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Authors: Christina Brooke
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palm with a snap. He could not be more wrong about that.
That overheard conversation decided her. She would meet Lord Steyne in the garden at midnight and once she was certain he did not mean to send her back to her father, she would admit to her identity.
But if he expected her to fall rapturously into his arms, he was mightily mistaken.
Chapter Five
Xavier had been certain she wouldn’t come. The garden was dark, lit only by a gibbous moon. The denizens of Little Thurston did not run to elaborate hospitality involving Chinese lanterns strung around the gardens. The assembly went on inside, and no one ventured out here into the dark.
The garden was informal and would be a riot of color in the daytime. Now the night leached its exuberance. Moonlight pooled like spilled milk on the paths and the flats of leaves.
He sought a place they might conceal themselves from anyone who might look out a window at an inopportune time.
His intentions toward the lady calling herself Miss Allbright were anything but honorable.
Ah, but that was not true, was it? The corner of his mouth curled up. They were married. He could smooth his hands over that sinuous, slim body with impunity—if not without some protest from the lady herself.
Despite her lack of curves, there was a softness, a natural gentleness about her that he found immensely appealing. She didn’t want for spirit, however, as she’d shown him that afternoon in Lady Chard’s drawing room.
He meant to make her want him, crave him like a man in the desert craves his next drink. It surprised him to discover how very much he wanted her.
He heard the whisper of someone’s steps on the path and turned.
She paused a few feet from him, as if poised for flight. The light from the ballroom limned her tall, willowy frame and made the trembling pearls in her ears gleam and flash.
“I did not think you’d come,” he said as she stepped into a patch of moonlight. Now he saw the expression on her face was determinedly impassive. He had to admire Lizzie Allbright’s steel.
“Why not?” Her lifted eyebrow spoke of unconcern, but the mere fact of her presence told him she was anything but indifferent.
“Shall we sit?” He indicated a stone bench behind them.
“No, thank you.” Her voice was crisp. “Lord Steyne, this is most unconventional, not to say improper.”
“Improper?” he repeated. “But how can that be? I am your husband.”
She stared at him in a convincing display of surprised disbelief. Then she gave an uncertain laugh. “Is this some kind of jest?”
She was a good actress, but not good enough. Why would she be here if she didn’t remember their history?
“I thought you might take that tack,” he said. “The good people of Little Thurston think you lost your memory. You and I know that’s not true.”
“It is true.” She gave another laugh, a shakier one this time. “Dear Heaven, if I were married, I’d remember it,.”
“One would think so,” said Xavier.
“But this is preposterous. You are clearly mad.” She spoke the line with enough calm that he knew she’d rehearsed it.
“My dear Miss Allbright, I have all the proof I need to show that you are—or were—Lady Alexandra Simmons, daughter of the Earl of Bute.”
“Good gracious, how high and mighty that sounds,” she said. “No, really, I must tell Miss Beauchamp all about it. She will be in stitches to think that I am some noblewoman.”
He moved closer. “Indeed you are. And not just some noblewoman, either. You are my marchioness.”
She sobered. “You are mad.”
“Undoubtedly,” he said. “But I do have a proposition for you.”
Her hands fluttered as if to ward off both him and his proposition. “Really, my lord, I—”
“My dear Alexandra,” he said softly. “Until now, I’ve been content to let you live your own life. I’ve made you the gift of leaving you be.” He paused. “Now I need something from you in return.”
Her body swayed back
That overheard conversation decided her. She would meet Lord Steyne in the garden at midnight and once she was certain he did not mean to send her back to her father, she would admit to her identity.
But if he expected her to fall rapturously into his arms, he was mightily mistaken.
Chapter Five
Xavier had been certain she wouldn’t come. The garden was dark, lit only by a gibbous moon. The denizens of Little Thurston did not run to elaborate hospitality involving Chinese lanterns strung around the gardens. The assembly went on inside, and no one ventured out here into the dark.
The garden was informal and would be a riot of color in the daytime. Now the night leached its exuberance. Moonlight pooled like spilled milk on the paths and the flats of leaves.
He sought a place they might conceal themselves from anyone who might look out a window at an inopportune time.
His intentions toward the lady calling herself Miss Allbright were anything but honorable.
Ah, but that was not true, was it? The corner of his mouth curled up. They were married. He could smooth his hands over that sinuous, slim body with impunity—if not without some protest from the lady herself.
Despite her lack of curves, there was a softness, a natural gentleness about her that he found immensely appealing. She didn’t want for spirit, however, as she’d shown him that afternoon in Lady Chard’s drawing room.
He meant to make her want him, crave him like a man in the desert craves his next drink. It surprised him to discover how very much he wanted her.
He heard the whisper of someone’s steps on the path and turned.
She paused a few feet from him, as if poised for flight. The light from the ballroom limned her tall, willowy frame and made the trembling pearls in her ears gleam and flash.
“I did not think you’d come,” he said as she stepped into a patch of moonlight. Now he saw the expression on her face was determinedly impassive. He had to admire Lizzie Allbright’s steel.
“Why not?” Her lifted eyebrow spoke of unconcern, but the mere fact of her presence told him she was anything but indifferent.
“Shall we sit?” He indicated a stone bench behind them.
“No, thank you.” Her voice was crisp. “Lord Steyne, this is most unconventional, not to say improper.”
“Improper?” he repeated. “But how can that be? I am your husband.”
She stared at him in a convincing display of surprised disbelief. Then she gave an uncertain laugh. “Is this some kind of jest?”
She was a good actress, but not good enough. Why would she be here if she didn’t remember their history?
“I thought you might take that tack,” he said. “The good people of Little Thurston think you lost your memory. You and I know that’s not true.”
“It is true.” She gave another laugh, a shakier one this time. “Dear Heaven, if I were married, I’d remember it,.”
“One would think so,” said Xavier.
“But this is preposterous. You are clearly mad.” She spoke the line with enough calm that he knew she’d rehearsed it.
“My dear Miss Allbright, I have all the proof I need to show that you are—or were—Lady Alexandra Simmons, daughter of the Earl of Bute.”
“Good gracious, how high and mighty that sounds,” she said. “No, really, I must tell Miss Beauchamp all about it. She will be in stitches to think that I am some noblewoman.”
He moved closer. “Indeed you are. And not just some noblewoman, either. You are my marchioness.”
She sobered. “You are mad.”
“Undoubtedly,” he said. “But I do have a proposition for you.”
Her hands fluttered as if to ward off both him and his proposition. “Really, my lord, I—”
“My dear Alexandra,” he said softly. “Until now, I’ve been content to let you live your own life. I’ve made you the gift of leaving you be.” He paused. “Now I need something from you in return.”
Her body swayed back
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