Bewitching (52 page)

As if in answer he felt the need to look at his wife. At that exact moment her eyes met his and he stopped breathing, caught off guard by the innocent hunger in those eyes, and knowing that his own mirrored a hunger that held no innocence, but instead a passionate intensity, a need to get inside this woman so deeply that the urge to couple was lost in an all-encompassing urge to touch some rare fire in her. Only her. It was intoxicating, drugging, this overpowering thing that burned so bright inside him he actually doubted his ability to live with it and remain sane.

At the thought he laughed to himself. His actions on the dance floor, the struggle to control himself in front of the entire ton—that was proof that he was no longer sane, hadn't had a rational thought since he married her. He wondered if a part of this insanity resulted from his dealings with all women lately.

His gaze scanned the room. Juliet was here; he had caught a glimpse of her blond head earlier. Odd that he'd felt little anger when he spotted her. For reputation's sake he would have to speak to her publicly, to squelch the rumors about their sudden marriages. Not that he was doing it for her sake. He couldn't have cared less about Lady Juliet Spencer, but he knew it would make things easier on Scottish if there was no speculation about their impromptu marriage.

He justified that bit of sensitivity by reminding himself that his own reputation was at stake too.

And so it was an hour later, while his wife danced on the arm of one of his cronies, that Alec found himself threading his way past the bloody lemon trees and onto the terrace, to which Lady Juliet had just escaped. He stood outside silently, watching her as she looked out over the icy gardens below, leaning against a stone balustrade and fanning herself in spite of the fact that it was freezing outside.

She turned as surely as if he had spoken. "Alec."

He gave her a curt nod. "Juliet."

The look she gave him was sad, which surprised him. "Why the sadness? Odd, for a bride. I expected to see love glowing from your lovely face, my dear." The scorn came naturally to his voice.

She looked down. "I suppose I deserve a worse cut than that for the way I handled things. I don't blame you for hating me, Alec. But I did what I thought best for both of us."

"I don't hate you."

She laughed rather cynically. "No, I suppose in order for you to hate me, you would have to have loved me. And you didn't."

"No, I didn't."

"Thank you for not lying about that."

"I never lied to you, Juliet. I thought we understood each other. I was wrong."

"He loves me," she whispered.

"I would have never guessed a romantic soul lay beneath your cool beauty." He shrugged and joined her at the balustrade.

They stood there in a kind of awkward kinship. He glanced at her, noticing for the first time that her eyes were blue. Just blue. No mischievous twinkling of green. Nothing more than ordinary blue. He leaned over the railing, resting his elbows atop it, and he watched the icicles drip. A moment later he set his pride aside and looked up at her. "Perhaps it was for the best."

She searched his face. "You married," she said, sounding as if she felt betrayed.

"Yes."

Her smile was sad and a little wistful. "I saw her."

When he didn't respond, she went on, "I saw both of you waltzing."

"Yes, I suppose everyone saw us."

"She loves you."

He turned back to her, leaning against the balustrade in a pose of indifference he was far from feeling. "It doesn't matter."

"I think it does."

Something tightened inside him as if she had just seen him naked. He watched her silently, not knowing quite how to respond.

"You see, I know what it's like to love someone."

"Ah, the exciting captain."

She smiled and shook her head. "No, Alec. You see, I said he loves me, not that I love him. I loved you, but you could never love me back, and I couldn't bear to spend my life with only half a heart. All those things I said were just a way to lash out at you." She laughed. It was sincere laughter with no malice, but it held a hint of sadness and self-derision. "Although it's true that you can be pompous," she told him with a genuine smile, "I honestly think I was angry that you couldn't love me."

He stood straight at her words. After taking a moment to absorb what she'd said he commented, "How is your marriage to the captain any different? If only one partner loves, isn't it still a marriage of . . . What did you call it? Ah, yes, half a heart?"

"Yes."

Her face confirmed the truth of her confession, but it was strange that he felt nothing for her—no anger, no humiliation, no pity, really nothing but a certain camaraderie that came from learning to know each other on a different plane. "Then I suppose we're both settled into marriages with half a heart."

She smiled then, a smile of friendship. "No, Alec, I don't think so. You see, I saw you with your wife." She placed her arm through his. "Come along. Escort me inside. Let's give those loose tongues something to wag about." They moved toward the door and just before they stepped inside, she paused and looked up at him. "You are hardheaded, pompous, arrogant, and handsome as the devil, Alec, but your marriage is whole."

He looked at her in stunned silence.

She stepped through the doorway and delivered her parting shot, "I just wonder how long it will take you to realize it."

***

It took Joy only a few minutes to realize that Alec was nowhere in the room. She searched the dance floor, and threaded her way through the crowd until she stood outside the main throng. She saw the dancers gliding across the floor, watched the jewels sparkle, and found herself swaying to the wonderful music. The ball was better than she had dreamed. She had met the prince, dined with him, and except for those wee sneezes, everything had gone smoothly. She so hoped that Alec was proud of her. A feeling of success ran through her when she remembered that the prince had even asked them to the theater.

Yes, everything was wonderful, but somehow it wasn't as thrilling, as exciting, when Alec wasn't there at her side. She wanted to dance with him, one more time before they left.

She wanted to feel him holding her and twirling her, his eyes assuring her that they would finish at home what they had started on the dance floor.

The thought made her smile and she scanned the room again.

"Why, my dear!" Lady Agnes's voice came scraping out of nowhere.

Joy turned. Apparently the woman still hadn't accepted her title, and for the second time in the last few minutes she wished Alec were here. Lady Eugenia and Mrs. Timmons stood like extensions behind her.

"You look lost, standing here all alone. Where is that handsome duke of yours?" Her gaze roved over the room. "Do you see him, girls?" The gossips shook their heads in unison. She turned back to Joy and patted her arm. "You know, my dear, I thought I saw him step out on the terrace. Let's go see, shall we?" She tucked her arm in Joy's and guided her toward the wall of doors.

The crowd shifted and a group of men stepped between them only to part soon after and give Joy an unobstructed view of the terrace doors. A lovely blond woman dressed like a frost princess stepped inside, her taunting laughter ringing down to where they stood.

"Oh, there he is, my dear. See there?" Lady Agnes nodded toward the terrace. "He's with Lady Juliet. How interesting."

She could feel Lady Agnes's penetrating stare as Alec followed in the woman's wake. A smile came to Joy's lips when her gaze lit on him. She glanced at the woman with him and commented, "Lady Juliet is lovely." She turned to Lady Agnes. "Is she someone special?"

The gossips' eyes grew round and twinkled in anticipation. Then they tittered. Lady Agnes raised a hand to her chest dramatically. "Why, didn't you know, my dear?" Her voice suddenly filled with exaggerated sweetness. "She and His Grace were to be married."

Joy whipped her head back around, suddenly aware of Alec and Lady Juliet as a couple. They were a perfect match, her golden blond hair and his black and silver, their bearing, the instinctive lift of their chins, their noble breeding. She stared at the striking couple. They were as regal and well matched as possible, and in reaction, her stomach sank and landed somewhere in the now black depths where her hopes and dreams had once lain.

Lady Agnes continued, "She cried off and married someone else . . . the very day before you were married."

There before her eyes was the fairy-tale ending, real and standing across the room for the world to see.

Everything around her seemed to fade into a bitter mist. She felt a sharp and painful realization about her marriage —one that even she, with all her hopes and dreams and wishes, couldn't make go away. Even her witchcraft was useless. She could never win Alec's heart because it was a prize already won by another. Her hopes along with her heart died a slow and withering death.

Appropriately a chill wind swept around Carlton House, bending trees and bushes and suddenly rattling the terrace doors. The skies rumbled as if pained, and a second later it began to rain.

The Heartache

Nothing in love; now does he feel his title.

—Macbeth,
William Shakespeare

Chapter 23

Joy sat in the window seat of the rear drawing room and watched the rain sprinkle rings in the dark puddles on the flagstones below. The rain had continued on and off since the night before, the night that had begun with excitement and wonder and ended in emptiness. 'Twas all she could do not to break into sobs once she'd learned the truth. Only her pride had kept her from falling apart at the ball in front of all of English society.

Alec had seemed equally pensive. Alec, Joy thought. Even the thought of his name could bring back a jab of heartache. Juliet's Alec. Something vital deep inside her twisted so tightly she felt the room spin.

She took another breath.

From the moment he parted from Lady Juliet he'd worn a troubled air. She was sure she could name the trouble: his wife wasn't Lady Juliet, his love, but instead a Scottish witch who made his life chaotic. His mood had only served to drive home the painful realization she cradled where her hope used to be—he loved someone else. His heart was not untouched; it belonged to Lady Juliet, who didn't want it any more than Alec wanted Joy's heart. She'd been caught up in wishful foolish dreams.

Oh, God . . . She couldn't even fall in love right.

She wiped the tears from her eyes once again, amazed she had any left, and tried to summon some Scots pride. Sitting here blubbering wouldn't change what was. She took a deep breath that quivered traitorously in her tight chest. Her gaze drifted to the trees in the walled garden below. Winter had turned the birch trees as skimpy as her pride. The rain had stopped, but the sky still hung gray. With the rain had come the warmth of approaching spring, and the snow and ice had been washed away when the skies cried with her.

Standing in the back corner, near a small hawthorn bush where ivy twined with dormant honeysuckle up a stone wall, was a proud English elm. She pressed her tear-blotched cheek to the glass and looked up at the sky. The heavy rain clouds had moved on. As surely as if it had called her name, she looked back at the tree. She needed a tree now, needed to feel the warmth of nature cradling her, soothing and healing her.

She plucked a paisley shawl off a coat stand, wrapped it around her, and went out through the French doors, descending the stone steps and sidestepping the deeper rain puddles. A minute later she stood in front of the great tree.