Love's Guardian (21 page)

Alex ran her index finger over her bottom lip. Any time Declan had kissed her, they’d been in a situation Fate prescribed. Maybe this time she could give Fate a little help.

Declan watched the matrons as they sat on their small gilt chairs along the ballroom wall. A number of them had their gazes fixed on him, assessing, no doubt, the chances of their daughters catching his eye. He gave a slight bow and raised his drink in a salute, acknowledging the game. He was thankful for any distraction at the moment.

Alex was driving him mad. She’d been coldly polite the last two days, yet he had a nagging suspicion she was up to something.

After her kidnapping, he didn’t dare leave her to her own devices, but he’d made sure the two of them were never alone.

For two nights now, he’d had to stand by and watch as she traded polite conversation with the men on her list. Alex appeared to be the perfect lady, laughing at all the right places, using her fan to flirt, her glorious eyes just peeping over the top of the feathers.

He’d come close to calling Lord Duprey out after he had overheard some of the cad’s suggestive remarks to Alex. She’d just laughed and hit the blackguard with her fan. He’d wanted to hit him with much more.

As he worked his way through the crowd toward Morgan, he searched the ballroom for the men on Alex’s list. All four of them had approached him about her hand in marriage. He had stalled them thus far by telling them it was her choice, and he’d assured them she would be making it soon.

Even Lord Holden, the oldest of the group, had wanted to know what she was worth. The white-haired buzzard would be lucky to find any woman to marry. Alex was so much more than her title and wealth. Didn’t they see that? If only he didn’t like her, he’d marry her and to hell with the inheritance. Alex could do with it as she pleased.

Catrina, on the other hand, was spoiled, self-centered, vain, and ambitious. All things he could never love. She would be a much better choice.

She’d never be faithful, but what did it matter as long as she wandered after producing a couple of heirs? It would be a perfect arrangement. Then why couldn’t he bring himself to ask her?

He joined Morgan and two men he didn’t know. They were having an animated conversation about horseflesh. He’d learned long ago that Morgan could go on for hours when discussing horses or women. Rather than get sucked into the conversation, he surveyed the room.

His gaze came to rest on Catrina, faultless in a blue gown, as she stood near one of the giant candelabra used to light the room. She chatted with Lady Asbury, touted to be one of the elite within the Ton. Catrina liked power. Thank God he’d diffused her threat to Alex. If Catrina had thought of her as competition, she would have made sure Alex wasn’t accepted by Society.

Morgan finished his conversation, moved closer to him, then lowered his voice. “It’s tired I am of all these balls. When do you think the ladies might be wanting to go home?” Morgan looked done in. Even the laugh lines around his eyes drooped.

Declan laughed. “I thought you liked balls.”

“I do, but I find every night till the wee hours of the morning excessive. Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you might be needing my help when Addington shows up. Have you seen him?”

“No, and that worries me.”

“Have you heard from Bradford?”

“Not a word, but it hasn’t been two weeks. I’m sure my cousin’s finding it difficult to uncover all the unsavory details. Addington’s good at covering his tracks.”

He caught his aunt’s eye and gave her a small nod. He’d attempted, as of late, to be nicer to her. It really wasn’t that difficult, but he had to remind himself not to slip into familiar patterns. They’d even had a pleasant conversation yesterday. She’d asked him about taking them to...Damn!

“Morgan, could I get you to take Catrina to Lord and Lady Ellington’s tomorrow night?”

His friend groaned. “Not another ball. What is it you need to be doing instead?”

“I just remembered, my aunt asked me to escort the three of them to Vauxhall Gardens for a Handel concert. It seems he’s one of Lady Lochsdale’s favorite composers, and my aunt’s setting it up as a surprise.”

“If it’s for the Wee One, I imagine I can be putting up with Lady Catrina for a night. I’d not be doing it for anyone else.”

“You like Lady Lochsdale, don’t you?”

Morgan shrugged. “What’s not to like? Her temperament, beauty, and intelligence combine to make a chord of music that’s easy on the soul.”

“You, my old friend, are a romantic.”

“And might I be asking you what Irishman worth his salt isn’t. It wouldn’t be hurting you to look at the world through my eyes for a time.”

“The good Lord spare me, I’d want to fight every man and love every woman.”

“It’s happy I’d be if you’d love one woman, but since you’re so pigheaded, it looks like I’ll just have to keep trying to talk sense into you.”

“If I ever fall in love, just run me through and put me out of my misery.”

“It’s comments like that which make me want to bash you over your fool head.”

He gave his friend a little bow. “All the ladies would be very unhappy with you.”

“Speaking of which,”—Morgan’s eyes gleamed with mischief,—“they were asking me about you at Madam Rose’s. Seems you’ve not been to see the dear ladies. They miss you.”

“I’ve been busy.”

Morgan raised his eyebrows. “It’s been several weeks. I might be thinking you’re a reformed man.”

“No.” He didn’t want to talk about it. The truth was there were no petite women with chestnut hair and free spirits at Madam Rose’s. Even if there were, his body wouldn’t stop yearning for one in particular. This self-imposed celibacy was ludicrous, but he couldn’t help the way he felt.

Once Alex was married, he’d go back to normal. Then she’d be out of his reach for good. He glanced over at his ward, resplendent in a turquoise gown. He needed some air.

“Keep an eye on her for me.” Fighting the urge to bolt from the room, he strode out the French doors into the cool, still night.

“I’m sorry, Lord Worthington,”—Lady Bradford’s voice carried up the stairs from the entrance hall below,—“but I didn’t realize it was the same night.”

Alex stopped on the stairwell landing, just out of sight, and waited for Declan’s reply.

“If it’s a party you and Lady Anna are helping to host, how could you forget it?”

“There’s been so much going on the last few days.” Lady Bradford sounded very convincing. “I thought the concert seemed like such a good idea, but I didn’t double-check the date. I’m sorry, dear, but couldn’t you take Lady Lochsdale? It’s a public place. You needn’t have a chaperone.”

“I don’t think that would be wise.”

“Why not? Lady Lochsdale was so looking forward to it. You don’t want to disappoint her.”

She held her breath, waiting for his reply.

There was a long moment of silence, then a sigh filled the air. “I suppose I have to take her.”

He obviously didn’t like the idea, but at least he’d agreed. Alex continued her descent, gratified that Declan seemed unable to look away once she came into view.

“You look lovely, dear.” His aunt came forward and gave her a peck on the cheek.

“Thank you, Lady Bradford. I’m looking forward to this evening.” She studied Declan from under her lashes. His evening clothes molded to his form. Somehow they didn’t look stiff and formal on him, but seemed to be a natural extension of his body.

“There’s been a slight change in plans.” Declan’s aunt came forward and took Alex’s hands. “Lady Anna and I have to host a party for Lord Darnby. I’d promised him months ago, but it completely slipped my mind.”

“Oh.” She didn’t dare look at Declan. If she did, he’d know something was amiss.

“Don’t worry, Lord Worthington has agreed to escort you anyway. I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time.”

He held his arm out for her and escorted her to the carriage. Neither one spoke. She didn’t know how to make conversation easy between them after their harsh words the other night. What if Lady Bradford was wrong? Maybe he didn’t feel anything for her.

The silence continued throughout the ride. She concentrated on looking out the window and tried to avoid the almost overwhelming urge to twist the bracelet on her wrist.

They crossed over the Westminster Bridge, which seemed to be alive with carriages. It amazed her at how skillfully their driver maneuvered. He stopped in front of the gardens in a very short time, considering the throng.

Declan helped her out of the carriage and into the middle of a fairy tale. She’d left the London she knew behind, and entered a magical land filled with color and gaiety. She hadn’t really thought much about the gardens when she’d chosen them as a place to get Declan alone. Now she was glad she had come.

They pressed forward until they passed through one of the many arches leading to an ornate building that housed the footman’s waiting and cloakroom. The structure appeared ancient, its worn stone held together with crumbling mortar. It was most assuredly one of the original buildings.

A footman took her cloak as she entered, and they were directed to a supper box. The opulent room boasted intricate paintings on all three walls. Candelabras stood in the corners of the room, casting warm glows on the intricately carved furniture.

Declan motioned toward the closest landscape. “I’m told they were done by Francis Hayman.”

Could it be that she was getting an art lesson because he also didn’t know what to say? “They’re beautiful.”

She didn’t know much about art, so she wandered toward the balcony, which covered the length of the room, allowing the occupants an unobstructed view. The beauty of the design lay in the ability see the gardens, without being seen, unless you stood at the railing.

The panorama before her eyes held something for everyone. A cascade, ruins, and statues mingled with trees and flowers. The main areas and paths were well lit, which allowed her to see the colorful dress of the guests as they milled about on the walkways below.

She started when Declan took her elbow.

“Dinner’s being served.”

“Oh.”

He guided her to the middle of the room where a table had been draped with a pristine white cloth. China and silver glistened in the candlelight. Red roses adorned the center, their heady fragrance floating on the air around her. It was the perfect setting for a seduction. She hoped.

The footman served the meal promptly, appearing like a ghost out of the shadows whenever they needed something. She didn’t want the elaborate dinner to go to waste, but her rebellious stomach wouldn’t accept anything more than a little wine.

She should have planned the seduction, instead of assuming it would happen naturally. This didn’t feel natural at all.

Declan seemed so sure of himself. She watched him take a bite of quail. The juice moistened his lips, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his mouth.

Distracted, she bumped her fragile crystal goblet and watched in horror as it toppled over. She attempted to stand so her dress wouldn’t be spotted with water, but instead, sent her fork skipping across the floor.

The footman appeared, as if by magic, to clean up the mess. She refused to look at Declan. At least he didn’t say anything.

Why couldn’t she just challenge him to a fencing match to win his love? It would be so much easier than this.

The footman cleared away the main courses, and left them with wine, cheese, and fruit. If she didn’t make her move soon, the concert would be starting. She took a deep breath and thought about keeping her voice low and seductive.

“Do you mind if I remove my scarf?” Good, it didn’t sound like her at all. “It feels quite warm in here.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Why? It’s impolite for you to object.”

Declan turned his attention to slicing a piece of cheese. “I have my reasons.”