There were two people present in the room, a sturdy man whom he took to be none other than the infamous Lord Summersby himself, and a lady with whom he appeared to be in the middle of a rather animated conversation. Michael quickly noted the resemblance between William and Ryan, though William’s hair appeared to be a shade darker. The lady sat with her back toward the door, dressed in a lilac walking gown and a matching Spencer jacket.
Michael hid a smug smile. What a pleasure it would be to finally encounter a true lady of breeding, just the thing to prove to himself that the only reason he found Lady Alexandra in the least bit enticing was because she had, until now, lacked any competition.
He stepped forward just as William looked up. “Monsieur Laurant. Please join us,” he said as he got to his feet and gestured toward a comfortable looking divan.
Michael inclined his head in acceptance while he watched William’s gaze shift toward the footman who was still holding the door ajar. “That will be all,” he said stiffly.
The footman paused momentarily until William’s look hardened, and he waved his hand in an effort to shoo the impertinent man away. “Allez . . . vite!” he hissed at him.
Muttering an almost imperceptible “Oui monsieur, Le Docteur,” the disgruntled footman quickly exited the room.
“Tea?” William asked as Michael sauntered toward his designated seat. He flashed him a lopsided smile. Funny how ridiculous such a question sounded under the circumstances.
“May I present my sister, Lady Alexandra Summersby,” William said. “I believe the two of you have already met.”
Michael’s mind screeched to an abrupt halt that seemed to stretch for all eternity before slowly whirring back to life again. His head came around at a snail’s pace until his eyes settled upon the woman who was seated in one of the two armchairs. She was gazing up at him with a . . . he couldn’t tell if her smile was one of triumph or mischief. Her eyes sparkled as she raised one eyebrow. “Lord Trenton. How good of you to join us.”
How good of you to join us?
The little hoyden.
He had a good mind to wring her neck just then, though he wasn’t quite certain that William would look too kindly on such a maneuver.
Instead, he gritted his teeth and bent over her outstretched hand, brushing his lips against her knuckles. This was not the Alexandra he’d grown accustomed to. No, indeed he was used to seeing her garbed in breaches and a loose fitting shirt, her hair carelessly tied back with a ribbon.
The transformation was nothing short of astounding. She appeared to be the very paragon of what a true lady ought to look like. Hell, even her hair had been perfectly arranged in a tight chignon—not a loose strand in sight. How she’d managed that feat without a lady’s maid confounded him. He supposed that Mrs. Bell must have stepped in and been of some assistance.
“Well, my lord?” Her eyes bore into his while her smile edged slightly more upward. “What do you think? I picked it up in a small boutique. The modiste assured me it was quite à la mode.”
“It suits you remarkably well, my lady. In fact, I dare say it’s quite an improvement.”
Why he’d added that last bit was beyond him. Well, perhaps not entirely.
Though he’d grown rather fond of seeing her in the snug breeches that shamelessly put her hips, thighs, and backside on constant display, he wasn’t about to let her know it. Besides, he enjoyed jibing her. Particularly when his efforts were so easily rewarded with that scornful glare she seemed to reserve entirely for him.
“I couldn’t agree more,” William stated. “Really Alex, you can be quite the lady when you put your mind to it. Brandishing swords and pistols, as fun as that may have been when we were children, is not entirely befitting for a lady your age. Frankly, I don’t understand why father still allows it.”
“Well, he did try his best by sending me off to Aunt V,” she reflected. Her tone was light, yet Michael still managed to catch the hint of bitterness that laced her words. “Perhaps, it was simply because I made it plainly known that I was happy as I was. Boys always have all the fun you know, and when given the choice between studying fashion plates and climbing trees . . . well, the fashion plates always came up rather short I’m afraid.”
William chuckled. “Then it’s a miracle indeed that you have any sense whatsoever in regards to what a lady ought to wear.”
“I am not a complete idiot,” Alexandra shot back. “I can tell the difference between a chemise and a petticoat, though I was not at all comfortable with being strapped into my corset—unnaturally confining thing that it is.” Michael’s and William’s mouths fell open, and she rolled her eyes. “Oh for heaven’s sake! It’s not as if I’m not wearing one. After all, they did manage to squeeze me into the dastardly contraption in the end. However, I—”
“Alexandra . . .” William cautioned her in a tight voice as he cast a glance in Michael’s direction.
“Well, you know, I’ve never paid much heed to dressing appropriately,” she continued. “So naturally I managed to get the darn hooks caught on my chemise and . . .”
“That is enough, Alexandra!” William said, his voice so tight it might just snap.
Alexandra stared at her brother’s outraged face, but he wasn’t looking at her. Following his line of vision, her eyes settled upon Michael’s smoldering expression. The man looked as if his cravat might suddenly strangle him.
Heat washed over her, prickling her skin from her hairline down to the tips of her toes as understanding dawned on her. She’d seen that look the night before—as if she was a delectable desert that he was getting ready to sink his teeth into. Heavens! This must be the wicked face of desire, Alexandra realized with a shudder, and it was so plain in Michael’s eyes that the words I want you might as well have been written in bold letters upon his forehead.
In spite of how wonderful their kiss had been the night before (and it had been earth shatteringly wonderful to say the least), Michael’s expression still surprised her. Not that it didn’t please her—after all this was what she wanted: for him to like her—but she’d somehow imagined having to work a little harder at it, given that she had all his previous experiences to compete with.
A churning warmth settled in the pit of her stomach as she recalled the way he’d held her on the balcony. What had her plan been? To throw it all back in his face once she’d proven to him that she was just as agreeable as any other warm-blooded female? Yes, that was exactly what her plan had been. But is that still what I want? she wondered.
She had no desire to marry or bear children and since it would be William’s duty to produce an heir at some point in time, she’d always imagined having a brood of nieces and nephews to dote upon—all the joys without the hassle, so to speak. And then of course there was that constant nagging fear of getting too close to another person—to allow herself to care . . . to love.
She watched Michael carefully for a moment as he sat down, realizing with a sudden urgency how desperately she longed for him to hold her again. His reputation was that of a notorious rake—the sort that every Mama would warn her chaste daughter to stay away from.
However, since marriage was not on Alexandra’s list of priorities and, more to the point, never would be, she considered Michael Ashford in a very different light. Indeed, he could be the very man who might enlighten her in an area where she was suddenly very keen on being enlightened. And though a man like Michael must marry, being the rake that he was, it shouldn’t be too difficult to get him to ignore the proprieties.
Would it be possible, she wondered slyly, to convince him to take their kiss one step further? It would certainly be scandalous. She would face the very real threat of ruination, not to mention that her brothers would undoubtedly kill both of them if they realized what was going on. But it was precisely the sort of danger and impropriety that spoke to her adventurous spirit. And, if she were to experience the true goings on between man and woman at least once in her life, who better to show her than a handsome man with plenty of experience?
Recalling where she was, she pushed the thought from her mind and favored the two gentlemen with her most winning smile. “Suppose we continue where we left off?” She turned toward Michael. “My lord, we were just admiring this wonderful piece of weaponry when you arrived. Tell me, what is your opinion of it?” She lifted a harquebus that she’d been cradling in her lap and then looked across at Michael, hoping for an answer. Instead, it seemed as if he were finding it difficult not to laugh. Irritating man. Donning a disapproving frown, she merely said, “my lord?”
“Forgive me,” Michael chuckled. “But to see you sitting like this, dressed in all you finery while holding a rifle in the same manner that any other young lady might be holding her embroidery . . . it really is rather amusing.”
Deciding to ignore him, she turned to her brother instead, only to find that he was having much the same problem as Michael. For lack of anything better to do, she rolled her eyes in response. “Sixteenth century I presume?”
“I do believe it is,” William said with a cough that immediately ironed out his expression.
“One of Bonaparte’s?”
“Mine actually. I acquired it the other day with the intention of adding it to my collection back home.”
Reaching forward, Michael took the musket from Alexandra’s hands. It had clearly been well looked after if the sheen of the wood was any indication. “I agree. It’s quite something to admire.” He handed the weapon back to its rightful owner.
“Now then, Ashford, what is it that you would like to discuss?” William inquired, returning the harquebus to its velvet-lined case.
Michael spared a quick glance in Alexandra’s direction. She could feel herself growing tense and nervous. “Surely you must be able to imagine why I’ve come,” he said.
“Indeed, I believe I know precisely why you have come, though I really wish you would have stayed away. Your interference is likely to ruin everything.”
“Are you telling me that you are not in league with the French?”
William leaned back against his chair, pressing two arched fingers against his lips and regarded Michael from behind hooded eyes. “I have no intention of telling you anything—at least not yet,” he replied.
Alexandra took a sharp breath, but if Michael registered it, he didn’t react. Instead, he kept his eyes pinned on William. “There are many who would consider such a statement a confession of your guilt.”
“And what, pray tell, are you suggesting that I am guilty of?” William asked with genuine curiosity, so genuine in fact that Alexandra could see that Michael was momentarily thrown.
“Treason.”
Alexandra gasped, horrified by Michael’s casual bluntness. She didn’t miss the tightening of William’s jaw, however, and knew in that instant, without any shadow of a doubt, that her brother was innocent. He had just taken great offence to Michael’s accusation, though she knew he was trying his best not to show it.