“Well, what do you think, my dear, isn’t he positively delicious?”
“I suppose he’s handsome enough,” Alix conceded, thinking there ought to be a law against a man looking so sinfully attractive.
“Handsome enough,” her mother sniffed. “That must be your de La Brou half speaking. No appreciation for things of beauty. I don’t wish to speak disrespectfully of the deceased, but your father was the type of man who’d look at a sculpture of a Greek god and wonder why they didn’t put more clothes on the fellow.”
Thinking like a de La Brou, indeed, Alix thought. Rafe could be wearing a great coat and still the image of his body, bronzed in the firelight, would rise up before her eyes. Her mouth went suddenly dry.
She looked again and saw that Rafe was striding toward them. She hastily swallowed the remainder of her lemonade, wishing desperately it were something stronger.
“Lady Melbourne,” Rafe said, “you are looking radiant as ever.”
“Moreham, how pleasant to see you.” They exchanged the requisite pleasantries. “I might flatter myself that you have come to visit with me.” Lady Melbourne gave a mock sigh. “Alas, I suspect like all the other gentlemen tonight you wish to meet my friends, the Comtesse de La Brou and her daughter, Mademoiselle de La Brou. Comtesse, mademoiselle, may I present His Lordship, Rafe Harcrest, the Earl of Moreham.”
“Delightful to meet you, my lord,” Madeleine said sweeping her skirts into a graceful curtsy.
“My lord,” Alix murmured dipping, her gray eyes watchful.
Rafe addressed Madeleine in French. “I would be honored if your daughter would join me in a dance.”
The Comtesse de La Brou smiled at him. “Your command of our language is admirable, my lord, but so long as we are guests of your gracious King George, we speak only English. I believe you will find my daughter’s knowledge of your tongue is impeccable.”
So the little hoyden spoke English!
He shot a glance at Alix, and she blushed. He should have known, what well-educated French aristocrat would not? What conversations had she overheard during their time together, he wondered, and why hadn’t she told him?
He held out his arm. “Mademoiselle, shall we dance?”
Alix’s silver fan fluttered unsteadily. “If his lordship will excuse me, I find myself too warm to dance at this time.”
He wouldn’t let her slip away that easily. “I think you’ll find the portrait gallery much cooler than the dance floor, Mademoiselle de La Brou, and Lord Kensington’s art collection is quite impressive.” Rafe tucked Alix’s hand under his arm, before she could protest.
Smiling warmly at Alix’s mother, he said, “Madame, with your permission?” The Comtesse de La Brou nodded her approval.
“I have no desire to go anywhere with you,” Alix insisted through a clenched smile as he guided her through the crowded ballroom.
“We traveled through France together and now you’re refusing to cross a dance floor with me?” Rafe shook his head. “Besides I need to speak with you.”
“You couldn’t have sent a card round in the morning, instead you must abduct me?”
“There’s the rub sweetheart, I wouldn’t have knownhow to address a card, to Mademoiselle de La Brou or to Lady Moreham.”
“Mademoiselle de La Brou would be fine.”
“You see, that’s where we disagree.”
Rafe spotted what he had been looking for, a drape of velvet that concealed the doorway to a small sitting room. Glancing about to see that no one was watching them, he opened the door and pulled Alix inside. Two small candelabras burned on the mantelpiece, illuminating the dark green walls and matching armchair and chaise. He closed the door and turned to face her.
Cole’s admonition to speak calmly drifted through his head. How could he speak calmly to her when she stood looking at him like that, her mahogany curls tumbled around her shoulders, her face rosy with anger and her eyes like silver flames? He had a wild desire to laugh. It was all he could do not to take her into his arms.
“You left me,” he said, “without a word, without a note.”
“Indeed,my Lord Moreham,” she said frostily, “I would have thought with a fiancée anxiously awaiting your return, you would have been pleased to have found yourself unencumbered.”
“I do not have a fiancée,” he growled. “I have a wife.”
“A wife in name only.”
His eyes widened in surprise that she would say this after what they’d shared in Calais. “Oh no, my dear,” he said stepping closer, “a wife in a great deal more than name.”
