The Only One (6 page)

Chapter 9

She’d done it now. Alex clapped a palm over her mouth too late. Her nerves bristled with dread. Presenting a bravery she did not feel, she fisted her hands on her hips.

“When?” Giles growled.

Puzzled, she repeated his question. “When?”

“You said years ago. When?”

She blinked and tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. “I was twelve years old.” She glanced down. “Go ahead. Laugh.”

“I’m not laughing.” His deep voice rumbled.

When she peeked at him, he stood there glowering. His dark eyes gave no impression of his thoughts. In that instant she knew she had to make him see her as a woman. There might never be another chance. She took a deep breath.

“Two men laughing and deep in conversation would not be expected to see anything outside their realm of events.” She turned toward the nearest harness and lifted her hand to the leather. “When a small dog was nearly run over by a wagon, one of those men ran out to save the dog, while the other chastised the driver for not controlling his team of horses. Then, those same men calmed two hysterical young girls and delivered the mutt into their loving arms.”

She peered over her shoulder into perceptive eyes.

“I see you remember the incident. Do you know which one was me?”

Giles cleared his throat. “The dog was not yours.”

“No. He belonged to Winnifred. My childhood friend. I’d been allowed to visit and her mother took us to town. We were to wait outside the milliner’s shop with her driver while she went inside to purchase a hat. Winnifred had begged to bring along her new puppy. He was so cute. And as puppies are, his energy overtook his body. When I tried to hand him back, he jumped out of my arms.”

“You are the child who dashed after him. I grabbed you. Morgan took after the mutt.”

When she turned and met his eyes, she knew the longing in hers must be apparent. “You saved me.”

“You scared the life out of me.” Giles shoved a hand through his raven-black hair, curling against the collar of his white shirt.

“Your friend brought the dog back and placed him in Winnifred’s arms. She fell in love with him.”

And I you.

“A child’s hero worship,” he replied dismissively.

“You may think my infatuation a child’s whimsy, but you were more than my hero. I’d never seen a man so caring.” She took a step closer. “Notice I did not say daring. My brothers are daring. To the point their actions are on the brink of folly. They would have let Winnie’s puppy get trampled, and blistered me for chasing him.”

“Surely not.”

“Who knows?” She shrugged. “But you and your friend rushed to save two girls. Save their hearts. Save them from grief. And you did save my life, for I too would have been trampled by that wagon.”

“You make me out to be some hero. Let me assure you, I am not.”

“No, you still don’t see.” She raised a hand to his cheek. “You noticed me that day. You looked at me . . . maybe with sympathy. But I saw in you a kind, soulful man. A man with heart. A man with secrets.”

When he didn’t pull away, she caressed the prickly skin beneath her fingers, absorbing his warmth.

“You created a flutter in my core. Something new and deep. Something I’d never felt before. I decided then and there you had my heart.”

Confusion crossed his features. She could tell his thoughts disturbed him. “You were twelve years old.”

“When I saw you again, only days ago, the same throb slashed my chest.”

With a grunt he stepped back. “You know not what you speak.”

“I’m a very determined girl. Aunt Cornelia has schooled me on the customs of the English. I’m not a complete illiterate.”

“I would never think such a thing.” The slight smirk on his mouth suggested otherwise.

“I know you’ve heard stories of me in masculine clothing and prancing after my brothers. But as I said, Aunt Cornelia taught me how to be a lady.”

“Well, you sure as hell don’t kiss like one.”

“Such language for a duke.” She pretended coyness as her lips curved in a mischievous smile. “You liked it. Don’t deny it.”

“
You
never answered
me
. A girl does not kiss a man the way you did without being . . . promiscuous.”

“You wound me, Sir Duke.” Her temper boiled suddenly, right under the surface. “I will admit I had practice. I knew you would never look at me seriously unless I could show you I knew how to act like a woman.”

“Those are not the actions of a . . .” He glared at her. “What kind of practice?”

“At least I have your attention.”

“You snared my attention when you had your tongue down my throat.”

“I did not have my tongue down your throat.” Her face heated. “However, I did have trouble swallowing since you took my breath.” She placed her hand over her middle. “I even had a flurrying in my belly.”

“Dear God, do not speak of your belly.” He grasped two handfuls of his lovely hair.

“Why not? It’s true.”

“No matter if it’s true or not. Now answer my question. How much practice?” Obviously he was losing patience. And if she were to guess, the duke was wound up good and tight.

“Lots. I had a bursting curiosity. And the same hunger to learn as your inquisitiveness in asking me all these questions.”

With a throaty growl he took a step closer. Broad shoulders towered over her.

“Don’t look so ferocious,” she admonished.

“What the bloody hell did you do other than kissing?” His thunderous expression made his eyes appear black.

“Nothing. I am not a woman of loose morals. When Henry tried putting his hand on my . . . well, I smacked him.”

“You should have smacked
me
.”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head and took an impatient step closer. “You see, I want you. I want to kiss you. I want you to touch me. Only you.”

Her duke looked like he was strangling. His cheeks puffed out and his eyes grew darker.

“Good God. You cannot say things like that.”

“But it’s true.”

“Again, that is not the point. You are a child. And I have no time for foolishness.”

Anger filled her. His arrogance was wearing on her nerves. She wanted to stomp her foot in frustration but quickly realized he would see it as the action of a child.

Instead, Alex aimed for what she thought would be a purr, and laid her fingers on his chest. “Kiss me again and I’ll show you I’m not a child.”

Flinging her hand away, he snorted and jerked back.

His expression had become so outraged, she struggled not to chuckle.

“You play with fire,” he growled. “Next time I shall not be so tolerant. If you want to act like a grown up, you will suffer the consequences.” He left the storage room, his strides long and brisk as he strode through the stables, headed for the outdoors.

“One day you will see me as I am,” she called after him.

“God help the man you set your sights on when you grow up.” His voice echoed harshly as he disappeared around the corner.

I’ve set my sights on you.

One day . . . soon.

“Harrumph!”

She’d been caught spying—again. By her aunt, no less. Alex turned from the library door and found Aunt Cornelia with her chin elevated and her hands overlapped in a chastising fashion.

“And just what are you about?” Aunt whispered coldly, the sound of disapproval in her voice.

“Uh . . . I, um, nothing.”

“Since you are about
nothing
, why don’t you join me in the parlor?”

She followed her aunt down the hallway. Once inside, Cornelia gracefully sat and perched her elbows on the arms of a wingback chair, giving Alex the impression she was about to receive a lecture.

She pursed her lips. “Aunt Cornelia, I need your help.”

Cornelia’s stiff posture relaxed and a look of concern flittered across her face. “My dear, is anything wrong?”

“No, no.” Alex rushed to alleviate any concern. She marched over to the sofa and plopped on the cushion. “I know you think my behavior is inappropriate for a girl. So I want your help to become a lady.”

Cornelia sucked in a breath, clutching her abdomen. “You are an imposter. Where is Alexandria? What have you done with her?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. I’m not that bad.”

“I’ve been laying the groundwork for a while. I was beginning to think my coaching would never take root.” Her aunt raised a painted brow. “Why this sudden change?”

Alex blew out a breath, sending a lock of hair flying. “Aunt Cornelia.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I must confide in you. There is no one else I can ask.”

“Not even your mother?”

“Mother lives here, and it is because you live in England that I seek your advice.”

“I see,” Cornelia said slowly. Then nodded. “I will do what I can.”

“Do I have your confidence?”

“My dear girl.” Cornelia leaned closer, as well. “You may tell me anything. You have my heart.” Then she shot Alex a hard glare. “As long as it is not something which will put you in dire straits or wish me to my grave.”

“I want the duke.” There. She’d said it in a rush.

“Beg pardon?” Cornelia’s expression became blank, her eyes narrowed.

“Giles Litscomb. The Duke of Nethersall. I mean to marry him.”

“Oh, Alexandria.” She waved a lace-edged handkerchief about her face, before tucking it into her sleeve.

“Have you ever seen a man more handsome? He is kind and tall and . . .” She scooted to the edge of her seat. “Oh, Aunt Cornelia, please. If I am to have a chance at all, you must help me.”

“The Duke of Nethersall.” Her voice measured indulgent disbelief. “I see why you came to me and not your mother. Is he aware of your interest?”

Alex thought of her attempts at seduction. She cringed.

“What have you done?” Cornelia frowned fiercely.

“Followed him. But he catches me at my worst.”

“That has to stop immediately. If you want his interest you must not appear desperate. A lady should be coy. Mysterious. Enticing.”

“Will you help me? I must be a lady to acquire the duke.”

“Is a duke what you want?” Her aunt tilted her head and—as was her habit—looked down her lofty nose.

“I don’t care if he is a duke or a farmer. His title or position is not important.”

“Of course, his position is important. You could do no better than Nethersall. A title
and
a fortune. His reputation is beyond reproach. He is a man of honor, integrity, of moral character. He must pass the dukedom to a son.” She clasped her hands. “Some members of nobility trade old English titles for American money. In this case, your duke could make an alliance with an American family who is still of noble birth. You would be the envy of the
ton
. And I will sponsor you. What a splendid idea.”

“Sponsor me?” Aunt Cornelia’s excitement nearly matched her own.

“Think of it, my dear. First, you would live with me, of course. You would have a coming out debut before a betrothal is announced. An entire wardrobe of new gowns. I must inform my
modiste.
You will be decked from head to toe in the latest fashion.”

“Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself? The duke has not agreed. He thinks I’m too young for him.”

“Balderdash. You are of a marriageable age. The perfect age for Almacks.”

“Almacks?”

“The Marriage Mart.”

Marriage Mart?
What had she gotten herself into?

“We have a lot of work to do if you are to be presentable at court. I will instruct you on all that’s necessary to make you a diamond of the first water. Only a few months before the start of the London Season. You will be the belle of the balls. Men will take one look at you and profess undying devotion.”

“But I don’t want anyone else. I want Giles.”

“My child, you cannot address a duke, thus.”

Alex didn’t miss her aunt’s look of horror, but she concentrated on the word
child
.

“Aunt Cornelia, this is the very crux of my dilemma. The duke thinks of me as a child.”

“He is not a young man, but he is not in his dotage. Men much older take young brides right out of the schoolroom,” Cornelia explained. “Besides, we will change all that. We will turn you into a woman even His Grace cannot ignore.”

Alex liked the sound of that. She threw her arms around her aunt’s neck and pecked a kiss on her plump cheek.

“We must devise a well-laid plan. First, you must learn to walk.” Cornelia disentangled herself and rose, gesturing toward the door. “Come with me to the library.”

Walk?

“Why are we going to the library?”

“To get a book, of course.”

“I need a book to learn how to walk?”

“You balance a book on the top of your head.”

An image of her performing such a feat quickly appeared. It was all Alex could do to avoid laughing outright.

“You must pay attention, Alexandria. The clock is ticking.”