An Unsuitable Bride (14 page)

The chestnut head popped up above the edge of the cliff first, and Perry leaned back on his elbows waiting for the rest of her to follow. She clambered up onto the grass, straightened, her hands pressed to the small of her back for a moment, then looked around.

She stared, dumbfounded, at the figure on the grass a few feet away.

“Good evening again, Mistress Hathaway . . . but no, I’m certain that can’t be right.” Peregrine stood up in one easy movement, dusting off his breeches with his hat. “ ’Tis not Mistress Hathaway, is it?” He raised his eyebrows with a smile that was filled with the warmth of his earlier delight in her dance upon the beach.

But Alex saw none of that. With cold clarity, she thought simply,
It’s over
. All over. All the work, the misery of the charade, the desperation, all for nothing. This man, this complete stranger, had ruined everything. There was nothing left now, nothing she and Sylvia could salvage from the wreck of their lives, and
all because this man decided to poke and pry where he had no business. Blind rage filled her.

She took a step towards him. “Do you have the first idea what you’ve done? You come here cocooned in your own perfect little world where nothing could ever go wrong, where no one would dare to make you uncomfortable, and you decide to amuse yourself, playing with some insignificant creature who couldn’t possibly have a life or feelings of her own.” Without thought, she raised her hand, and her palm cracked against his cheek.

Peregrine reared back, shocked at the violence of her reaction. He grabbed her wrist as her hand lifted to strike him again. “
No.”
He forced her hand down, his eyes locked with hers. “No, you won’t do that again.”

Slowly, under the steady blue gaze, Alex felt the rage die down, leaving only a dull resignation in its place. She pulled at her captive wrist, but his fingers only tightened. “You’ve ruined
everything,
” she said in a low voice.

“How?” he demanded. “I certainly haven’t the first idea why you’re deceiving everyone in Dorset, but I haven’t done anything to spoil your game, and I don’t intend to.” He caught her other wrist as her free hand came up, with what intention he didn’t wait to discover. “No . . . just take a hold of yourself. I’m only curious.”

“You have no right to be curious,” Alex said dully. She tried again to free her hands, but he wouldn’t release his grip.

“Of course I do. I have every right. I admit I don’t have the right to ruin whatever ’tis that you’re up to, unless, of course, it has some nefarious purpose and as a good citizen I should do so—Does it?” he asked abruptly.

Alex, to her chagrin, felt her cheeks grow hot. “Of course not,” she muttered.

Peregrine regarded her thoughtfully. So much for imagining that she would find his presence on the cliff top as pleasant a surprise as he had found hers on the beach. He’d certainly been deluding himself. “So, are you going to tell me what you’re up to, or must I march you to the nearest Justice of the Peace, whom I assume is Sir Stephen?”

“You would not.” She pulled at her captive hands, a flash of desperation in the gray eyes.

“No, I would not,” he agreed, regretting his threat. He had no wish to hurt her—quite the opposite. “Will you take a deep breath and tell me your first name, at least?”

“Alexandra. Let go my hands,
please.
”

“You promise not to run?”

She shook her head impatiently. “Where the hell would I run to?”

That made him smile again, dissipating the tension. “Much better. Now I feel I’m in the company of the real Alexandra . . . whoever she may be.” He released her wrists.

Alex rubbed them accusingly, but while his grip had been firm, it had been in no way hurtful, and the gesture failed to have the desired effect.

“So, how can I be of help?” Peregrine asked.

“You can pretend this never happened and let me go back to my bed before I have to start all over again,” she stated. Maybe it was an option, or maybe she was clutching at straws.

“Oh, no, I’m afraid I can’t do that.” He shook his head, but the smile lingered. “I could certainly never pretend I didn’t see you frolicking on the beach, with your hair flying in the breeze.” He reached out and lifted a rich chestnut strand from her shoulder, twisting it around his finger. “Beautiful,” he murmured.

For a moment, Alexandra was transfixed by the look in his eyes as he trailed his fingers through the cascade of hair. Then his hands moved up to cup her face, and his gaze became even more searching.

“You are lovely,” he said softly. “Do you know that?” The mystery of Alexandra Hathaway suddenly lost its importance. Her gray eyes seemed to reflect the moonlight, giving them a silvery sheen.

His mouth hovered over hers, his breath brushing against her cheek. She inhaled his scent, felt her surroundings slipping away, her eyes locked with his, watching his mouth come ever closer, felt herself leaning into him, lifting her face for the touch of his lips. Then she jumped back, as if she was too close to a raging fire, and his hands fell to his sides. Her breath was coming fast, and her body felt very strange, her legs quivering as if she’d been running for a very long time.

“No . . . no, I can’t . . . mustn’t,” she murmured

He shook his head, the glow in his eyes undiminished. “Can’t, mustn’t . . . why not, Alexandra? You want to . . . I want to kiss you more than anything in the world right now. You are so very lovely, and I want to know you. Won’t you tell me
why
you’re practicing this insane deception?”

“There’s nothing insane about it.” The defense was automatic, but she looked at him uncertainly for a moment, before saying hesitantly, “Will you leave me alone, let me do what I have to do?”

“And if I agree to do so, will you tell me the truth?”

Alexandra shook her head. “I cannot . . . please, you have to believe me. Leave me be,
please.”

He could not resist the plea in her eyes, which seemed now haunted. He raised a hand and lightly traced the curve of her cheek with his fingertip. “If you insist. For the moment, anyway.”

Her skin seemed to vibrate under his touch, and she felt strangely breathless. She managed a low “Thank you,” then walked quickly away across the cliff top, almost praying that she had imagined the whole encounter. Maybe she’d open her eyes and find herself in her bed, and it had only been a dream.

Chapter Six

Alexandra drew the hood of the cloak over her hair and pushed her still-sandy feet back into her slippers before letting herself back into the kitchen. The household would be up at six, but it was always possible that a scullery maid or the boot boy would already be raking the ashes in the range. But the kitchen was as quiet as when she’d left it, and the boy under the settle still slept.

She locked the door again, sped across the kitchen to the backstairs, and raced up them to the safety of her own bedchamber. She closed and locked the door and stood leaning against it, catching her breath. It seemed she had been holding it since the moment she had seen Peregrine on the cliff top.

That had been no dream. None of it. Wonderingly, she touched her cheek, almost as if she could still feel the light brush of his fingertip on her cheek. She hadn’t dreamt her own feelings, that sweep of desire when he’d been about to kiss her, the moment when the world seemed to dissolve and it was just the two of them in the moonlight.

Dear God, how did it happen?
It was a disaster. The ruins of her plan lay heaped about her. All it had needed was one person to suspect, and it was over. She could not maintain such a monumental deception when she knew that one single person other than her sister knew the truth.

Feeling sick, Alexandra sat down on the window seat and stared out at the coming dawn. Should she make her escape now, before the house was up? Should she plead sickness, keep to her chamber, and wait until tonight to flee, when she was once more certain everyone was asleep?

But to give up was to give up everything. Her clever diversion of Stephen’s gains on ’Change were not yet sufficient for Sylvia’s trouble-free future, let alone her own. And the library catalogue, while almost complete, still needed more work to be ready to present to the market. If she abandoned her task in the middle, she might as well never have bothered to start it in the first place.

Can Peregrine Sullivan be trusted?
Her mind shifted to what had been unthinkable a moment ago. If he could be trusted to say nothing, then she could keep on with her work. She didn’t have to run immediately.

Alexandra got up from the window seat and began pacing her chamber, frowning in thought. If she could trust the Honorable Peregrine to keep his word, then she didn’t need to panic. And there was no reason for the Honorable Peregrine not to
honor
his word.

But could she trust herself? After those tumultuous moments on the cliff top, she had no confidence that she would run away in time again. It had taken every ounce of willpower to turn from him at the last moment. She had wanted that kiss. There was no point in denying it. Tearing herself away like that had been like tearing away a piece of skin. So if she didn’t abandon her plan, there was really only one option. She would have to find ways to avoid him for as long as he was at the Dower House. He couldn’t stay in Dorset indefinitely. Marcus never stayed in the country for more than a week, and soon he would be ready to return to London and his own pursuits, and his guest, perforce, would accompany him. And she would be left to finish what she’d started. If she could only keep out of danger until then.

Resolution hardened as she watched the sky grow pink and then glow deepest orange as the sun rose over the sea. She was too close to give it all up now, just for want of courage.

A wave of exhaustion washed over her, and she knew she had to sleep for a few hours before she could resume the game. She wrote a hasty message on a sheet of parchment explaining that she had a severe headache and hoped to attend to her duties in the library that afternoon.

Stealthily, she opened her door and put her head outside. Sounds of the servants beginning their day came from belowstairs as she fixed the note to the door latch.
She closed and relocked the door, then crawled into bed. When she didn’t appear at the breakfast table, a servant would be sent to find her and would find the note.

Peregrine returned to the Dower House, his mind whirling. Of course, he had no intention of betraying Alexandra’s secret, but now he was even more resolved to discover what lay behind it. It was such an extraordinary deception, such an effective disguise, it was hard to believe the evidence of his own eyes. But he
had
seen a radiant, chestnut-haired young woman dancing barefoot through the wavelets on the beach, the very same woman with whom, just a few hours ago, he’d been playing chess. A hunched drab of a woman of indeterminate age.

She had been terrified when she’d seen him there and knew that she was discovered. Terror had fueled the anger she had unleashed upon him in those furious moments. What had happened to her? What dreadful event in her life had caused her to adopt this appallingly dangerous deception? His intense curiosity now was informed by a need to help her. He didn’t trouble to question why he was so drawn to her, it wasn’t necessary to analyze it. Beneath that prickly, courageous exterior lay a vulnerable young woman. A beautiful young woman with a mind to match. And he had certainly never met her like before. She was quite possibly unique, a thought that gave him exquisite pleasure.

Marcus had told him that the side door to the Dower House was always unlocked when he was in residence, and Perry was relieved to find it still so. Dawn was just breaking, and a sleepy servant with a scuttle of coals blinked at him as he appeared in the hall.

“Mornin’, sir.”

“Good morning.” Perry nodded pleasantly and made his way upstairs to his own chamber. What could possibly have happened to force Alexandra into such an extreme charade? There had to be something suspect about the entire business. She couldn’t possibly have an aboveboard reason for such an astounding lie. And it was a blatant lie—there was no way of softening that basic fact.