The Untamed Earl (20 page)

“I need to talk to you. Meet me in the library in ten minutes.”

It was a command, not a request. Alex briefly considered ignoring it, but in the end, she made her way to the library, ensuring that no one saw her steal off and that no one was behind her. She arrived after twenty minutes, though, not ten. Owen had taught her that, too. Never be on time for a rendezvous with a gentleman. He'll always wonder if you've changed your mind, and he'll have to work harder next time.

When she reached the appointed room, she slowly pushed open the door and took two tentative steps inside.

Owen was there, standing near the cluster of seating arrangements in the center of the room. He swung around to face her. His hair was a bit mussed. When he saw her, worry drained from his face.

“I didn't think you were coming,” he said.

She opened her mouth to reply.

“Wait,” he said. “I know. You're an apt student.”

She wasn't about to admit it. “Why did you want to see me?”

“Actually, I want to see you again, tomorrow. At Cass's house.” He strode closer to her.

“I don't understand. Why?”

“We need to talk.”

“We can't talk now?”

“I still need your help … with Lavinia.”

Alex's stomach clenched into a knot. “I thought your letter said you were done with that. That you would endeavor to do your best.”

“I changed my mind,” he snapped.

Alex turned away from him sharply and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don't know if I can help you anymore, Owen.”
It's killing me.

“Now that you've got your Lord Berkeley, you've forgotten me?”

“No, but—” She turned to meet his gaze. “Do you love Lavinia?”

“You know I don't.”

“But you still intend to marry her?”

“Yes. It's all to work out the way it's meant to.”

Now was the time, the time to end all of this, the time to tell him that she loved him. To tell him that she'd lied to him, made up nearly everything she'd told him about Lavinia. Now was the time to tell him that Lavinia was as awful as she appeared to be and he'd never be happy with her. That
she
was the one who liked all the things he liked. That
she
was the one who would appreciate him for who he was.

But she couldn't. She wanted him to want her and to choose her over Lavinia first. Not after she begged him. Not after she convinced him. And Lucy's words came back to haunt her: “Getting him to admit he's fallen for an innocent is not about to happen quickly.”

Alex glanced down at her slippers and blinked away the tears in her eyes. “I cannot meet you tomorrow, Owen. I have other plans.”

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Owen hated himself. Detested himself, actually. He sat in his coach, having given his coachman instructions to wait down the street from the duke's town house until the duke's carriage emerged from the mews. Alex had said she couldn't meet him today because she had other plans. Plans? What plans? Was she meeting Lord Berkeley? And since when had Owen become such an overbearing broodish knave that he was going to follow her to wherever she was going? That was right. He detested himself.

But there he was, sitting on the velvet seat, glancing furtively out the window, waiting to see the duke's carriage pull around the end of the street. As soon as it pulled away, Owen rapped on the door separating himself from his own coachman. “Follow them,” he commanded, feeling like a fool.

As the conveyance took off down the street, Owen considered the events of the last few days. His conscience had forced him to write Alex the note thanking her for her help and telling her he didn't need to see her anymore. He'd gone so mad that he'd actually even considered Cade Cavendish's advice. He'd actually contemplated paying a chap to marry Lavinia so he could run off with Alex. He might have even done it if he thought such a chap existed, one whom that harridan would accept. He couldn't imagine anyone voluntarily choosing her, though. No, Owen was the gull who'd been stuck with her.

The coach bounced along the streets of Mayfair and then headed into the part of town where he went only when he was looking for a certain type of gaming hell, and even that was rare. He and his friends preferred the hells that catered to the aristocracy. He glanced out the window again. No mistaking it. There were in the rookeries. He had no way of knowing whether Alexandra was in the carriage ahead of them, but if she was, what in God's name was she doing going to the rookeries?

Several minutes later, they pulled to a stop along a dirty street filled with shoeless ragamuffins scurrying about. The sign on the door to the building where the duke's coach stopped was written in scratchy, badly drawn letters.

POOR HOUSE

“What the—?” Owen slinked low in his seat and watched from nearby as Alexandra and her maid emerged from the carriage with two baskets in their hands. Their coachman helped them down. Heedless of the muck in the road, Alex walked directly up to the front of the establishment. She balanced her basket on her hip, knocked twice on the large door, and waited until it swung open and a woman wearing a cap on her head and a poorly fitting linen robe ushered the two women inside.

Owen cursed under his breath. A lady unescorted in this part of town was courting trouble. Alex had her maid with her, but the small young woman would hardly be of much assistance if they were accosted by brigands or thieves or worse. Owen kicked open the door, leaped from his coach, and ran across the filthy road. He quickly made his way to the front of the poorhouse and knocked as forcefully as he could.

It took several minutes, but the same woman eventually answered the door.

“Yes?” the woman said. Upon closer inspection, her linen robe and cap were threadbare.

“I'm Lord Owen Monroe,” he explained. “I'm here to—I saw Lady Alexandra Hobbs come in, and I wanted to ensure she is all right.”

The woman eyed him skeptically. “Do you know her?”

“Yes, you could say she is my friend.”

Something in Owen's demeanor must have convinced the woman because her face softened and she said, “I'm Miss Magdalene. And I believe you. Lady Alexandra is the soul of kindness. Wait here. I'll tell her you're here.” She ushered him inside.

Owen paced about the clean but dingy foyer while Miss Magdalene disappeared into the bowels of the building. His hat in his hands, Owen paced some more and turned his hat over again and again.

Several long minutes passed before Alex and her maid appeared, carrying empty baskets. Alex strode into the foyer and stopped abruptly as soon as she saw Owen.

“What are you doing here?” she asked in an angry whisper.

Owen stopped pacing. His hat fell to his side in his hand. “I thought you were in danger.”

Alex glanced about as if she wanted to ensure that Miss Magdalene didn't overhear. Her voice remained a heated whisper. “I'm in no danger. I come here twice a month. And that doesn't explain why you followed me here.” She marched past him out the door back to her carriage, her maid close at her heels. The maid scurried up into the conveyance while Alex waited outside on the street and turned to Owen with the empty basket propped against one hip.

Owen straightened his shoulders. He felt like a complete arse. “I thought—You said you had plans, and I wanted to—”

Alex tapped her slipper along the dirty road. Her jaw was tight. “Know what I was doing?”

“Yes.”

She glared at him. “That's a bit heavy-handed of you, don't you think?”

“Yes.”

She tossed one hand in the air. “Do you have any explanation for yourself?”

Owen shoved his hat back on his head. “I thought you were going to meet Lord Berkeley or—”

She shook her head. “In the rookeries? Besides, what if I
had
been going to meet Lord Berkeley? Is it any of your concern?”

Owen waved a hand toward the poorhouse. “Damn it, Alex. What are you doing here at a place like this?”

She glanced around and kept her voice to a low hiss. “Not that it's any of your affair, but I drop off my embroidery and that of some of my friends twice a month. The people here sell it on the streets for a bit of money.”

Owen was stunned. “Charity? You're here for charity?”

“Why else would I be here? I'd bring food, but Mother would notice and Cook would be scolded.” Alex wrenched open the door to the coach. The coachman leaped from his spot in front and stood at the ready to help her into the vehicle.

“I'm leaving now,” Alex announced. “You're making a spectacle.”

Owen glanced around the street. It was true. A small crowd had formed and was watching them.

“Wait.” His hand on her arm stopped her. He lowered his voice, too. “Does your mother know about this?”

Alex rolled her eyes. “Of course not. She'd never allow me to come here. Even though I bring Hannah.”

“That's what I thought. It's dangerous here. Your mother would be right to worry.”

Alex met his gaze. “I've found in life that there are some things that are more important than worry.”

Owen searched her face. She never ceased to amaze him. “Does Lavinia give you her embroidery, too?”

Alex's lips turned up in a half-smile. “Are you jesting? Lavinia would toss her embroidery in the fire if she thought the people here would even so much as touch it, let alone sell it. I collect her discarded bits and bring them with me. She doesn't miss them.”

Owen stared at Alex as if seeing her for the first time. “It means that much to you to come here? To defy your mother? To risk your safety?”

Alex shrugged. “Mother isn't always right about things. Neither is Father. I asked Mother's permission once to come here and she said no. She left me no choice but to sneak out of the house.”

“You could send one of the footmen.”

“That's cowardly. Besides, I've come to enjoy my outings here. Miss Magdalene is a dear.”

Owen glanced back at the poorhouse. Miss Magdalene was standing in the open door, watching them, concern etched on her brow. Wonderful. Now the woman thought Alex needed protection from him.

He took a step away from Alex to ease Miss Magdalene's mind. “I never expected something like this of you, Alex.”

This time Alex advanced on him. “What? Charity work? Doing something more useful in life than sipping tea and wasting my pin money on fripperies? Rest assured, that's how Lavinia prefers to spend her time. It's not how I prefer to use mine. I want to be useful, Owen, to someone, for someone. You have that opportunity, too; you simply choose to squander it.”

He blinked at her. What in the devil was she talking about? It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what she meant, or to tell her that he sent some of his allowance to an orphanage, but he'd long ago given up trying to convince anyone to think kindly of him. He wasn't about to start now.

“You do realize most of these people are probably buying gin with the money they get from your embroidery, don't you?”

“You're an ass.” She turned sharply around and allowed the coachman to help her into the carriage. Owen had a glimpse of her maid sitting inside the darkened interior.

The door to the coach slammed shut behind Alex, and the carriage pulled away, heading back toward Mayfair. Owen stood in the dirty street, watching it go.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Alex claimed a headache that night. She had good reason to. Mother was planning a dinner party. A dinner party that included Owen Monroe, and Alex simply didn't have the fortitude to see him again. Not after her interaction with him at the poorhouse. It had been deplorable of him, following her there, but at least it proved that he cared what she was doing, didn't it? Oh, the entire mess had gotten so convoluted, she didn't know what made sense anymore. But she wasn't about to allow him to follow her about and say rude things, no matter what Lucy and Cass said. He either needed to declare himself or leave her be.

To make matters worse, Alex had barely missed being discovered by Mother this afternoon. Apparently, the woman had come in search of her. One of the other maids, Hannah's friend, had insisted that Alex was taking a nap. If the maid hadn't been so adamant, Alex might well have been found out. As it was, Mother came back not long after Alex had returned from the poorhouse and insisted upon speaking with her. She'd barely had time to undress with Hannah's help, toss on a night rail, and climb beneath the covers before Mother came gliding into the room.

“Alexandra,” Mother had said in a whisper loud enough to wake her had she truly been sleeping.

Thomas would have been proud of her acting skills. She'd rolled over, rubbed the pretend sleep from her eyes, and blinked at her mother. “Mother? Is that you?”

“Yes. I must speak with you.”

“What about?” Alexandra sat up slowly and plumped the pillow behind her back.

Her mother took a seat on the edge of the mattress. “I wanted to speak to you about what you said the other day … about Lord Owen.”

Dread filled Alex's chest. She'd been waiting for this conversation. Had been surprised, actually, that her mother had not addressed it before now. “Yes?” Her voice shook.

“I'm certain you'll agree that we're all hoping for a wonderful match for your sister.”

Here it came, the why-Lavinia-should-be-put-first speech.

“I would love nothing more than for Lavinia to make a love match, Mama.” That much was true.

“Yes, well, as to that, your father is quite convinced that Lord Owen Monroe is the best match for Lavinia.”

Alex tugged the sheet up higher beneath her arms. “But, Mother, you know how Lavinia feels about it. She wants no part of him.”

“I can't say I was too keen on your father when I first met him. His being a future duke was certainly tempting, but I found him to be a bit overbearing. He still is, if I'm being honest.”