Lady Alex's Gamble (13 page)
Come to think of it, he himself had not seen the article in the
Edinburgh Review to
which Alexander had alluded. It must be in the pile of papers on the escritoire. He rose to rummage through them. Ah, there it was, under the stack of gilt-edged invitations and the latest reports from his bailiff. Christopher pulled it out. Yes, it looked most interesting—not at all the sort of thing a man like the one Alexander pretended to be would pay the least attention to. In the major's experience, such types, if they could be persuaded to read anything at all, made sure it was nothing more taxing than the racing form at Newmarket.
Intrigued, Wrotham returned to his place before the fire and plunged into reading the article, telling himself that there was no use tackling the question of Alexander de Montmorency until he had been able to glean more information about the man—but where best to start? Of course, the first place to check was
Debrett's,
but after that, what? If he was but newly arrived in town no one knew him well enough to offer any sort of perspective. Close observation still appeared to be the only way. The major resolved to watch him like a hawk.
Snuggling under the bedclothes at the Clarendon some time later, Alex too was reviewing the evening with mixed reactions. There was a certain measure of satisfaction, but 117
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also a certain amount of trepidation. She was delighted with her winnings. Not only was she making steady progress toward the amount needed to rid herself of the odious Sir Ralph, she was also establishing herself as a player to be reckoned with, both in her own mind, and in those of prospective opponents.
She had always felt reasonably confident of her skill, but it was most reassuring to have this consistently borne out. Her mind, freed of worries on that score, was then able to concentrate on other things, such as why she had insisted on participating so vocally in the conversation in Wrotham's chambers. She should have pretended to be three parts foxed and sat there completely silent, a bleary, vacant smile on her face. Certainly that would have been more in keeping with Alexander's character.
But the conversation had been so intriguing that she had been unable to keep herself from joining in. For so long she had wished to discuss those sorts of issues but had lacked the opportunity. Of course there had been Doctor Padgett, thank goodness, who could be convinced to talk about something besides the weather or the transgressions of his neighbors, but by now Alexandra knew his mind as well as she knew her own and could guess his reply even before she posed the question. It was exciting to hear the stories of life in the Peninsula, a life filled with so much more adventure and meaning than hers.
How she had longed to join the army with Tony, to see the world and really do something. Listening to it all was, she supposed, the next best thing to being there. But that's what 118
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she should have done—listened. Instead, she had been unable to keep from posing questions that had nagged at her for some time, and, as a result, she'd seen the curious looks the major had given her and known that such active participation in the conversation had been a mistake. Lord Wrotham was nobody's fool and he had already evinced a rather disquieting interest in her. As she thought back over her two evenings at White's, Alex realized that subconsciously she had been aware of his scrutiny the entire time, both when he was talking to Tony that first evening, and the next, when he had challenged her to piquet. Of course it was natural to suspect a newcomer who did so well at the tables. Alex had limited her bets to small ones and had kept her play unobtrusive, but to an observant man such as the major, this did nothing to obscure the fact that she was consistently beating all comers. Lord Wrotham was no mean card-player himself, and she had thoroughly enjoyed pitting her wits against his. With an opponent of his caliber it truly was a game and a test of skill, while with the others it had been the merest exercise, the leading of lambs to the slaughter.
Alex hoped it was only her incredible winning streak and not her person that had raised the major's suspicions, but she had her doubts. Even after the game was over and she had felt his eyes upon her. Certainly the invitation to return to his chambers had been no casual one. Despite her awareness of that, she had gone ahead and stepped out of her role as the foolish drunken sot.
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There's no use crying over spilt milk, she scolded herself. Just see that it does not happen in the future and avoid Major Lord Wrotham at all costs.
This was easier said than done, for not only did her brother enjoy the man's company, so did she. Brief though the acquaintance had been, Alex found herself liking Lord Wrotham very much. There was something about him that made one feel almost from the start that one could trust him. Whether it was the direct gaze that seemed to take in everything, or the proud, almost aloof air that showed a lack of concern for the opinion of others—a quality notably lacking in most of the self-important members of the
ton—
she could not say, but Alex had instinctively felt at ease with him despite the occasional speculative glances he cast in her direction.
Then too, there often appeared a glint of humor in his eyes, as though he did not take himself or the rest of the world too seriously. This in a man who was obviously extremely competent and highly trusted by his superiors made him all the more unusual and attractive. Remember that you came to London to make a fortune, not friends, Alex reminded herself severely. But she was unable to suppress a wistful sigh. It was so rare that she came across anyone interesting or intelligent enough to converse with in the manner she most enjoyed. Now here was someone not only capable of carrying on a decent conversation, but who had so many exciting experiences to relate besides. And of all the luck, he seemed to be the person least likely to be hoodwinked by her charade. 120
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Alex had seen him glancing around the gaming room at White's. The sardonic curl of his lip and the cynical glint in his eyes were all the evidence she needed that Christopher, Lord Wrotham, saw quite clearly through the foibles and pretenses of most of his fellow creatures. She had better have care lest she become the object of even greater scrutiny, though somehow she had the oddest feeling that even if he were to discover her secret in its entirety he would not be shocked. His sense of honor, apparent even from their brief acquaintance, might be offended by the fact that she was deceiving people, but Alex still sensed that someone who had sacrificed as much as he had for his country could sympathize with her for doing the same for her family. Prey to these disquieting thoughts, Alex tossed and turned, finding the welcome oblivion of sleep unusually evasive. To distract herself, she forced herself to recall every hand she had played that evening and to examine the possible consequences of alternative plays she might have made. It was not necessarily a calming exercise, but it did take her mind off her more uncomfortable thoughts, and she was finally able to relax sufficiently to feel confident about what the next evenings at the gaming table might bring. Soon she was playing out entire games in her mind, keeping a running score of the points, totting up the numbers in her mind was rather like counting sheep and eventually it had the desired effect. Slowly she drifted off, with visions of aces, jacks, queens, and kings whirling around in her head. 121
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It was with great surprise then that Alex awoke to bright sunlight and a knock on the door. "Gentleman to see you, sir," said a voice on the other side. Who on earth? Alex had only a moment to panic before she threw on Alexander's old dressing gown, and grabbed a razor from the shaving things lying on the dressing table so as to appear interrupted in the midst of her morning ablutions. She opened the door and barely contained the sigh of relief when she saw her brother shaking his head and grinning at her.
"What a slug-a-bed! Why anyone would think you had been on the town for years instead of days with the hours you keep. Come on, finish dressing." Tony ambled into the room and directed an amused glance at the razor still clutched in his sister's hand. "I've something to show you that will clear the cobwebs from that foggy brain of yours."
"I won't be a minute," Alex promised, hurrying into the dressing room. She pulled on biscuit-colored pantaloons and a fresh shirt, struggling with the cravat that still presented a challenge to her each morning, but she comforted herself that no matter how poorly tied it was, it still looked better than her twin's mangled results always did. Shrugging into a bottle green jacket she reappeared. "There. Ready." She declared with pride.
"And without even a valet to make you presentable. You are a marvel, Alex." Tony smiled at her as he reached over to give one more tweak to the cravat "Though I fear all this dressing may be for naught when you see what I have brought."
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"Whatever?" Alex was mystified, but her brother only looked the more secretive as he led her downstairs. They reached the pavement and Alex, her eyes adjusting to the brilliant sunlight, at first could see nothing. Then a lad holding two horses appeared. Alex recognized Tony's faithful Caesar flicking his ears with interest as he surveyed the passersby, but her eyes were immediately drawn to the magnificent black stallion next to him. "What a splendid animal!" she burst out. Then, realizing the infelicitous nature of this remark, she amended it. "Of course no one could be more faithful or better than Caesar."
"But he does suffer by comparison," Tony continued. "My feelings, and I am sure his, are not hurt, for Nero is an unusually fine specimen. Got him off Rokeby. He's in the regiment, devil of a fellow. Most bruising rider you can imagine and keeps a regular string of horses—family breeds them on their estates in Ireland. Wouldn't mind doing that myself one day when I'm too old for soldiering." Tony broke off, momentarily distracted with a blissful contemplation of a future surrounded by the finest of horseflesh.
"He knew you were in town for a short while," her brother continued, "and he wasn't using Nero. The animal was getting no exercise and eating his head off so he offered him to me after I assured him you were almost as good a rider as I." He grinned wickedly at his sister, who took instant exception to his assessment of her prowess.
"How can you say that when I have never had my horse refuse the hedge to Squire Edgecumbe's fields, nor have I ever failed to clear the ditch that Welham Beck runs 123
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through—never even had a horse wet his hooves in it—while
some
people have had to empty it out of their boots!" Tony laughed. "Still the same old Alex—never could stand to have anyone ahead of you on the hunt, and the merest hint of criticism sends you into the boughs. But seriously, I thought you might enjoy a little more vigorous form of exercise than strolling down Bond Street. Having Nero here as a companion should keep you away from Tatt's."
"Of all the unjust..." Alex began furiously, then catching sight of the wicked sparkle in her brother's eyes, she stopped. Grimacing in disgust, she retorted, "And you're still the same old Tony. A worse tease than you, my fine lad, has never existed; of that I am quite certain." The exasperated expression quickly softened as she laid a hand on his arm.
"Nor has a kinder brother ever existed. Thank you so much."
"Now that is much more the thing. Why don't you go change and let us put him through his paces. I fancy he must be as eager for a gallop through the park as you." And that is another advantage to being Alexander instead of his twin, Alex thought to herself as she was pulling on her boots a few minutes later. If I were Alexandra, I should never be allowed to ride at anything but the most sedate pace. Even then it would have to be at the most fashionable hour when the park is so crowded that it is virtually impossible to do anything except a slow crawl.
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It was good to get out-of-doors and to exercise something besides her brain, Alex decided as they made their way down Piccadilly. Maneuvering a highly strung animal through such a press of traffic was new for her, but she felt equal to the task despite the exception Nero took to a cart horse who, resenting the existence of all those animals not hauling heavy burdens, delighted in nipping any creature in his vicinity. A passing curricle had forced Nero within the horse's range, and it was only the quickness of horse and rider which saved him from having a nasty bite taken out of his flank. Things were a good deal better once they had gained the park. Cantering across the expanse of green, Alex at last admitted to herself how much she missed the freedom and the fresh open spaces of the country. While it was true that becoming Alexander had given her an independence of movement and a variety of activities not previously allowed even to the eccentric Lady Alexandra de Montmorency, in coming to London Alex had sacrificed the sense of liberty only to be experienced away from the confines of civilization. Narrow streets and crowds of people were fascinating, but they were limiting at times. She longed for the vast green vistas of the Norfolk landscape more than she had realized. Here in the park, empty, as yet, of those wishing to see and be seen, the view was broken only by the presence of a few solitary riders, and a peacefulness descended on her that Alex had not felt since leaving the country.
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Brother and sister slowed down and rode some time in silence until Tony broke it. "By Jove, now there is a beautiful girl!" And indeed she was. From the tip of her pert little hat to the toes of her dainty boots she was perfection, with golden curls escaping from under the brim of her hat, and her slender figure straight in the saddle as she trotted sedately with her groom. Her mount, though not of the caliber of Nero and Caesar, was a neat little bay—certainly a very fine lady's horse and sufficiently well bred to win Tony's approval. Alex grinned. As far as she knew, her brother was entirely unaware of the female sex. Even now she had her doubts as to whether it was the girl herself or her horse that was attracting Tony's attention. Certainly it was no frivolous rider who appeared in the park at this hour when no one was around to see and be seen.
