A Curious Heart (Love Vine: A Regency Series) (3 page)

"Aunt Alana, do you notice that Lord Rothburn stares in this direction quite often?" Allie tried to gauge her relative's reaction to her question.

She looked disappointed, however, when Lady Alana only gazed at her blankly, features smooth and unaffected by the possibility of such attention. Alana was no fool, and knew her niece quite well.

Allie, whose heart appeared to be healing nicely from the blow of unrequited love, looked to have the germ of an idea blossoming in her youthful head. The wheels turning in the girl's brain could only mean one thing, as Allie kept glancing between Alana and Rothburn.

 "He appears quite taken with you," Allie said brightly. "You would make such a lovely couple. Lord Rothburn is so distinguished and you are without doubt the most regal lady in the
ton
. You would be perfection together." Undeterred by Alana's lack of response, Allie smiled brightly. The girl was a natural match-maker.

 "Who? Oh him. Well, perhaps, child, he is enamored of
you
. Danced with you twice last night. You should make yourself amiable to the earl. He would be a great match. You are untitled, but that could be overcome."

The words she spoke caused a small knot of pain in Alana's stomach. She had noticed him staring, but she'd done her best to ignore it. Too late for her, she surmised, to aspire to marriage. She was on the shelf and had been too much disappointed in the past to put herself in that position again. Still, he was a handsome devil, and though she would not consider him for herself, perhaps she could arrange a match between him and her niece.

Lady Alana did her best to ignore the feelings that had begun to surface for Lord Rothburn. He would be looking for a girl who was young enough to give him an heir and a spare. Something she felt she was much too old to do.

Still, she pondered, what of her mother's advanced age when she had produced the second set of her brood for the Earl of Champlay? Past thirty, she was. Well, it was a moot point, even if she was a great deal attracted to him. Lady Alana liked her independence, or so she told herself with some ferocity, and turned her mind away with resolve from such musings.

Allie studied Alana's face, and could not miss the varying range of emotions—an unusual display for Lady Alana whose privacy was paramount.  Hearing the lady casually toss the Earl at her head, Allie gave an unladylike sniff of disdain. "He is not staring at me aunt, but at
you
."

She gave her aunt another sidelong glance. "Are you not in the least interested in being gazed at so  longingly by one of the most eligible peers of the realm?"

"I am long past the age of romance." Alana, startled by the asperity of her words, softened her voice as she continued, "Men have found me attractive in the past, but they always withdraw when they know my true nature. I have long since grown weary of the game. I will not put myself in that position again."

"What position?" Allie queried in a most innocent, casual voice. Her curiosity working overtime as was normal for her, prevented her
not
asking the question.

"Rejection." Alana's tone was clipped and gave every indication that the subject was closed. She shifted the topic of conversation to something more suitable for a young lady. "If you do not find Lord Rothburn an enticing catch, perhaps we should attend Lady Beasely's intellectual soirée on the morrow. There you might find a poet or an artist."

Lady Alana grinned to show that she was teasing, then added for good measure, "One who is accepted by the
ton
, of course."

Allie's response was cut short by the butler announcing dinner was served. The assemblage repaired to the large dining room and dinner proved quiet. Rothburn's gaze did not stray to Lady Alana as often, nor did she at allow her gaze to stray in his direction, though it was difficult.

It disturbed her that she found Lord Rothburn attractive. If he had an interest in her, she thought, it would be for an illicit assignation, not matrimony. His reputation for dalliance was known far and wide. Lady Alana did not want to think further upon his penchant for wealthy, titled ladies.

Her independent nature rebelled at the idea of becoming a slave to any man's baser desires. Even were they discreet, any liaison between the pair would eventually become known—such was the grapevine among the nobility. Nothing went unnoticed forever; nothing was sacred.

She'd been the object of gossip before; she would never deliberately place herself in that position again.

Despite her best resolve, awareness of him—the very sound of his voice down the table—gave rise to some unusual feelings in various parts of her anatomy. His deep baritone resounded through her and when he laughed—which was often—he stirred her in ways no man had ever done.

Lady Alana fell under his spell, no matter her intentions not to do so. Foolishness, she told herself sternly, simply foolishness. No matter the attraction, he was not for her.

However, each time she heard his voice, Lady Alana caught herself straining to hear the anecdote with which he entertained his dinner partner. Her ears were tuned to his speech and her heart beat the faster at the sound.

So diverted was her attention, she ignored her dinner partner and Sir Gordon admonished her lightly for her lapse.

Chapter Three

~~

Lady Alana stood next to her nephew, foot tapping subtly beneath her gown in time with the lively reel. She plied her fan, a beautifully hand-painted object from the Orient, waving it back and forth in a languid motion. Her gaze followed Rothburn as he moved around the floor with Lady Eleanor. It did not seem to Lady Alana that the pair had much to say, nor were they entirely engrossed with one another, a hopeful sign.

Hopeful?
Whatever was she thinking? Lady Alana admonished herself for such foolishness. She had no interest in the relationship between this man and the woman he was purported to eventually wed. Why should she care if the couple looked indifferent to one another?

This train of thought did not preclude the self-deluded lady from scheming to get a dance with the Earl. Perverse behavior for one who had schemed
not
to dance with him just two nights before.

"Striking pair, eh?" Sir Gordon, who also watched the couple, gazed at Lady Eleanor, unaware of the longing that lurked in his stare. Nearly sick with his pain, Sir Gordon turned away at last from the sight of the woman he loved in the arms of his best friend.

"They will most likely be wed and have an heir for Rothburn this time next year." His voice was rough with an unnamed emotion as he continued, trying for  light banter, but failing completely. "Wonder if we shall be invited to stand as god parents?"

"Oh, I don't know. Rothburn does not look eager. Nor does Lady Eleanor." Alana glanced sideways at her nephew and was not fooled by his attempt at casualness. She sensed his frustration. "Why don't you ask Eleanor for a dance? Surely, if you presented an obstacle in the form of your own suit, she might just give you consideration."

"Suit? My dearest Alana, surely you are aware that it would be most inappropriate for a man of my station to pursue such as she." Dropping all pretense of indifference in the face of Alana's obvious awareness regards his feelings, Sir Gordon could not help the expectant note in his voice.

"Are you saying that my mother's marriage to your grandfather was unsuitable?" Lady Alana's voice held a hint of slyness and her straight-forward gaze disconcerted Sir Gordon.

He blanched at her words, his eyebrows rising nearly to his hair line, and parried her comment neatly. "And are you insinuating that I might undermine the marriage plans of my best friend?"

"Never say so. I was only implying that you are surely as suitable as your grandfather—in fact, more so. You have greater wealth than he had when he wed Lady Grace." She looked keenly at Sir Gordon's eyes. Eyes that spoke volumes of hope and at the same time, deep despair.

"Besides," she added for good measure," as I said, neither your friend nor his dance partner appear particularly enthralled with one another. This is an arrangement of his mother's, as everyone is aware. Why don't you talk to Rothburn? He might just be willing to step aside if you tell him how you feel."

She then added the final argument, doing so with a relish that spoke volumes regarding her own sentiments, "Nothing official has been set in their arrangement as yet. Until Rothburn actually asks and she accepts, the field is open, I should think."

"Yes, well, perhaps you are right. Goodness knows I've been trying to hide my feelings for some time, but if you can see through me, perhaps others can. Wouldn't do to become a laughingstock. Surprised Rothburn hasn't seen it. What do you think I should do?"

Sir Gordon looked with expectancy to his aunt, knowing her alliance and compliance would be forthcoming.

"Start by asking the lady to dance. Make yourself charming. Do the pretty, as any smitten man should do." There was a hint of amusement in Lady Alana's voice, yet she gazed wistfully at the dancers whirling about the room.

"Should I not have a word first with Rothburn?" He spoke with little conviction, his voice smooth, his eyes upon the dancers, speculation suddenly in his gaze.

"I think not. You must first determine if she has an interest. Wouldn't do for you to cause a scene if there were no purpose in it." Her logic was not misplaced but Gordon suspected her motive. He watched the play of emotions cross her features, remembering her behavior at dinner.

"And just why should you evince such interest in my love life, Dearest Aunt? I'm not ungrateful for your concern," he added, watching her features go carefully blank—a habit of long-standing when the lady wanted to appear disinterested.

It fooled most, but he knew her too well to be misled by the attempt.

"I wish only the best for you, dearest Gordon." She smiled shyly, and her defenses fell before his frank look. "Truth be known, I would not find it amiss should their marriage never take place."

"I see. Are you then, perhaps besotted of my friend, Rothburn? How interesting. Always thought you had no interest in marriage."

Sir Gordon was indeed surprised. It had been his understanding that Alana was just too independent to marry, evidenced by her refusal of all suitors. As he awaited her answer, he noticed a slight exasperation in the look she leveled on him.

"I am not interested in anything to do with Lord Rothburn. Do not be foolish enough to think that just because I wish to aid you in seeking the bride of your choice, I have an ulterior motive."

There was no conviction in her words and though Alana could not bring herself to openly admit her smitten state, she was sure her nephew perceived it. She could no longer conceal her desire for Rothburn, at least from the astute Sir Gordon.

Though she
did
try to remedy his judicious impression. "I really don't know why I said that. I really do not care whom he marries."

* * * * *

The potted palm stirred as Allie maneuvered behind Gordon and Alana, eavesdropping. What she'd heard—so deliciously eventful and fraught with tragic romance—stirred Allie's youthful senses.

 She did so love a good plot. Her penchant for romance novels had never given her this much pleasure. Satisfied her first notion had been correct—regarding her Aunt Alana's feelings for Rothburn, at least—she vowed to aid her brother and her aunt as much as possible.

The girl continued to lean into the foliage, awaiting further developments. She did not have to wait long, for her brother was soon threading his way through the crowd and tapping Rothburn on the shoulder. She watched as Rothburn bowed and stepped back.

Her heart raced with her romantic imaginings as Rothburn then made a direct advance to where Lady Alana stood fanning herself.

 Withdrawing slightly—lest she be discovered—Allie continued to spy. Gathering information—as she preferred to call it.

* * * * *

"Lady Alana. How nice to see you again. Where is your charge? I do not see her dancing." The Sixth Earl of Rothburn could think of nothing else to open the conversation. His inclination to sweep the lady before him into the night, where he could have her alone muddled his thoughts. Quelling his lust with difficulty, he smiled in an innocent way.

"She is about somewhere. Should I seek her out? Perhaps you wish to dance with her?" Alana, not a little annoyed that he should ask after Allie, tried to quell the petulance in her voice and only just managed to keep her face a level mask of indifference.

She was astounded at the dip of disappointment his words had brought to her heart but her spirit soared at his next speech, and with such speed that she was nearly dizzy.

"On the contrary, Lady Alana. It is
your
company I have sought. I thought perhaps you would honor me with the next waltz." Rothburn, chagrined that Alana thought him interested in her niece, was quick to disabuse her of the notion. "While your niece is a splendid dancer and quite charming, I have no wish to waste time entertaining a schoolroom miss whose idealistic sighs and romantic posturing bores me silly."

A muffled exclamation from beyond the potted palm drew Rothburn's attention. He returned it just as quickly to Lady Alana when she chose that moment to place her hand upon his arm, a touch that burned right through the cloth of his coat.

He stared down at the graceful curve of her fingers as they tightened on his arm, his thoughts going to where else on his person he would like those slender digits to tighten.

"Lord Rothburn? Are you all right?" Lady Alana raised her eyebrows as the man's face paled and she felt a trembling beneath her touch.

"What?" he asked. Then recalling where they were, Rothburn cleared his throat. "Of course, no offence intended regarding Allie. She is young and shall learn in time how to comport herself in society."

"Oh bother that! Actually, I am glad to have your attention for there is something I wished to ask you." Lady Alana, who in truth was political-minded and had a burning desire to know all she could about the workings of Parliament, gazed with some earnestness at Rothburn.

Searching her large directory of knowledge on parliamentary matters, she asked the first question that came into her mind. "What can you tell me about the bill before Parliament that will allow Catholics admitted to government?"

She hesitated a moment as his brows drew together in a frown, but continued hurriedly, lest she lose his interest altogether. "I only ask because one of my dear friends is Catholic and her brother, Lord Dunning, has aspired to the House. What may I tell her?"

Lady Alana could see that she had hit on just the right note. She watched as the earl's features melded into an enthusiastic mask. Her sincere interest notwithstanding, Lady Alana Fisk was bent on engaging the man's interest—never mind that she denied it to herself at every turn.

The Catholic Relief Act, one of Rothburn's favorite projects, was coming before committee soon, and he was delighted to expound on it. He was also delighted to find that the lady seemed genuinely interested and appeared to understand everything he said regarding the workings of the government. Not only well informed, she had opinions of her own that showed merit.

Lady Alana, plying her fan with some vigor, looked a coquettish glance at Rothburn. "It grows quite warm in here. Do you think we could step onto the veranda for a few moments?"

Surprised at her own boldness, Lady Alana had, nevertheless, decided to seize the moment, for she might never have another.

Bracing for a setdown, she was pleasantly surprised when Rothburn held out his arm for her to take. He smiled his devilishly handsome smile, white teeth gleaming between full sensuous lips. Her heart skipped.

"My pleasure, Lady Alana. Would you like a glass of punch as well?"

"No, I think not. Perhaps later. Just a few minutes of fresh air would revive me, I am sure."

With those words, the couple wandered away, leaving Allie to peer over the top of the potted palm as best she could in order to view their departing backs. They moved away from her vantage point, thus depriving her of the shameful act of eavesdropping. Allie was certain she could continue her vigil, and looked around for an escort to the terrace.

* * * * *

The evening was balmy, the stars actually gleamed in a London sky void of its normal fogginess and the garden beyond the terrace provided the lovely fragrance of roses. Allie stood at the balustrade, her shawl draped over her bodice, her gloved hands clasped before her. The Honorable Calvin Beasley hovered near her elbow, not touching her but giving every indication of wanting to do so.

She had little to say to this gentleman, and knew that it was improper that they should be here on the veranda, un-chaperoned.

Allie had pressed him into service as her escort to the terrace, however, and could not be rude. When her aunt and the earl had disappeared through the French doors, she'd become almost frantic, lest she miss something important. Knowing she was the very image of a scapegrace hoyden for doing so, she could not curb the curiosity that drove her on. The newfound knowledge of Alana's beleaguered heartstrings gave credence to her pursuit—and unnatural interest in—the
affaire
.