Page 53 of The Earl’s Inconvenient Nemesis

“I would be very surprised if he did. We have only known each other a matter of days. But he knows me well enough to be aware of when it is sensible to end a discussion with me.”

“What if he is never able to understand you?”

“Do we ever truly understand anyone else? I certainly do not understand you at the moment!”

“I understand everything about you,” Anthony growled, his hands clenched firmly behind his back.

His intensity startled her. She was not accustomed to this passionate, serious side of him, so different from the teasing and jesting she had always known. There was no laughing their way out of this conversation. She needed to escape before her own emotions betrayed her and she revealed what she actually felt about him and ruined the fragile friendship they had built in London.

“In that case, I trust you understand that I would like to go back inside and find Sir Marcus to apologise for leaving him standing outside in the middle of the night.”

Using all the resolve in her possession, she turned to leave.

“Please, wait,” said Anthony, his voice breaking. He placed his hand on her arm and electricity shot through her. He gently pivoted her back around to face him.

She refused to meet his eyes. “Anthony, I do not . . . I do not know what you want from me. You have made it very clear that your future cannot be with me. You also said you would help me to find a husband . . . what you are doing now . . . ”

“I . . . ” he began. Their eyes met. His pupils were large, the desire in them shocking Alice. Could he possibly . . . ?

Their mouths came together with desperate urgency, far more frantically than the last time they had kissed. Their teeth clashed and their tongues entwined as long-suppressed longing finally broke free. Alice had no time to register her surprise as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her firmly against his hard chest. She arched closer still, lost in the heat of the moment. Her need for him consumed her entirely.

He trailed heated kisses down her neck, his breath warm against her skin. With a low groan, he murmured, “My Little Squirrel,” against her skin.

The endearment jolted her back to reality like a splash of cold water. What was she doing? Anthony had made it abundantly clear he would not marry her. How many cautionary tales had she heard of young ladies ruined in moonlit gardens just like this? She had been right all along to be wary of him. She had allowed herself to be seduced despite knowing his reputation.

She pushed him away with such force that he staggered backwards, confusion etched across his handsome features. With trembling hands she readjusted her gown, her body still humming with unfulfilled passion.

“I need to find Sir Marcus,” she said, her voice unsteady.

“Let me help you,” Anthony said. He looked stricken.

“No, thank you. I do not think that would be a very good idea,” replied Alice.

Determined to retain what little dignity remained, she walked back toward the house as quickly as she could without running, her head held high. The moment she reached the sanctuary of the entrance hall she released the breath she had been holding.

She hated the thought of leaving Sir Marcus wondering what had become of her, but she was in no fit state to face him. Spotting Anthony’s butler emerging from the ballroom, she asked him to convey her apologies: she had been taken unwell and had retired to bed.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Hurrying upstairs, Alice was grateful for the sanctuary her bedchamber provided. She threw herself onto the bed and began to cry, wishing desperately that Duchess was there to offer her usual aloof but comforting presence.

Just thinking about her beloved cat brought Alice a measure of comfort, and she felt her racing heart begin to slow. How could she have been so foolish? What if someone had seen her and Anthony alone in the garden in such a passionate embrace? The taste of his kiss still lingered on her lips. She tried to ignore the treacherous little voice in her head that whispered that if they had been discovered, Anthony would have been forced to marry her, and she would have everything she truly wanted. But she would not have him if he did not want her in return. Part of him must desire her, for they had now kissed twice and he had certainly seemed to enjoy it, yet he had made it very clear that he was not able to offer her marriage.

She was a complete idiot to have fallen for his attentions. Taking her riding and then offering to help her with her dancing, he had been wooing her so that he could seduce her under the pretence of helping her find a husband. And she could scarcely believe he had stooped so low as to send Sir Marcus in the wrong direction before stealing outside to kiss her himself. And like the fool she was, she had kissed him back with equal fervour.

What was she going to do? How was she going to face Anthony again after that? Would she just go down to breakfast tomorrow and pretend nothing had happened between them? No. She simply would not be able to. It was not possible for her to stay here now. She just could not. But where could she go? Her family’s estate was too close and her brother was Anthony’s best friend. She would come into contact with him again almost immediately unless she explained to Henry what had happened. He would be even more furious with Anthony and she knew how close they were, like brothers, she could not bear the idea of them falling out because of her. Henry would be so hurt.

What was she going to do? How could she possibly face him again? She could not simply go down to breakfast tomorrow and pretend nothing had happened. No, it was impossible. She could not remain here. But where should she go? Her family’s estate was too close, and her brother was Anthony’s dearest friend. She would encounter him almost immediately unless she explained everything to Henry. She dreaded to think what her brother would say if he discovered the situation she’d put herself in. He would be even more furious with Anthony, and the thought of damaging their brotherly bond because of her behaviour was unbearable.

Her only real option was to return to London. Though Aunt Jane would wish to leave the capital once the Season ended to visit her daughters around the country. That left marriage as her quickest solution, and sooner than she had originally planned. Yet who knew how long it would take to find a new suitor? The thought of beginning the endless round of balls, morning calls, and suppers once more filled her with exhaustion.

No. Sir Marcus was a good man, a kind man, and he liked her. She would have to hope he had not taken offence at her sudden disappearance. She would write him a letter of apology, explaining how much she had looked forward to speaking with him privately. But first, she must leave this house. She could not possibly spend another day here with Anthony so close by. Her cheeks burned and her heart raced again as vivid memories of what happened in the gardens flooded her mind. How much further might their passion have carried them if he had not called her by that childish nickname? She supposed she should be grateful he had.

A soft knock sounded at the door and Alice’s heart sank. Please let it not be Anthony. She was not composed enough to face him, nor could she trust herself if he entered her bedchamber and . . .

“Alice, my dear, it is Aunt Jane. I wished only to check whether you are quite well,” came a gentle voice from the other side of the door.

“Come in,” called Alice, sitting up and quickly wiping her eyes. She did not wish to see anyone, but she could hardly shout through the door at her aunt.