the house, Tilda, her bulldog-like countenance twisted into a snarl, asked her what she’d been up to. Alexandra ignored her. Tilda was more jailer than lady’s maid. Alexandra did not owe the woman an explanation.

Where on earth was the Dowager? When she’d arrived, the butler apologized profusely as he directed Alexandra to the lovely sitting room. The Dowager was not quite ready to receive her, he said. Alexandra tapped her toe and struggled to keep her posture ramrod-straight. Aunt Eloise always insisted on perfect posture, especially for Alexandra. “Sitting up straight will give you presence, my dear.”

“Hello.” A stunning young woman walked into the room, her long inky curls bouncing jauntily against her waist. She entered with broad, unladylike steps, exuding confidence and a friendly air.

Alexandra liked her immediately. She stood and curtsied, assuming the girl in front of her to be the Dowager’s granddaughter, and her hostess for tea.

The sparkling green eyes were so much like her brother’s that Alexandra was taken aback. The young lady gave her a sly smile. “You are Miss Dunforth. Grandmother has told me all about you. You quite shocked her, you know.”

“I did?” Alexandra wondered what shocked the Dowager more—her cursing or her unruly hair.

“Why yes. She never expects to meet any young woman who is not a complete dimwit. The Dowager gets positively thrilled when she finds a girl who seems to have a mind. According to Grandmother, young ladies who can think on their own are rather the exception. I’m Lady Miranda, by the way.”

Alexandra began to curtsy, but Miranda caught her arm. “Please! Let us not stand on ceremony. I find that all tiresome.” She winked at Alexandra and laughed, a light tinkling sound which made Alexandra think of bells. “You must call me Miranda. Only my mother insists upon proper address at all times. At least they don’t call me Satan Reynolds—they reserve that for Sutton.” She laughed again.

Alexandra wasn’t sure what to say. She expected that Miranda said the last bit to shock her or possibly even test her in some way.

“Sutton is my brother, Lord Cambourne. You’ll likely meet him. Most of his friends call him Cam—short for Cambourne, but his given name is Sutton. Satan Reynolds is just a play on his first name and last name. I’m really not sure where the nickname came from. I mean, my brother has always been a bit wicked even as a child, but I don’t think that’s it. It may be because he has a tattoo.” Miranda’s eyes blazed bright green.

Miranda is trying to scandalize me. “I believe I heard that.” Alexandra nodded, wondering what sort of comment she could make. Maybe I should shock Miranda and tell her that I met her brother in a dark library and he kissed me. Alexandra sat with her hands on her lap, composing her face into what she hoped was polite interest as Miranda continued to chatter.

“I’m certain those horrid boys at Eton started it. He had a terrible time of it there. Or possibly the ton started calling him that when he returned from Macao, no—that can’t be right because the Chinese also called him ‘Satan’ in Macao.” She paused and looked thoughtful. “I don’t know how you say ‘Satan’ in Chinese. Have you ever heard of Macao? I’ve read loads about it and I’ve asked Sutton to take me there, but he says it’s much too wild and full of unsavory characters.” Miranda gave a careless shrug. “I think Macao sounds positively decadent. My brother had a monkey named Jonas when he lived there. Jonas wore a little red knit cap and smoked opium. Can you imagine? Oh, there’s the tea cart.”

Alexandra’s head was spinning. She wasn’t even sure Miranda had taken a breath in the last ten minutes.

Miranda sat back in a profusion of lavender silk, making her look as if she were perched in a giant orchid. “Now what about you, Miss Dunforth? Grandmother said you were newly arrived in London and you are unhappily looking for a husband.” She gave Alexandra another sly look.

Alexandra nearly laughed out loud. She could clearly see the Dowager’s strategy, sending in Miranda just to make sure Alexandra was worthy of tea. She chose to be blunt and hoped the elderly woman was listening at the door.

“My uncle has engaged his distant cousin, Lady Agnes Dobson, to find a suitable match for me.” There was no need to relay her true circumstances to Miranda. “I would prefer to simply return home and begin breeding my livestock.” Alexandra decided she could be shocking as well. Young ladies did not discuss livestock or breeding, ever. And especially not in a parlor over tea. She waited for Miranda’s reaction.

Miranda’s eyes widened, before she burst into charmed laughter. “Oh, Grandmother was so right about you, Alexandra. I may call you Alexandra?” She reached out and patted Alexandra’s knee. “I hope I haven’t offended you.”

“Not in the least.” Alexandra’s gaze flicked to a book on the side table. Lord Thurston and the Wicked Countess.

Miranda saw her look and burst into a fit of giggles. “Yes, it’s mine. I do so love Lord Thurston. Have you read any of them?”

Alexandra gave a nod of assent. “All but the last two.” The books were likely still sitting in the study at Helmsby Abbey. She had forgotten to pack them in her distress over Odious Oliver summoning her to London.

“Oh, but this is wonderful. The author of the Lord Thurston series quite intrigues me. The books are only known to be authored by the mysterious, ‘J’. A friend of my father’s, Lord Wently, is the owner of the publishing house that prints the Lord Thurston novels. I am quite sure he knows who the mysterious J is, but he refuses to tell. I keep asking Sutton to pressure Lord Wently but he refuses, and—”

“Enough, Miranda. I can hear you chattering down the hall. Miss Dunforth has not said a word, I merit. She is likely to slash open the sofa pillows and put the stuffing in her ears. Pray do quit talking.” The Dowager Marchioness strolled in assisted by a young footman. Her silver hair was piled high atop her head. She looked tired and walked stiffly, but her eyes sparkled as she saw Alexandra.

Alexandra stood and curtsied. Apparently, she passed the Dowager’s test.

“Oh, do sit down Miss Dunforth. I’m afraid the only one who demands all that pomp and circumstance at home is my daughter-in-law.” She clasped Alexandra’s hands in her own and squeezed them. “Miranda, will you please pour?”

The Dowager began asking questions. She wanted to know all about Alexandra’s upbringing, what languages she spoke, what subjects she had studied, and what she knew about farming, of all things. She was rapt with attention as Alexandra explained how she’d managed Helmsby Abbey first for her aunt, then on her own. She spoke lovingly of Mrs. Cowries and Jameson. How Cook made the best scones in England. The Dowager laughed and clapped her hands as Miranda related the “livestock breeding” comment while Alexandra blushed in embarrassment. The older woman seemed inordinately pleased to hear that not only was Alexandra a bluestocking, but also a gentleman farmer, of a sort. When Alexandra told the Dowager she knew how to make an apple pie, the elderly woman insisted that Alexandra must make her one straightaway.

“Once you marry, will you be bringing Cook and her excellent scones to your new home? Or are you planning on living at this Helmsby Abbey? I can tell you miss it terribly.” The Dowager’s brow wrinkled at the question.

Alexandra twisted her hands and tried to choose her words carefully. “It is my sincerest hope.”

The Dowager watched her with hooded eyes. “Indeed?” She peered at Alexandra waiting to see if she would say more.

Alexandra stubbornly stayed silent.

“I hope, Miss Dunforth, that you consider myself and Miranda to be—”

The Dowager was interrupted by the appearance of the butler.

“Madam, the Marchioness of Cambourne.” The butler quietly opened the door to allow a stunning blonde, dressed in ice-blue silk, to enter. The blonde looked at the butler with disdain, waving him away with an elegant flutter of her hand. She sauntered over to the Dowager, leveling a look of muted distaste at Miranda.

“Well, well. Quite the little tea party you’re having, Donata. I assume you just neglected to tell me we were having guests.” She looked pointedly at Alexandra with a tiny sneer on her perfect pink lips.

Alexandra’s first thought was that she was seeing a fairy princess from a fable come to life. The woman’s beauty was what poets wrote odes to and men fought duels over. The Marchioness’s golden tresses, the color of ripened wheat, curled into an ornate coiffure that pulled artfully back from her temples. Arrogance and entitlement dripped from her like the diamonds in her delicate ears. Alexandra couldn’t tell how old she was, for her face was as unlined as Alexandra’s own and her complexion reminded one of fresh cream. Was no one in this family plain? Alexandra looked at Miranda and the still lovely Dowager. I am a duckling amongst swans.

“Jeanette, dearest, why don’t you join us for tea? I assumed you were still abed. You danced so late into the night with our dear Herbert.” The Dowager’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

Alexandra didn’t understand the sudden tension in the air, but the parlor was rife with it.

Lady Cambourne stiffened at the Dowager’s tone. Her lip curled into a sneering imitation of a smile.

The Dowager looked ready to hit her daughter-in-law with her cane. She stared down Lady Cambourne.

The two women reminded Alexandra of cats disputing territory.

Lady Cambourne’s hands curled into themselves giving her nails the appearance of talons. The perfect features tightened. “Herbert’s a dear, isn’t he?” Lady Cambourne’s cultured tones said politely. “Just imagine, if Robert hadn’t married that vicar’s daughter in the nick of time,” Lady Cambourne put special emphasis on the words, “well…things would likely be much different. How fortunate, don’t you agree, Donata?”

The Dowager’s lips tightened. “You forget yourself, Jeanette.”

“Well, that’s all ancient history now, isn’t it?” Lady Cambourne sounded like a hissing teapot.

“We have a guest, Jeanette.” The Dowager gave a nod in Alexandra’s direction. The warning in her voice was implicit.

Lady Cambourne gave a sniff of her perfect nose, ignoring the Dowager. “I have some errands to attend to. I shall be gone the rest of the afternoon. Friends to visit.” She turned to Miranda. “Miranda, pray drink nothing but tea. No cakes or scones. I see in you a tendency towards stoutness. Now that your brother foolishly declined Percy Dobson’s offer for your hand, I am assured of nothing but difficulty in finding you another suitor. If you grow stout, it will only complicate things. Had you married during your first Season I would not now be faced with rescuing you from spinsterhood.” She shook her head. “You could have been a duchess.”

Miranda reacted as if she had been slapped. Her lovely face reddened, and her whole form deflated like an overdone soufflé.

The Dowager banged her cane on the floor.

“Dear daughter-in-law, I fear I am out of patience this morning. Pray do not try me.”

The air around the two prickled with animosity.

Miranda looked away and plucked at her skirts.

Alexandra wished to fade into the tapestry of the sofa. She lowered her gaze to her lap.

“As you wish, my lady.” Lady Cambourne curtsied low to the Dowager smirking with disrespect. Her skirts rustled softly. The icy gaze pierced the Dowager with dislike.

She quirked a perfectly plucked eyebrow in Alexandra’s direction, as if she suddenly remembered Alexandra was in the room. “Donata, you haven’t introduced me. And you are?” Her tone spoke volumes. Lady Cambourne couldn’t care less who Alexandra was.

Alexandra rose and curtsied. “Alexandra Dunforth, my lady.”

The golden head didn’t nod in acknowledgement. The pale blue shards of ice flickered with what Alexandra thought was recognition. Then the Marchioness turned her back on Alexandra.

“Well, I will leave you to your scintillating conversation.” She turned her conversation back to the Dowager. “Please make sure that Miranda drinks only tea. Sutton is so tight with every farthing, I can ill afford to let out her gowns if she eats too much.” The Marchioness flounced out of the room in a flurry of blue silk.

Alexandra exhaled slowly. She had been holding her breath. What a horrid woman. And she was a Marchioness.

The Dowager suddenly looked very old and tired, as if her previous liveliness were taken by the dark fairy who just sailed from the room.

“That’s my mother. Lovely, isn’t she? She thinks Sutton is the reason no one has offered for me. Ha!” Miranda gave a toss of her head.

“You’ve declined so many suitors that few now have the inclination to ask.” The Dowager clutched her cane. “Perhaps you should lower your expectations.”

A soft knock came at the door. Alexandra prayed it wasn’t Lady Cambourne returning.

“Come,” the Dowager uttered in her commanding tone.

The butler opened the door and bowed low. “Lord Cambourne is here, madam.”

Alexandra’s teacup shook. She struggled to set it down without spilling her tea.

The Dowager cast her an odd look.

The scent of cinnamon wafted into the room followed by Lord Cambourne. “Hello, Rainha. Hello, Miranda. I’ve come to chase away your demon. I believe she bolted to her carriage when she saw me coming.” He smirked like a child caught in mischief as he walked through the door but stopped in surprise when he spied Alexandra. The green gaze ran over her figure on the couch, lingering on her bosom before lifting to her lips.

Damnation! He does remember me! She felt ridiculously happy that he did then chided herself for caring.

His features immediately composed into cold curiosity. “Forgive me, Grandmother, I didn’t realize you had a guest.” He drawled with what sounded to Alexandra like insolence.

Alexandra stiffened her spine. Does he think I am here to scream ruination? Well, I don’t give a bloody damn what he thinks. I wasn’t snooping, and I certainly don’t wish to acknowledge our previous meeting.

“Sutton, this is Miss Alexandra Dunforth. Grandmother met her at Lady Dobson’s ball the other night. Miss Dunforth, my brother, the Marquess of Cambourne.” Miranda, no doubt still smarting from her mother’s remarks, defiantly bit into a slice of raisin cake.

“Must you refer to me in a foreign tongue? Portuguese is only slightly better than Chinese. At least the Portuguese aren’t heathens.” The Dowager sniffed.

“But Rainha means queen. I thought you would appreciate the sentiment.”

Alexandra made a dutiful curtsy all the while wishing she could run from the room. Lord Cambourne was more beautiful than she remembered, in spite of the slight frown he directed at her. The dark, silky locks of his hair were pulled back and tied neatly with a leather thong. The earring, dangling jauntily from one ear appeared to be a jade figure. The smell of cinnamon grew stronger as he moved into the room. He bent down to bestow a kiss on his grandmother’s forehead before moving his tall form to the window where he leaned against the sill. The green eyes, so like his sister’s and grandmother’s, watched her appraisingly.

An awkward silence engulfed the room. Alexandra clasped and unclasped her hands. Lord Cambourne’s presence caused her no end of nervousness. Did he think her appearance was to denounce his behavior at Lady Dobson’s? She certainly wasn’t here to curry favor with his family or force him into marriage. Marriage was the farthest thing from Alexandra’s mind. In fact, she was actively avoiding it.

The dark head nodded curtly, “A pleasure, Miss Dunforth.”

His long legs encased in leather riding breeches, stretched out in front of him as he leaned against the window. The leather outlined his muscular thighs, clung to them in fact, a bit indecently. A blush stole up her cheeks again. She realized she was admiring him as one does a prize stallion.

He caught her looking and raised an eyebrow.

Alexandra lowered her eyes. The man really was a conceited ass.

“Miss Dunforth was just telling us about her estate in Hampshire, Helmsby Abbey. She’s quite the gentleman farmer, Sutton. You might learn a thing or two from Miss Dunforth.”

Alexandra sincerely doubted that Lord Cambourne gave a fig for managing an estate and nearly said so to the room. He likely had dozens of minions to do that for him. She wished she could march right over to him and tell him to stop looking at her with his beautiful accusatory eyes. Thankfully, at least, he did not seem inclined to acknowledge their earlier meeting.

“Indeed? Are you familiar with animal husbandry as well, Miss Dunforth?” Lord Cambourne drawled the words. His gaze slid over her breasts as if he were contemplating a delicious roast at a banquet and deciding which prime cut to slice off.

He is a horrid, arrogant man.

A spurt of heat ran through her. Alexandra did not miss the innuendo, although thankfully it looked like Miranda had. She wasn’t sure about the Dowager.

“I am, my lord.”

“I thought as much.” Lord Cambourne smirked. “You have that look about you—as a gentleman farmer does.”

Rude, insulting peacock. She knew she was plain, but she certainly didn’t look like a man. His glance at her breasts should be enough to disprove that. She wished to leave before she marched over to him and gave him another setdown. A set down he most certainly deserved.

The parlor grew warmer.

“What else have you ladies been discussing today? Gowns, I suspect, and other fripperies?”

“Sutton, don’t goad me.” Miranda looked as if she would throw a piece of the raisin cake at him. “We are not like your Lady Fellowes. There’s a woman with nothing but vacant space between her ears. Her personality is that of a potted plant. A fern or some other dull shrub.”

“Miranda!” The Dowager flinched and sounded stern, but her eyes laughed.

Lord Cambourne shook his finger at his sister. “She is most definitely not my Lady Fellowes.” He didn’t appear chagrined with his sister in the least. Clearly, he and Miranda were very close.

The Dowager put one wrinkled hand to her forehead as if in pain. “I am thankful she is not. There are enough plants in this house.”

* * *

Sutton shothis grandmother an amused glance. He knew of her dislike for Lady Fellowes. The Dowager made no secret of it. He narrowed his eyes and flicked an imaginary piece of lint off his sleeve as he surveyed the sumptuous Miss Dunforth. What in the world was she doing here? The lovely ivory skin of her face and neck flushed a delightful shade of red. The opal eyes flashed at him in disapproval along with an odd vulnerability. If his grandmother and sister hadn’t been present, he would ravish Miss Dunforth on the settee.

Miss Dunforth popped up in the most unlikely places. Hiding behind curtains in libraries. His grandmother’s parlor. Oddly enough, he’d visited his grandmother today to ask if she knew Miss Dunforth. And low and behold here was the Badger. He told himself again that he was merely bored, and Miss Dunforthonlyintrigued him. Perhaps that was it, he thought with disdain as he looked at her severe coiffure. The chestnut curls were sedately and unfortunately restrained. Not even a tendril was attempting to escape. Pity. The gown she wore was of good quality, but the colors were muted and dull. Miss Dunworth apparently wished to fade into the shadows of his grandmother’s parlor. Her back was rigid as if a fireplace poker held her in place. How incredibly ladylike and prim was Miss Dunforth. He wanted to throw her skirts over her head and make her beg him to take her.

She looked away unconsciously biting her luscious lower lip. A rebellious, tiny curl, almost as if it had heard his earlier thoughts, sprung from her coiffure.

Sutton shifted slightly. His cock stood at full attention. The Badger’s appearance today reminded him that leather breeches were unforgiving. He treated Miss Dunforth to a polite, interested smile.

“How long have you been in London, Miss Dunforth?”

The Badger choked as he addressed her directly. The opal eyes flashed at him in annoyance. He had the odd sensation she wished he would ignore her completely. Impossible.

“A fortnight only, my lord.”

“Lady Dobson’s was the first social event Miss Dunforth has attended. Lord Burke, Miss Dunforth’s uncle, is a distant relation of Lady Dobson’s. Miranda piped in helpfully, plopping another piece of raisin cake into her mouth.

Sutton watched Miss Dunforth’s reaction to his sister’s recitation. Her hands twisted in her lap and she studiously avoided his gaze.

So that was her cause of distress in Lord Dobson’s library. Her uncle launched her into society and expected to find her a suitor. The look on her lovely face told Sutton she was none too happy about it. A smart girl, one with ambition, would be screaming that the Marquess of Cambourne compromised her honor at Lady Dobson’s. Her uncle should be here demanding marriage. Curious.

“Sutton?” His grandmother banged her cane on the floor in a demand for his attention

“Sorry, woolgathering. I was just wondering if Lady Dobson was successful in making introductions for Miss Dunforth.” An unwelcome spurt of jealousy welled in him as he waited for her answer.

Miranda regarded him with astonishment. The question was much too personal for a first meeting. His grandmother gave a calculated look of surprise that he would show such interest in their little guest. The question bordered on rudeness. Sutton didn’t care. It was suddenly very important to him.

The Badger raised her chin defiantly. Annoyed. He could tell by the set of her jaw. Brave little Badger. She wanted to throw something at him. He could tell. Then she winced painfully and dramatically.

“Forgive me, my lady,” Miss Dunforth moaned in false pain to the Dowager. “I suddenly feel quite unwell. My head feels as if it is splitting. I beg your forgiveness, but I must take my leave.”

“Indeed?” His grandmother tried to sound shocked. Grandmother was not a stupid woman. She noted Sutton’s interest in Miss Dunforth. “Your headache came on so suddenly.”

He nearly laughed out loud. Badgers tended to be crafty little creatures.

Miss Dunforth tried to look ill. A hand fluttered to her temple. She grimaced again as if in horrible pain. She was a terrible liar and a worse actress.

“Miss Dunforth? Alexandra? Are you sure you must leave?” Miranda pouted. “I wanted to show you the library. We haven’t even talked about the latest Lord Thurston novel.”

“I am so very sorry, but I find that my head aches terribly. My constitution is delicate at times, or so I’m told.”

“Indeed.” The Dowager gave a small snort of disbelief. “And you a sturdy lass from Hampshire. Who ran a farm. Alone.” His grandmother’s knowing gaze flicked to him, then to Miss Dunforth.

“Miss Dunforth, I do hope it’s not that sudden illness I’ve heard is making the rounds of the ton. Young ladies suddenly struck down as they drink their tea. You must get home immediately before you find yourself unable to do so.” Sutton composed his face into one of bland concern knowing it would irritate the little Badger. He was not disappointed.

Miss Dunforth, Alex, looked as if she would argue with him, saw his grandmother watching her and changed her expression to one of illness. “Possibly, my lord. There are all kinds of ill humors and vile things to be found in London that I, growing up in Hampshire, am not accustomed to. I was likely exposed to something at Lady Dobson’s which didn’t agree with me.”

Most women did not compare Sutton to an ill humor or vile thing. Her subtle insult made him want to laugh out loud. Or kiss her senseless. He strode over to the settee. “Please allow me to escort you out, Miss Dunforth.”

“That’s not necessary, Lord Cambourne.” The Badger stood. “I am quite capable of finding the front door myself.” She gave a false wobble and pretended as if she would faint at any moment. “Lady Cambourne, Lady Miranda, I bid you good day. My apologies again.”

Sutton leaned over Miss Dunforth, Alex. “I insist.” The look of horror on her face was so comical he bit his lip to stifle the laughter bubbling up inside of him.

She ignored his arm, prickly thing that she was, and proceeded to the door determined to see herself out. She stopped only when his grandmother spoke.

“I would take it much amiss, Miss Dunforth, if Sutton didn’t see you out.”

Alex’s shoulders slumped as she paused for effect and whispered, “I don’t wish to trouble Lord Cambourne, my lady.” The pathetic tone in her voice had an edge to it. “Your footman is right down the hall.”

“It’s no trouble at all.” Little coward. He held his arm out again, daring her to take it.

Alex’s fingertips brushed the top of his arm lightly, as if he was a leper she was forced to touch.

“You cannot be too careful, my dear Miss Dunforth. A headache can make one so weak and dizzy. I would not have you fainting in the hallway. Sutton will put you in my carriage least you collapse on the steps.” The Dowager commanded in a severe tone, but her eyes twinkled in delight. “It has been a most illuminating afternoon, Miss Dunforth. I cannot wait to further our acquaintance. We shall call on you soon, won’t we, Miranda?”

Miranda nodded and took another bite of the raisin cake.

Sutton led the subdued Miss Dunforth out of his grandmother’s parlor. She looked like she was being escorted to the gallows instead of being seen to the waiting carriage of a Marchioness. He heard the laughter of the Dowager behind him. No doubt his grandmother would be full of questions.

* * *

Alexandra feltthe heat of Lord Cambourne through her fingertips. The sensations seeped down her arm, through her chest, and lodged between her legs. Her emotions vacillated between anger at his high-handed behavior, embarrassment at his acknowledgement, and a nervous, filmy excitement that rushed through her in waves.

As always, Alexandra tried to think logically. She decided that his goading of her was nothing more than dismay in finding her taking tea with his grandmother. Fine. She could understand his confusion. She would explain the situation to him. She would likely run into him again, if she were to further her acquaintance with the Dowager and Miranda so she would like to smooth over any misconceptions he may be under. She couldn’t fault him in thinking that most women would try to use their previous meeting as leverage. Her irritation abated, though she still thought him a conceited ass. She snuck a look at his beautiful profile.

“My Lord.” Alexandra turned, taking a deep breath. His eyes were so green and mesmerizing that it took her a moment to continue. “Please let me explain. I met your grandmother purely by chance at Lady Dobson’s and she invited me to tea. My appearance is in no way related to our unfortunate meeting last night. My discretion is assured.” Surely, he didn’t wish for anyone to know that she’d witnessed his assignation with Lady Fellowes. Or, their previous meeting. She certainly did not.

His eyes widened a bit. The gold flecks in his emerald eyes twinkled in the light.

“Let us begin again,” Alexandra said proudly, impressed she could even think with the exotic allure of Lord Cambourne’s surrounding her. She managed to sound as if his company caused her little distress. A feat of incredible magnitude, for the smell of him, like a warm cinnamon bun, played havoc with her senses.

The green gaze settled on her bosom then wandered down between the valleys of her breasts.

Why was he being so….so improper with her? It was unwarranted. He had intimated that she was plain and mannish in front of his grandmother. He could not possibly be attracted to her. Maybe he was trying to get her to apologize for losing her temper. She was beneath him socially and the setdown she gave him was incredibly incorrect. He didn’t strike her as a stickler for those types of things, but maybe he was.

“I am also truly sorry for my unladylike display of temper.” There, she thought. That should placate him.

“Yes. Your very unladylike display of temper.” His brow wrinkled, and he frowned slightly, as if it truly disturbed him. The big body moved closer to her.

Alexandra felt overly warm, as she had in the parlor. Apparently, Cambourne House was not well ventilated. Surely, a maid or footman could open a window. Besides being warm, her irritation returned at his manner. He didn’t need to sound so…put out. If she recalled correctly, he’d called her an educated, overgrown rat at their last meeting. That was much worse than being called a peacock.

“My lord,” Alexandra said through clenched teeth. His closeness made it difficult to concentrate. She thought of the green dragon tattoo and imagined the tail moved and reached out for her. “If you will not accept my apology then I bid you good day.” The words came out in a slight stutter, and she winced.

“Prickly, aren’t you little Badger? I did not find our meeting unfortunate. I found it precipitous.” He stood so near she could clearly see the stubble on his chin. The green eyes danced under lashes longer than any man should have. His lips were full and sensuous. She tried to focus on the tiny jade figure in his ear. It looked like a baby.

“Do not call me that. It is not flattering to be likened to a foul-tempered rodent.”

“No, it is not. Nor is it flattering to be likened to a strutting bird known for its beauty and stupidity.” This time he grinned, showing even white teeth.

Alexandra’s heart began a dull thud as she looked up into those green eyes. Her breath stopped. She stood frozen, mesmerized by Lord Cambourne. Were he a cobra about to strike she would cheerfully stand still and allow the bite. Alexandra realized with growing trepidation that she was out of her element with this man. As mistress of Helmsby Abbey, she gave orders to a group of ancient servants and farmhands. Her intelligence and authority were never questioned and no man, not a farmhand, a villager, or even the peddler that sometimes passed through ever dared flirt with her. The man before her was a dangerous, handsome Marquess with a scandalous reputation. His attraction to her was illogical and ridiculous. She was both frightened and thrilled by his apparent interest in her.

“Miss Dunforth, I would love to further a discussion of animal husbandry with you. Perhaps you can give me pointers. About my sheep.” A mischievous grin broke across the beautiful face.

He’s flirting with me. Teasing me. Her heart fluttered like a trapped butterfly. “I would be happy to. The next time your grandmother invites me to tea.” The words came out sharply. She turned her back on him, anxious to escape to the safety of the carriage and the dubious company of Tilda. She took a step forward.

A warm finger slid along her neck and inserted itself in the back of her gown. The finger tugged her back, towards Lord Cambourne. She could not move forward without risking a tear in her gown.

“Stop blustering for a moment, Badger. Even though it makes you quite delectable.”

The words fell over her in a caress. He’d called her delectable. Something dark and dangerous twisted through her. Her skin tingled. The hall grew even warmer. Surely this was only a game to him.

“You are unkind to toy with me in this fashion.” She nearly wept the words. Every nerve in her body screamed. “Are you so jaded by life that you amuse yourself by torturing your grandmother’s guests?”

The finger slid out of the back of her neck and was joined by his whole hand as it trailed down the length of her spine. Her back exploded at the warmth of his touch. A gasp escaped her mouth. She prayed he hadn’t noticed.

“I would enjoy torturing you endlessly. In a most kind fashion.”

The dragon’s tail wrapped around her middle, sensuously winding around her.

“Alex.” His breath, warm against the back of her neck, held a note of longing.

An odd ache filled her chest. “I did not give you leave to call me by that name.” She tried to sound harsh, but instead her reprimand sounded seductive.

“I did not ask for it.” The words floated around her as he planted a kiss below her ear, the skin sparking with flame at the touch of his lips.

Alexandra blinked, stunned that he would dare kiss her, here at Cambourne House, but did not turn around to face him. It was all she could do not to fall into a puddle of adoration at his feet. She was a bookish, plain spinster from Hampshire, more comfortable discussing the planting of crops than the whispering of seductive flirtations in the shadows. Notorious rakes did not desire her. Did they?

She pivoted round, determined to confront him with the logic of her thoughts, but he was gone, the elegant hallway of Cambourne House quiet. Lord Cambourne disappeared as if he had never been there at all.