The Untamed Earl (10 page)

“Welcome,” Owen said, grinning.

Lady Alexandra's throat worked and her dark eyes assessed him from head to toe.

Had the lady liked what she'd seen? Owen glanced down at his shining black top boots, biscuit-colored buckskin breeches, white shirt, emerald waistcoat, and dark gray overcoat. His snowy white cravat was expertly tied. He'd done it himself, waving off his valet and taking special care today. He'd always been known around town to have flawless style, and he'd certainly never had any reason to question it. But today, looking through Lady Alexandra's eyes, he found himself wondering if she would approve. Did she find him handsome or charming or dashing at all or was he just a means to an end for her to marry off her sister so she might marry, too?

He shook his head. Why did it matter? Why was he even questioning it? When had he ever given a toss what anyone else thought of him? Especially an innocent?

She took a few tentative steps farther into the foyer. Her maid dutifully followed.

Swifdon's butler cleared his throat then and offered to take the ladies' hats.

“I'm here to pay a call on Lady Swifdon,” Lady Alexandra said in a quiet voice, presenting her card and removing her bonnet.

“Yes. I'll show you to her,” Owen intoned. He waited until she and the maid had both handed their bonnets to the butler; then Owen took Lady Alexandra's hand and placed it atop his sleeve.

“Wait here, Hannah.” Lady Alexandra glanced back at her maid and gave the woman a quick good-bye wave before allowing Owen to escort her down the corridor.

Of course, once beyond the prying eye of the butler, Owen took her to the ballroom instead of the drawing room.

“Wh-where's Lady Swifdon?” Lady Alexandra asked as soon as the door closed behind them and they were alone in the cavernous room. The enormous space was dimly lit and smelled like lemon polish and candlewax.

“I expect she's in the drawing room, receiving visitors,” Owen replied with a laugh.

“Oh, I … I thought—”

“Don't worry. I told her you were coming. She'll say you were here with her if there is any gossip.”

Lady Alexandra's shoulders relaxed and she expelled her breath.

“Are you nervous?” he asked. “There's no need to be.”

“No.” She snatched her hand away from his arm and moved several paces away from him. “I mean yes. I'm only sneaking away from my home to clandestinely meet with one of the
ton
's most infamous rogues. There's no reason to be nervous.”

She was funny. He liked that. “Surely, I'm the
most
infamous, not merely
one
of the most.”

He could tell Lady Alexandra was suppressing a smile. He suddenly wanted to make her smile more, laugh even.

“For all that I admire my brother, Thomas, for being daring and adventurous, I cannot seem to help my nerves,” she admitted.

“You mentioned yesterday that you've been known to sneak off in the afternoons. That sounds daring and adventurous to me.”

“Oh, that—I—No. It's neither daring nor adventurous, I assure you.”

Owen inclined his head toward her. “Very well, what can we do to calm your nerves, my lady?”

“Do you have any port wine? I always seem to enjoy it when I sneak a bit from Father's stash.”

Owen nearly guffawed at that. “You sneak port?”

“Yes.” She nodded matter-of-factly.

She was positively adorable. “Good God. I daresay you could find something more tasty than port in your father's house.”

Lady Alexandra wiggled her nose. “I picked it because I like the decanter it's in the best.”

He tipped his head to the side and contemplated her. “A noble reason to be sure.”

“And it smelled the least like poison.”

“Another noble reason.” Owen grinned at her. “You say you're not daring or adventurous, but that sounds like both to me.”

“Please don't make fun of me,” she said softly in a voice that told Owen she was not actually displeased with him. She appeared to take things in stride, this Lady Alexandra. No doubt an effect from having to live under the same roof with her “difficult” sister. “If you have no port wine,” she continued, “I suppose I'll have to make do and calm my nerves some other way.”

Owen bowed to her. “Perhaps you'll be more comfortable if we begin.”

“Begin?”

“Yes, but first, what shall I call you?”

“Call me?”

“If we're to be friends, cohorts, you might even say, I find it quite formal to continue to refer to you as Lady Alexandra. You may call me Owen.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, that's quite informal.”

“My dear, if I'm going to teach you to behave like the most sought-after lady in London, you'll need to get over a mere formality with a name.”

Lady Alexandra cleared her throat. “Of course,” she murmured. “You may call me Alexandra.”

“Alexandra?” He posted his hands on both hips. “That still sounds awfully formal to me. Don't you have a nickname?”

“No, I don't. I—Well, Thomas calls me Al.”

“Al,” Owen repeated the word and then frowned. “Too short. Not nearly so lovely as you are. How about Alex?”

A blush stained her cheeks. “Alex?”

“Alex,” he echoed, rolling the word around on his tongue. “Yes, it suits you perfectly. It has pluck. I shall call you Alex, if you have no objections.”

She pushed a dark curl behind her ear. “Very well. It seems quite improper, but then again, you're not particularly known for being proper.”

“I'm glad you agree.” He grinned, leaning back against a large table near the wall and crossing his booted feet at the ankles. “Now, that's settled. You'll call me Owen and I'll call you Alex. I'm already feeling a kindred connection to you.”

She blushed more deeply, gorgeously, and Owen had to glance away. It was not going to help things to become attracted to his business partner. Though it was a singularly unique experience for Owen to be in business with a female. Normally, the only business he conducted with the members of the opposite sex was that which was performed in bed. Alex was blinking up at him, her pretty face full of trust and innocence and—

Owen shook his head. It was time to change the subject. Perhaps they'd both feel more comfortable. “Why don't you tell me something about Lady Lavinia and I'll give you your first lesson in dancing properly.”

“Very well.” Alex paced in front of him, her hands folded tightly together. “As I said yesterday, to win Lavinia's heart, you must learn to comport yourself as a gentleman. A
romantic
gentleman.”

“My dear girl, I don't even know what a ‘
romantic
gentleman' is.”

Alex smoothed her hands down her skirts and blinked at him. “He's the type who writes love ballads and sings them to his ladylove.”

“His ladylove?” Owen's voice rose sharply, as did his eyebrow. “I'm honorable. Isn't that enough?”

Alex smiled and shook her head. “I'm afraid not. Not for Lavinia.”

He rubbed his chin. “A gentleman, eh?”

“Yes, a gentleman. A romantic one. I'm certain you have it in you.”

He laughed out loud. “I'm not certain I do. Not at all.”

Again, Alex smiled at him—a smile that was entirely disarming. “I have faith in you.”

The words Owen had been about to say caught in his throat. There was something poignant in the fact that this young woman, this stranger, had said something to him that his own father could not.

Owen pushed away the thought and moved from the table, turning in a circle. “Very well. What would a
romantic
gentleman do to properly court a lady?”

Alex patted her coiffure. “He would bring her gifts.”

He gave a mock groan. “Must I?”

Alex crossed her arms over her chest and paced away from him. “Perhaps write her a sonnet.”

Owen shook his head. “Not a chance.”

Alex waved one hand in the air in a flourish. “Tell her that her eyes are the blue of heaven.”

“Seriously, not a chance.”

Alex stopped pacing, turned, and regarded him head-on. “At the very least, he should begin by asking
her
to take a turn about the room with him instead of her sister.”

Owen tugged at his cuff. “Very funny. That was an honest mistake. By the by, does she enjoy a turn about the room?”

“Not particularly.”

“Alex, is there anything that your sister actually
does
enjoy?”

“She quite enjoys gazing at herself in the mirror.”

Owen groaned.

*   *   *

Alex fought her blush. No one called her Alex. Ever. Why did she like it when he did? And why was she already taking to the name herself? She shook her head. She had to concentrate on his questions about Lavinia and not on how good he looked in his skintight buckskin breeches or the fact that he smelled like a delicious combination of faint woodsmoke and soap. But this was why she'd come here, and she had to execute her plan. The threat of sonnets and poetry might not be enough. She tried to banish her guilt over the lie she was about to tell. She took a deep breath and crossed her fingers, which were hidden in her skirts. “Lavinia likes it when gentlemen are forceful, forthright.”

Owen's eyebrows shot up. “Excellent. I am both. And?”

“And what?” How many things was he expecting her to tell him right away?

He came to stand near her, and Alex gulped as she realized how much taller he was than she. She hadn't been quite this close last night. Standing at his full height, he had to be at least three inches over six feet tall to her five feet five inches. Not to mention his broad shoulders distracted her.

“What else does she like?” he asked, jarring her from her thoughts.

Very well. He expected more than just one thing. She could do this. Alex sucked in a deep breath once more and searched her memory for her conversation with Lavinia. She kept her fingers crossed in her skirts so he couldn't see. “She greatly admires a man who can … handle his liquor.”

His eyebrows hitched higher. “What in God's name is
that
supposed to mean?”

Alex shrugged. “It means the more drinking, the better.”

He narrowed his eyes on her. “Well,
that
has never proved a problem for me, but are you quite serious?”

“Oh yes, quite.” Alex tightened her crossed fingers until they ached. “Lavinia has mentioned it to me on more than one occasion how much she admires a man who enjoys liquor. We once encountered a gentleman who refused to so much as touch a drink. Religious reasons, you know? Lavinia was positively aghast.”

Owen's brow was furrowed now. “I'm not certain which sort of religious reasons—”

“It was something quite rare,” Alex hastened to add. Confound it. This was already more difficult than she'd thought. Owen was intelligent. Quite intelligent. He wasn't going to believe some of this, and she was a rubbish liar. She felt it best to remain adamant.

“I've heard of moderation—never practiced it, mind you,” he added with a devilish grin. “But I've
heard
of it. I've never known anyone who entirely abstained, however.”

Alex shook her head vigorously. “Oh, no. No moderation. Not for Lavinia. In fact, she once challenged two dinner guests to a drinking match.” Alex said a silent prayer that she would not be struck dead by lightning for her flagrant lies.

Owen whistled. “Lady Lavinia drank, too?”

Now who was aghast?
Alex managed a small but effective laugh. “No. Of course not. But she did place a pound wager from her pin money on one of the chaps and won.”

Alex's crossed fingers were getting sweaty. She was relatively certain her forehead was breaking out in a sweat, too. Guilt was not attractive. The truth was that
she
had been the one to challenge the two knights at the dinner party to the drink-off and had doubled her pin money. She'd also been scolded unmercifully by both her mother and Lavinia for her outrageous behavior. It had not been one of her finest moments, and her mother had insisted she would never find a proper husband if she continued to act like such a hoyden. Her mother was right. It was a good thing she didn't want a proper husband. She wanted Owen Monroe. She glanced at him to gauge whether he believed her story.

Owen stroked his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “I must say this news about her intrigues me. I wouldn't have expected Lady Lavinia to be fun-loving. In the least.”

Alex swallowed the lump of guilt she feared would be permanently lodged in her throat. “Oh yes, Lavinia is ever so fun-loving.” She'd nearly choked on that part. She glanced away, hoping the lie wasn't visible on her face.

“Surprising, to be sure,” Owen said.

“My sister is full of surprises,” she assured him with a firm nod. She tugged at the collar of her butter yellow gown. It was decidedly hot in the ballroom this afternoon.

Owen cocked his head to the side. “I suppose I can find a way to use that information to my advantage. Very well.” He held out his arms. “Shall we dance?”

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Alex had thought she knew how to dance. That was until Owen Monroe took her into his arms and spun her around and around his sister's empty ballroom to a tune he hummed. Not only could the man dance, but he could also hum, keep time, and make her feel as if she were the only person in the room all simultaneously. It didn't matter that she
was
the only other person in the room. That was entirely beside the point.

She stepped on his foot only three times. In the first dance. He stopped humming and the dance came to an end. Alex backed away but kept a watchful eye on him, certain she'd see disapproval lurking in his cornflower blue eyes.