You, and Only You (9 page)

“Very amusing,” Alex responded, before downing the fiery
liquid in one continuous gulp.

“I thought you said she was too young for you.”

“She is.”

“So…?”

“Nothing happened,” Alex muttered, settling back against the
chair.

Nicholas cocked an eyebrow.
 
“Nothing?”

Alex scowled.
 
“Well
it’s not as if I had my hands up her skirt,” he stated defensively.
 
“It was one kiss.
 
It won’t happen again.”

Nicholas looked skeptical.
 
“Are you sure about that?”

Alex eyed him in irritation.
 
“I’m sure.”
 
He summoned his inner
resolve.
 
He couldn’t, no he
wouldn’t
allow it to happen again, no
matter how much he might want it to.
 

“You do know that Tiffany Marlowe is Ashleigh’s closest
friend.”

“I am well-aware of that, thank you.”

“It’s just that…well, I wouldn’t want to see her get
hurt.”
 

“I assure you, neither do I,” he said, the defensiveness
evaporating from his tone.
 
Slouching in
his chair, Alex ran his fingers through his hair and sighed.
 
“Look, I made a mistake, one I have no
intention of repeating.”
 
His expression
was contrite.

Nicholas hesitated a moment before speaking.
 
“Clearly you’re attracted to one another,” he
said a few seconds later, tilting his head as he studied Alex’s face.

Alex eyed him curiously before understanding dawned.
 
“Blast it Nick, not you too,” he groaned,
shaking his head.

“Well forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but you’re
not
getting any younger.”

“Regardless, I am
not
marrying Tiffany Marlowe, or anyone else for that matter.”

“Alex -”

He raised his hand in the air.
 
“No!
 
The time will come.
 
Believe me, I
know.
 
But for now can we please change
the subject?”
 
Though he’d resigned
himself to the inevitability of taking a wife, he wouldn’t be hastened to the
altar until he was damn well good and ready.

“Fine,” Nicholas responded, resting his hip against the
corner of his desk.
 
“New subject.”
 
Taking a long swallow from his glass, he then
set it down beside him atop the smooth wooden surface, his lips curving into a
wicked smile.
 
“Did you enjoy your waltz
with Olivia?”

“Oh hell,” Alex muttered.
 
“I’m going to need another drink.”

Nicholas laughed aloud, then straightening he pushed himself
away from the desk and moved toward Alex.
 
Taking his empty glass, he walked over to the liquor cabinet and
refreshed both of their drinks.

“And if you are truly my friend,” he muttered, “you’ll pick
another topic.
 
I’m bound to have
nightmares as it is.”

Still grinning, Nick handed one of the crystal tumblers back
to Alex, and then seated himself in the chair opposite his.
 
“I saw you talking to Melborne earlier.
 
Is that disagreeable old bugger finally ready
to finalize the land deal?”

Alex snorted loudly and then pulled his timepiece from his
vest pocket.
 
“He indicated as much.
 
I’m supposed to meet him in,” he glanced down
at the pearl watch face, “twenty minutes to discuss the terms.”

“I thought you’d already agreed upon the terms.”

“So did I,” Alex replied derisively.
 

Approximately twenty minutes later, Alex was seated directly
across from William Marlowe at one of several tables that had been set up in
the card room, a much-appreciated diversion for those guests who’d chosen not
to spend the entire evening in the ballroom.
 
With the festivities concluded for the night, it was empty now, except
for the two of them.
 
Staring at the
marquess from the opposite side of the table, Alex was momentarily at a loss
for words.
 
To say that he was stunned by
Melborne’s proposal would be putting it mildly.
 
When he finally found his voice, it reflected both anger and
disbelief.
 
“Are you out of your dammed
mind?”

William’s expression remained coolly impassive.
 
“I assure you that I am in possession of all
of my faculties, Chesterfield.”
  

The two men stared at each other in silence for several
seconds, the tension between them palpable.
 
Leaning forward in his chair, Alex splayed his hands upon the tabletop
and finally broke the deafening silence.
 
“Let me make sure that I understand you correctly,” he began, his tone
scathing.
 
“You wish to wager the land,
and your
daughter,
on the turn of a card?”

William dipped his head in acknowledgement while his
expression remained the same.

“If I win, you agree to sell me the land for a fair
price.”
 
Alex momentarily clenched his
jaw as the marquess continued to regard him unemotionally.
 
“However, if I lose, you will sell me the
land for double its worth, the day after my wedding to your daughter.”

“I believe you understand my terms perfectly, Chesterfield.”
 

Alex resisted the urge to tell Melborne to go to the devil,
biting the words back with difficulty.
 
He’d never been one to make rash decisions.
 
“Just what in the hell makes you think that I
would agree to something like that,” he asked in a contemptuous tone, astounded
by the man’s audacity.

“Because I know how badly you want that land,” William
answered, his own tone matter of fact.

Alex struggled to wrap his mind around this unexpected, not
to mention completely outrageous, turn of events.
 
What could have brought on this
absurdity?
 
Was it Tiffany’s doing?
 
Had she put her father up to this?
 
Was she capable of something so devious and
underhanded?
 
It was difficult to
imagine.
 
“And your daughter?” Alex
queried, eyeing William steadily.
 
“Was
this sudden change in terms her idea?”
 

“Her idea?”
 
William
seemed puzzled by the question.

“Does she desire to become the next Countess of
Chesterfield?”

William snorted, leaning back in his chair.
 
“What my daughter wants or doesn’t want, has
absolutely no bearing on how I choose to conduct my business affairs,” he
scoffed, as if such a notion was preposterous.

His business affairs?
 
Is that all his daughter was to him, a
business affair?
 
Was William merely
using Tiffany as some type of pawn then?
 
And if so, why?
 
It made no
sense.
 
“Then why involve her in
this?”
 
Clearly he was missing something.

“I have my reasons.”

“And those reasons are?” he prompted.

William didn’t answer, rising from his chair instead.
 
“I don’t need your answer now.
 
Why don’t you sleep on it?
 
You can let me know what you’ve decided
tomorrow.”
 

“And tomorrow, if I choose not to agree to these ridiculous
terms
?”
 
Alex questioned, rising from his own seat.

“Then we have nothing further to discuss.”
 
With the hint of a smirk, William turned to
leave.
 
When he reached the door, he
paused, turning to Alex once again.
 
“I
look forward to your decision, Chesterfield.”
 
And with that parting comment, he exited the room.

Like a handful of other invited guests, Alex was spending
the weekend at Sethe Manor.
 
Now, alone
within the guest chamber that he’d been assigned, his thoughts spun in a mad
whirl.
 
He’d been pacing for the past several
minutes, padding back and forth across the room, his bare feet making no
audible sound on the thick carpet while his shirt, pulled from his trousers,
hung open, the soft fabric flapping gently at his sides as he moved.
 
Once again he ran the fingers of his left
hand through his hair, now rumpled beyond repair, as a half-empty glass of
brandy dangled from his right.
 
Unbelievable!
 
Of all the possible terms of sale, he sure as
hell hadn’t expected Melborne to come up with anything like that.
  

“Damn it to hell,” he muttered, shaking his head in
frustration.
 
The rotten son of a bitch
had been toying with him for years, and now it had finally come to this.
 
A wager of all things!
 
And the terms?
 
The entire situation defied all
reasoning.
 
Raising the glass, Alex
drained it and then set it on a nearby side table.
 
Moving to the set of doors that led out onto
the upper terrace, he pulled them open, and then stood gazing up at the night
sky.
 
What was Melborne’s game, he
wondered?
 
What was his motivation for
attaching such an outrageous stipulation to the land deal?
 
If it wasn’t Tiffany’s doing, and he was
fairly certain that it wasn’t, what
was
the reason?
 

As he continued to ponder it, there seemed only one logical
conclusion.
 
If he didn’t miss his guess,
William Marlowe was broke.
 
Long-aware of
Melborne’s dwindling fortune, information he had obtained from the investigator
he’d hired years earlier to look into the marquess’ business dealings, he could
only assume that Melborne’s financial state of affairs had reached an even
sorrier state.
 
Was this his attempt to
rectify the situation?
 
It was plausible,
he supposed, for it was commonly known that during the past century, the
Chesterfield fortune had grown to one of the largest in the country.
 
And, if he were to marry Tiffany Marlowe,
William would secure a permanent attachment to the Warrene family.
 
If Melborne’s creditors
were
nipping at his heels, a prominent connection to the Warrene’s
might be exactly what he needed to stave them off, at least temporarily.
 
It was a despicable tactic, but the more he
thought about it, the more it made sense.

When Tiffany awoke the following morning she felt
surprisingly refreshed, despite the fact that her slumber had been beset with
recurrent dreams of Alexander Warrene.
 
Gazing up at the ceiling, she couldn’t help wondering if he’d dreamt of
her as well.
 
Had their kiss affected him
as much as it had affected her?
 
Probably
not, she acknowledged, for undoubtedly he’d kissed dozens of women before.
 
But nonetheless, he
had
kissed her, and she was hardly the sort of woman he was rumored
to pursue.
 
That had to mean
something.
 
Didn’t it?
 
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed,
she knew that there was only one way to find out.
 

As she stood and donned her slippers, a soft knock sounded
upon her door.
 
“Come in,” she called.

 
As the door opened,
one of the upstairs maids entered the room with several articles of Tiffany’s
clothing slung over her arm.
 
“Good
morning, my lady,” she greeted with a polite smile.
 
“I’ve just had
the wrinkles pressed from your riding clothes.”

“Thank you, Emily.”

“I can assist you, if you’re ready to get
dressed,” she offered helpfully.

Tiffany glanced at the clock.
 
It was already half-past nine.
 
“Yes, I’d best not dawdle or I shall be late
for the picnic,” she replied.
 
For those who had been invited
to stay the weekend, the family had planned numerous activities to keep their
guests entertained.
 
This morning there
was to be a picnic at the small lake located on the Sethe property, several
miles from the main house.
 
Carriages
were being provided to transport those guests who wished to partake, to the
area, and mounts would be readied for those who preferred to make the journey
on horseback.

As Emily helped her into her dark-blue riding habit, the
young maid kept up an endless stream of chatter that Tiffany tried her best to
follow.
 
With her thoughts focused upon
the day ahead and the anticipation of seeing Alex again, she didn’t do a very
good job, but fortunately the friendly young maid didn’t seem to notice.
 

Once she was dressed in her high-necked white shirt,
button-front jacket and matching riding skirt, Tiffany moved to the vanity so
that Emily could style her hair.
 

After pinning Tiffany’s blond curls into a simple cascade,
the young woman stood back, critically surveying her work from all sides, and
then once she was satisfied, placed the jaunty little hat that matched
Tiffany’s riding ensemble atop her head and secured it into place.
 
“You’re a vision, my lady,” she stated,
eyeing her handiwork proudly.