Lady Alexandra's Excellent Adventure: A Summersby Tale (13 page)

“What was that?” he asked, his eyes shone with amusement. “I couldn’t quite hear you.”

“You must have selective hearing then,” she quipped as flippantly as she could muster while he advanced on her again.

“Do you know, it almost sounded as if you just apologized. But knowing you, that cannot possibly be right. Can it?”

She favored him with her best scowl, pushing a sudden advantage she’d found in an opening. “Clearly you cannot fight and talk at the same time, my lord. You’ve just given me the advantage.”

“Hm . . . I see your point.”

“You do?”

“Certainly, though I thought that
you
might be smart enough to consider
why
I would choose to do such a thing.”

Blocking Alexandra’s sudden attack and forcing her blade sideways, he didn’t miss a beat. With a quick application of pressure, he pushed her off balance until she toppled backward. She landed with a loud thump on her bottom, her hands sliding out behind her in the wet grass.

Alexandra was not an idiot. She knew when she’d been beaten fair and square, but that didn’t make it any less infuriating, or humiliating for that matter. She muttered an oath just as she felt the prick of Michael’s saber against her shoulder, forcing her back upon her elbows. Tilting her head backward, she reluctantly looked up only to find him gazing down at her with a rather annoying look of satisfaction.

“You let your confidence get the better of you, my lady,” he said.

She moved to sit up, but he only applied more pressure to the sword point.

“Not so fast.” He smirked. “First blood, remember?”

Before Alexandra had a chance to consider the significance of what he’d just said, he pressed forward just enough to puncture her skin. A drop of scarlet blood sprang forth to redden the white linen of her shirt. “Ow!”

Tilting his head sideways, Michael stared down at her for a moment. “Just wanted to be clear about who won,” he told her.

“You had an advantage, you know,” she muttered as she glared up at him. “You saw me fight in Rouen. You knew what you were getting into, yet I had no idea about your level of skill.”

“I hope you’re not implying that it wasn’t a fair fight.”

“No, not at all, but I do feel as though I’ve just been had.”

“Not so pleasant, is it?” Extending his free hand, Michael reached down to help her up. She looked at it as if it might as well have been diseased. “Come on. The least I can do is offer my assistance.”

Looking none too pleased, Alexandra reluctantly took his hand, allowing him to haul her to her feet. She was in the middle of brushing dirt off herself when both William and Ryan strode up to where she and Michael were standing. “That was brilliantly done, Michael,” Ryan grinned. “You know, I was hoping you might win.”

Alexandra just glared at her brother. She wondered if having him drawn and quartered would satisfy her sudden need to hurt him. As if reading her mind, Ryan took a small step in William’s direction. “No offense, Alex, but it’s just so damn satisfying to watch somebody best you.”

“He’s right you know,” William chuckled. “I wouldn’t have thought it, but by all that’s holy, this really has been very rewarding.” Turning to Michael, William made an elaborate show of bowing before him. “It’s an honor to know you, Ashford.”

Michael suddenly laughed. He couldn’t help himself. By God they were an odd bunch, the Summersbys. He knew he ought to act with more reserve, especially since he was meant to be investigating the loyalty of the eldest sibling, but this was just too much of a farce to be taken seriously. He’d practically been caught molesting the men’s sister, but apparently all had been forgiven just because he happened to have beaten her in a duel.

A smug look crept over his face as he now recalled the reason behind the duel.
He
was the victor, which meant that . . . he turned to Alexandra. “I hope you realize this means marriage,” he told her.

There was no denying the panic that swamped Alex at those words. If she could only run away from it all. She glanced toward him and as she did, his pleased expression faded. He must have seen the pain upon her face, for he suddenly seemed to take on a look of apology and regret. “Look at me,” he said. His words were soft and gentle.

Raising her gaze toward him, her eyes met his, and as they did he seemed to shiver. The wind perhaps? She couldn’t tell, but for some reason she liked to think that he’d somehow responded to the anguish she felt at that very moment.

“I will do whatever I can to make you happy,” he said, reaching for her hand. “You’ll never want for anything, and . . . you shall never have to endure the embarrassment of a mistress.”

She started a little at his promise. It was unexpected, to be sure, yet somehow, in spite of everything, it filled her with an immense amount of relief. She knew she could never share him, but she also knew that it was not a promise he’d made lightly, as was evidenced by the stunned expression upon his face. He clearly was surprised by what he’d just said, and she appreciated the value of it so much more because of that. She didn’t fear that he might go back on his word either, he was too honorable for that, and besides, he’d spoken the promise in front of her brothers. There were witnesses now.

“Will you ride with us for a bit?” Alexandra asked as she turned to William. She felt emotionally drained. Freedom had been within her grasp. She could almost feel her fingers closing around it, only to have it ripped away so unexpectedly.

William shook his head. “I ought to get back before my absence becomes too noticeable. Nobody’s shown any sign of suspicion yet, and I certainly have no desire to draw attention to myself. I’m an Englishman after all, and I will hang as one if they discover the truth.”

“And what
is
the truth?” Michael asked him, his brow knit in a studious frown.

William grinned. “I won’t make it that easy on you, Ashford. However, I will give you these invitations.” Reaching inside his jacket pocket, he pulled out three sealed envelopes. “They’re for the ball next Friday.”

“Bonaparte is having a ball?” Ryan asked with no small degree of surprise.

William nodded. “It’s the first since his return from Elba, perhaps his last before his next campaign. Who knows?” He flashed Michael a meaningful look that immediately pushed the cogs in his brain into action. “In any case, it promises to be a big bash indeed. Bonaparte doesn’t do anything in half measure. All the gentry in Paris will be invited, including foreign ministers and ambassadors. Not ours of course, for obvious reasons.”

“Do we even have one here at the moment?” Alexandra asked.

“No. Lord Whitworth was the last, but that was ten years ago.” A moment’s silence hovered over them until William finally tightened his hold on the reins and pulled his horse about. “Enjoy your victory, Ashford. I hope for your sake that it will be the first of many.” He grinned as he looked across at his sister. “She can be a handful you know.”

“I know,” Michael agreed with a heavy sigh. “But if all our disputes can be settled with a duel, then perhaps I stand a fighting chance.”

Alexandra caught herself rolling her eyes. “I am not
that
difficult to deal with,” she muttered.

“My dear sister,” William announced with great fervor, “you tire even the most energetic of men. Indeed you are the most wearing female of my acquaintance. However, I for one would not have it any other way, for you are truly unique, and I do love you beyond all rhyme or reason. That said, I am thrilled to finally deposit you in another man’s care—absolutely thrilled!”

Ryan grinned while Michael took on an unexpected look of uneasiness. “She’ll give you a run for your money,” William continued. “But I hazard a guess that it will be well worth it. I will see you all at the ball.”

Alexandra watched him ride off in the opposite direction to where she would be going. She gave Michael a sidelong glance. He’d managed to snare her so easily. She hated him for it, but most of all she hated herself and her stupid arrogance for landing her in this mess. The life she’d always imagined for herself, free of society’s strictures, was now out of reach.

Worst of all was the rigid knot of fear that was presently tightening in the pit of her stomach. She took a deep breath to steady herself.

“Are you all right?” It was Michael’s velvety voice that asked the question.

“I’ll be fine,” she managed as a vision of standing at the altar and promising to love this man until death did them part sneaked up on her, filling her with dread. She felt suddenly overcome with dizziness. Bringing her hand to her forehead in response to the pain that now sliced its way through her skull, she couldn’t help but wince. Her heart was pounding so furiously she could almost hear it.

Michael watched Alexandra with a growing degree of concern. She looked panic-stricken and quite ill. Casting a quick glance in Ryan’s direction, he saw that he had noticed the same thing, but before either of them could reach out to help her, her body sagged sideways, and she toppled from her saddle.

“Alex!” they both called out in unison, as if their words would slow her descent to the ground.

“Good God, Ryan,” Michael exclaimed, dismounting as fast as he could manage. “Her foot is caught in the stirrup.”

They were beside her dangling body in an instant.

Scooping her up, Michael cradled her against his chest while Ryan untangled her foot.

“She’s out cold,” Ryan murmured. “I wonder what happened. She’s never fainted before in her life.”

“Hold her for a minute will you,” Michael said as he settled her into her brother’s arms. He got back on his horse, moving as far back in his saddle as he could manage so that Alexandra would have enough room. “You can hand her up to me now,” he told him.

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

I
t was noon by the time Alexandra’s eyes fluttered open. The early morning rain must have cleared, for the brightness that was blinding her could only be the sun’s sharp rays protruding through the window. She squinted slightly as her hand moved up to clasp her head.

The pain was still there.

“Welcome back.” She recognized Michael’s voice in an instant and immediately groaned her displeasure. Rolling over onto her side, she pulled the pillow over her head.

“Not so pleased to see me I take it.”

There was a question in his statement that she refused to answer.

“What happened?” she asked instead.

“We had a duel. I won, and then you fainted. That sums it up fairly accurately.”

“Just fairly?”

“Well, I
could
give you a more detailed account of how I beat you, but I’ve decided to take pity on you—because you fainted of course.”

“Of course,” came her sarcastic reply.

She knew he was grinning from ear to ear. She could feel it.

A short silence followed. She could hear him shifting restlessly in his chair before finally getting up and walking across the room. “This did not turn out at all the way I’d hoped it would,” he muttered.

“Oh?” She snatched the pillow from her face and tossed it aside so that she might be able to see him. He was leaning with his shoulder against the wall by the window as he looked down toward the street.

“You annoy me more than any woman I have ever met. You’re as troublesome as an unruly child who refuses do as she’s told—a hoyden in the extreme. You have the breeding of a lady, but choose instead to thwart all rules of polite society. Hell, you curse worse than me for heaven’s sake!”

“I hope that’s not a compliment, for if it is, you’re not only terrible at it but I would also hate to know what it’s like to be insulted by you.”

He threw her a chastising glance, but there was humor in his eyes. “Do you know what the most annoying thing about you is? The thing that has me truly vexed?”

“I shudder to think of it.”

He ignored her jibe. “The thing that irks me more than anything else, is that in spite of all this, for some bizarre reason that I cannot possibly hope to ever comprehend, I actually happen to like you.”

Alexandra knew her heart must have stopped. Her mouth was certainly gaping wide open in dismay. Had Michael Ashford just confessed to liking her?

Impossible
.

She knew he desired her. She knew he was honorable enough to marry her to save her reputation, but that he actually might like her . . . with a slow thump, thump, her heart slowly began a steady beat once more. He was right. It was absolutely beyond comprehension—but then, so had been the realization that
she
liked
him
.

The worst part was that she liked him more and more the more time they spent in each other’s company. Blast it all. Things weren’t at all moving in the direction that they were supposed to. She watched him turn toward her, his head tilting in a thoughtful pose. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Never.

Not in a million years.

“I really ought to get changed. My clothes are terribly dirty not to mention bloodied thanks to you.” She shot him a look of irritation. “Would you please excuse me so I might see to it?”

He watched her for a moment without moving, as if considering whether or not to grant her such a wish. There was a quick flicker of something in those dark eyes of his. Pain? Regret? “Yes, of course,” he said suddenly as he straightened himself and strode toward the door. “I shall trouble you no further.”

With that he was gone.

Alexandra sank back down onto the bed, knowing full well that she’d somehow managed to wound his pride again. Could the day possibly get any worse?

F
ollowing his disastrous attempt at a conversation with Alexandra, Michael headed for the parlor to seek comfort in a very full glass of brandy. He found Ryan there, his legs thrown casually up on the table while he leaned back in his chair, book in hand.

“What are you reading this time?” Michael asked, though not particularly interested.

“Some nonsense by Molière,” Ryan muttered, snapping the book shut and placing it in his lap. “Funny nonsense, I have to admit, but nonsense all the same.”

“I take it you do not like him much?”

“He’s French,” Ryan mused. “I’m not supposed to like him.”

Michael hid a tentative smile with subtle ease while he took a sip from his glass.

“Any luck taming the shrew?” Ryan suddenly asked with a clear nod in the direction of Alexandra’s closed door.

Michael sputtered a bit at that. Clearing his throat, he brushed the drops of spilt brandy from his breeches. “Not really, no,” he admitted.

Ryan nodded sympathetically. “May I offer a bit of advice?”

“By all means,” Michael told him as he straightened himself in his chair and set his glass on the table.

“Make an effort to show a genuine interest in her. Court her.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“May I speak plainly?”

“I thought you were speaking
quite
plainly,” Michael muttered.

Ryan gave him an assessing glance. “Let me put it like this then shall I? So far, you’ve argued with her at every available opportunity. And when you weren’t doing so, you were lusting after her like a dog in heat.”

Michael merely arched an eyebrow in response. He could not deny the claim without an obvious lie.

“Clearly, you like her, for if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have been so determined to make her your bride. But, rather than court her with flowers and bouts of conversation like any other decent gentleman might have done, you rushed in and trapped her.

“It was neatly done, I have to give you that, but you certainly haven’t dealt yourself an easy hand. You’ll have to work at winning her forgiveness now, and I daresay the way to do it is by courting her.”

“But she’s a hoyden!” Michael exclaimed before he could help himself. “A desirable one, but one nonetheless. You really think she’d be swayed by flowers and poetry?”

“Look past it, Michael,” Ryan urged him. “She’s a woman, a unique woman, whom, I don’t believe, has ever received much flattering attention from any young gentleman before.”

“She’s never received a gentleman caller?” Realization struck Michael. He could scarcely believe that a woman of her beauty and with her figure would not have caught the eye of somebody by now.

“She’s never had a season in London.” There was something distressing about the way he said it that instantly sparked Michael’s curiosity. “We haven’t had any social gatherings at Moorland in the last few years, not since . . .” Was that pain in his eyes? Michael wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, he quickly recovered. “Papa has been very . . . withdrawn for a number of years and . . . well, the last thing on his mind, I suspect, was to turn a boisterous chit of a daughter into a lady refined enough for the London ballrooms.”

Michael couldn’t help but frown. How could Lord Moorland have allowed his responsibilities toward his daughter to slip in such a way? It seemed unforgiveable.

“I know it sounds harsh,” Ryan continued. “But it is what it is. Sometimes circumstance steps in the way and trips one up, causing one to fall so hard it’s almost impossible to get back up again.”

What the devil is he going on about, Michael wondered. He didn’t say anything though, sensing that Ryan might have more to say.

Ryan paused for a moment to take a sip of claret. He looked at Michael and there was something very emotional behind those bright blue eyes of his—something protective, if Michael wasn’t entirely mistaken. He knew that Ryan loved his sister tremendously—he’d told him so in fact—so it was only natural that he should concern himself with her welfare. “The point is that if you care for Alexandra,” Ryan was now saying. “And if you want her to be happy, then you ought to make the effort to sweep her off her feet. She deserves at least that much, don’t you agree?”

“Do you know, Ryan—I never would have taken you for a romantic, though I haven’t the faintest idea why. But you
are
a romantic, and I do believe you’ve just given me the soundest advice I have ever received. Shall we drink to my success?”

Ryan grinned and held his glass forward to clink against Michael’s. “We shall indeed.”

I
t was well past midnight when Alexandra finally decided to get out of bed. She couldn’t sleep and had finally had enough of the endless tossing and turning. Taking her wrapper from the hook behind the door, she tied it firmly about herself before stepping quietly out into the hallway.

She found the kitchen easily enough and, pushing the door open with a soft squeak, she advanced, her eyes seeking out any furniture that might pose as an obstacle. The bare floor was cold and smooth against her naked feet, forcing her to inadvertently curl her toes. Perhaps she should have worn slippers? Well, she wasn’t going back for them now.

Lifting the lid of a large chest that stood against the wall, she opened what she presumed to be the icebox. It was. The light was too dim for her to make out the contents, so she reached inside, fumbling around between stored meats, butter, and cheeses, until she found the bottle of milk she’d been seeking.

Now, if she could only find a mug.

She opened one cupboard containing dishes—all neatly stacked, side by side. In the next there were pots and pans and what appeared to be a kettle. Closing the door, Alexandra glanced about, drumming her fingers thoughtfully upon the countertop. There! Against the opposite wall she spotted the vitrine—the glass doors casting off a warped reflection in the darkness.
I should have brought a candle
, she thought as she opened its doors and reached inside for the desired mug.

Her wrist brushed against something that quietly shifted before giving way. A soft clang of glass hitting glass followed, just as a cold sweat swept through her. She pulled her hand back to catch the tumbling glass, but it was too late—her hand clutched at empty air instead. And then the silence splintered as the glass shattered upon the floor.

Damn!

Alexandra took a deep breath and carefully pushed the vitrine doors shut. She knew the worst of the shards would be scattered at her feet, so if she could just take a big step over them.

The kitchen door swung open, light flooded the room and Alexandra jumped.

“Ow!” A sharp pain tore through the sole of her right foot. She lifted it reflexively and in so doing put all her weight on her left. “Ow!” she cried again as a piece of glass sliced through that one as well.

Before she could stop herself, she was jumping from foot to foot in an impossible attempt to escape the fragments embedded in her feet.

“For the love of God, stop moving!” Michael implored. “You’re making it worse.”

She sent him a scowl that would have sent the hounds of hell scurrying. “Easy for you to say,” she hissed. “You’re not the one with bloodied feet. Besides, I wouldn’t have jumped if it hadn’t been for you startling me.”

Setting his lantern on the table, Michael moved to Alexandra, picked her up and carried her across to one of two chairs. He pulled it out from under the table and dropped her into it. Without a word, he fetched the remaining chair, brought it round to her side of the table and placed it before her. She watched, stupefied as he eyed the bowl of fruit on the table, then picked the thing up, emptied out the fruit and marched across to the sink where he filled it with water instead. He then grabbed the two white linen towels that hung next to the sink and returned to take his place in the empty chair.

“Put your feet up,” he said, clapping his hand against his thigh.

Alexandra stared at him. “Surely you must be joking.”

“I hardly think so. Come now, Alex, put your feet up so I can have a look at the damage.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” she cried. “Look at them, they’re bleeding all over the place. I shall damage your clothes.”

He gave her a stern look of authority similar to that of a father dealing with an unwilling child. “You are being more than just a little bit silly about this, do you know that? Now stop arguing and put your damn feet up.”

With a heavy sigh of resignation Alexandra lifted her legs and placed her feet in Michael’s lap.

“Good God,” he exclaimed. “There
is
blood everywhere!”

Alexandra rolled her eyes and moved to remove her feet, but he held on to her ankles. “Don’t move,” he told her. “For the love of Christ just sit still will you?”

Soaking one of the towels, Michael wrung it and began dabbing gently at the bloodied mess. Alexandra winced as he inadvertently pushed against a piece of glass. He looked up at her, concern visible upon his face. “Sorry. I just need to clean it a bit so I can get a better look.”