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She knew the Earl of Chesterfield.
Knew him, and disliked him.
Lord Duncan White’s title and obscene wealth had him on the top of her mother’s list of eligible candidates, but his arrogance and lack of humor had him placed on the bottom of Alexandria’s. They’d first been introduced at a luncheon three years ago, where she–still shy and not yet the diamond that she was today–had complimented the color of his waistcoat and he–conceited and bored–had brushed her off as if she were some bothersome gnat.
She had taken the slight to heart, and had been secretly nursing a grudge ever since. Thankfully, Duncan had left for his Grand Tour soon after and she’d not had to see or speak to him since. But if the gossip her mother had overheard was to be believed, it appeared the earl had returned at long last…and was going to behere, of all places.
Just her luck.
After two waltzes, one minuet, and a seemingly endless string of conversations, Alexandria managed to escape for a brief respite out on the terrace. The flat stone, two stories up, was anchored by turrets on either side and stairs in the middle leading down to a dormant garden. Lanterns nipped at the shadows, granting the illusion of light while ensuring the benefit of privacy for anyone who might like a quiet word or intimate moment away from the chaos of the ballroom.
Withdrawing a fan from the reticule tied around her waist, she snapped it open and sagged against the wall, closing her eyes as she fanned cool air onto her flushed cheeks.
“You’ve the right idea, coming out here,” a masculine voice drawled from the dark. “How long do you think we can hide before our absence is noticed?”
Alexandria startled and dropped her fan. It bounced off her skirt and then clattered to ground, sliding out of reach. She squinted, but the man who had approached her with all the stealthiness of a tiger was standing directly in front of a lantern, making it impossible to decipher any distinguishing characteristics.
He was tall, she noted, and broad of shoulder, with a torso that tapered to lean hips and muscular legs that had been expertly fitted into shiny Hessians. He wore all black, even his cravat, and his hair was black as well, or a shade close to it.
When he bent and retrieved her fan, she accepted it cautiously, as one might accept a boon from the devil himself.
Their hands touched, and she sucked in a breath, her lips parting as a jolt went through her, not unlike the tiny shocks she occasionally received when she was in her stocking feet and her bare skin glanced off a piece of metal. Except this shock didn’t dissipate, as the others usually did, but instead stayed in her belly, warming her from the inside out as if she’d ingested a lump of hot coal.
“I…” She schooled her expression.You are Lady Alexandria,she told herself sternly.Everyone wants to either be you or marry you. Act like it.“I would imagine that two people in hiding would be easier to spot than one, which means you have placed me in danger of being found, Lord…”
“Chesterfield.” His teeth flashed, an even row of white slicing through the dark. “Lord Chesterfield. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten who I am already, Lady Alexandria. Or else I shall consider myself wounded indeed.”
Of course it washim.
Of course.
She should have recognized him at once; this grim reminder of the awkward duckling that she’d been before her feathers grew out and she transformed into a beautiful swan. Although to his credit, the earl did seem different. In both appearanceandtone.
Where he’d been dry and dismissive before, even painfully rude, there was now a hint of charm lurking under all that arrogance. Charm…and a potent, unmistakable allure that set off bells of alarm ringing in her head even as it urged her feet closer.
Alexandria had never put much stock in physical attraction. Uncontrollable lust and love at first sight were excuses that unsuitable couples used to run off to Gretna Green together. But now, faced with the Earl of Chesterfield and her own complex reaction to his towering frame, she was forced to wonder if she didn’t believe in the pull of attraction so much as she’d simply never experienced it before for herself.
Certainly Lord Haberworth hadn’t elicited all this…all thisheat. Heat that had begun in her belly, but was rapidly spreading up into her chest and trickling down between her thighs.
If Alexandria was a silly woman, or a stupid one, she might be tempted to forgive Lord Chesterfield his earlier treatment of her and embrace this newfound allurement. But she was neither sillynorstupid, and so, steeling herself against any ridiculous whims of female fancy, she straightened her spine and said, “I must admit surprise that you remember my name, my lord. Given that our meeting was so…fleeting.”
“Was it?” His head canted to the side. An unruly lock of ebony tumbled across his brow, and when her fingers itched to smooth the errant tendril into place she curled her hands inward until her nails bit through her gloves.
“Exceedingly. Given that I was beneath your notice then, I fail to see what has changed now.” She closed her fan and returned it to her reticule. “I don’t want to be rude, my lord, but–”
“Yes you do,” he interrupted.
“I’m–I’m sorry?”
“You do want to be rude. Wrapped up in that gorgeous gown, with your hair in pins that are probably jabbing into your scalp and your lips aching from the smiling you’ve had to do and your feet in little knots from the dancing, all you want to do is be rude.” Extending an arm above his head, he leaned against the wall, caging her in. He lowered his voice to a husky whisper; rough velvet sliding across bare skin. “You came out here to escape the madness in there. To be alone. To breathe. Except I’m here, ruining the moment you desperately need to collect yourself, so that when you go back to the ballroom you can smile and dance some more and no one will ever guess that on the inside, you’re screaming.”
Alexandria stared without blinking. A shiver coursed through her entire body. How could he know her this intimately, revealing secrets that she kept even from herself? It was intrusive, and despite the layers upon layers of clothes that she wore (drawers, two shifts, a corset, and a petticoat), she felt completely exposed. “Lord Chesterfield–”
“Duncan.”
She swallowed. “Duncan, I should return before my mother begins to worry.”
“Is that so?” He craned his neck, moving his mouth within inches of her own. His breath smelled of mint, and the barest hint of brandy. “Then maybe we should give her something to worry about.”
