Chapter Ten

May 29, 1812

"You . . . you look . . ." Beautiful. Stunning. Angelic. Delectable. William swallowed. "Good."

"Good?" Alice repeated, her shoulders dropping as she stood on the pavement outside her lodgings.

Coughing did not clarify the matter, William discovered to his irritation. Nor did it help him recover from the sight of the beautiful woman before him.

Though beautiful wasn't quite the word. There did not appear to be a word that summarized the elegance of Miss Alice Fox-Edwards dressed up for the party he had invited her to.

Well, the party that Lady Romeril had invited her to. God help them.

Alice was wearing a gown of simple elegance and refined style. Scalloped edges around the hem and sleeves, and a simple string of pearls around her neck. There was some sort of embroidery across the bodice that was most exquisite. And it was fine. Perfect. Just the sort of elegant gown a lady should wear to such an occasion.

The problem was that William wasn't certain whether he preferred the silken concoction on Alice—or off her.

She smiled, dipping slightly to brush a leaf off her skirts which had caught there in the late spring breeze. The movement was refined. It also gave William an eyeful of a curving breast, threatening to spill out of her stays at any moment.

Steady, man, William tried to tell himself. You'll have her in just a few days. Not even two weeks.

And until then, it's cold baths for you.

"Are we ready, then?" Alice asked, looking up from her leaf removal.

William swallowed. Damn it, man, pull yourself together! "Yes. Yes, I think so."

It had been agreed between them that there should probably be at least one but no more than three public outings for the two of them together. After all, they were to be married. It would be most strange if William did not include Miss Fox-Edwards, his betrothed, in the invitations he received.

But he had not quite prepared himself for this. Not readied himself for the intoxication that was having Alice in his carriage, alone.

Just the two of them.

Where no one could see them.

William stiffened, forcing himself to sit on his hands like a child as the carriage rocked merrily away. Alice swayed with the movement.

William inhaled the heady fragrance he associated with the attractive woman. Honey, and a spice he could not recognize. A hint of lavender, rounding out the intense Aliceness of the whole thing. He'd never breathed in anything like it. When he lay in bed, furiously not making love to her as he would wish, that heady mixture was all he could smell.

One day, Alice would be leaving that scent on his pillows. His sheets. His very skin—

"Are you quite well, William?"

William blinked. Alice was examining him with a curious air. "I beg your pardon?"

The teasing smile that curled on her lips made his manhood stiffen.

He crossed his legs. "Are you looking forward to this evening?"

"Very much," said Alice, glancing out of the window as she spoke. "I have never been to this part of London—at least, not in a long time. Lady Romeril's dinners are said to be... exquisite."

William swallowed, his gaze drifting past the elegant neck, the teasingly close bust, to the refined wrist and intricately enmeshed fingers. Though enclosed in gloves, it was easy to see every finger. Fingers that he wished were once more in his possession as he pressed a kiss—

This was ridiculous, William told himself. He'd gone and made a complete fool of himself just days before, when Alice's ward had been revealed. He'd almost told her, in fact, just how in her sway he truly was.

"I... well. I desire you very much, Alice, and I... if I give into such longing—"

No, the time had come to regain the upper hand.

Over himself, William thought weakly as his body responded yet again to the slightest of movements from the woman opposite him.

This was supposed to be an elegant, refined, and most of all respectable dinner. And it would be. All he had to do was keep his hands to himself.

Much to William's chagrin, it did not take the carriage long to arrive at Lady Romeril's door. He had wished for another ten minutes or so. Ten glorious minutes of polite conversation with the world's most beautiful woman, in a box where no one could see what they were doing.

A man could dream.

Instead, he was jumping onto the pavement and extending his hand. "Careful..."

His voice trailed away as he realized just how ridiculous he was being. Careful? It wasn't Alice who needed to be careful.

It was himself.

As Alice stepped onto the pavement the swish of her gown's skirts revealed, just for a moment, a dashing hint of ankle.

William stared, bewitched. Just the smallest glimpse, but it was enough to rouse him. Who else had seen that part of Alice? No one. Just him.

It was the beginning of an intimacy he could not wait for. Dear God, when he had his fingers trailing along that ankle, and higher, and higher—

"Your Grace?"

William started, shaking his head as though ridding his ears of water. "Wh-What?"

Alice was stifling a smile—a most knowing one. "We are ready to go in, are we not?"

Shaking himself internally as well as externally, William drew himself up to his full height and offered her his arm. "We are."

Because he was being ridiculous, he told himself as they stepped up to Lady Romeril's home and were welcomed by a bowing footman in her outrageously green livery. Getting worked up about an ankle? What was he, a green-gilled youth of eighteen?

He was losing his head, and that would never do. No, he needed to retreat back into the high walls he had created for himself years ago, in the full knowledge that allowing his desires to have full rein would have little benefit for him or his family.

His desires had to be restrained. The heat within him, quenched.

While having a woman as delectable as Alice Fox-Edwards on his arm.

William inhaled slowly as he inclined his head to a few notables as they entered Lady Romeril's drawing room. The Duke of Axwick, the Earl of Chester, Viscount Braedon—oh, and the Duke of Penshaw. Where had he been all this time?

That was it. All he had to do was forget he wished to get under the skirts of the woman beside him, and—

"Ah, there you are," boomed a voice that made William wince. "I rather thought you would be here earlier, Your Grace."

William felt Alice's hand tighten on his arm and was strangely comforted by it. Lady Romeril was a force of nature, everyone in Society agreed on that—and it was a wonderful force of nature, of course.

No one would dare speak a word against Lady Romeril.

But still, she was a rather extreme force of nature. Like a gale. Or an avalanche.

As their hostess barreled toward them, pushing aside lesser guests with her gaze fixed on them, William prepared himself for the well-meaning onslaught.

"Goodness," muttered Alice in a voice so low only William could hear her. "Will be any survivors, do you think?"

Swallowing a snort and wondering how he himself would survive this conversation on two fronts now, not just the one, William bowed low as Lady Romeril reached them. "My lady."

"Yes, yes, you're very delighted to be here, I am sure," said Lady Romeril, waving a hand and not giving him a second glance. "So, we meet at last, Miss Fox-Edwards. Officially."

William glanced at his betrothed and saw only the smallest hint of embarrassment tinging her décolletage.

Pride rose. Yes, that was precisely the response he would wish for in his future bride. Embarrassment could not be helped. But one's display of it could.

"I am very grateful for the invitation this evening, Lady Romeril," Alice said demurely, curtsying low—far lower than was necessary, in truth. "What a delightful room."

Their hostess, however, was not about to be distracted by compliments to her home. "This old place? It's nothing, I assure you. I was delighted to read of the engagement, though of course His Grace had also been kind enough to send word. As he ought."

William nodded stiffly. It was a peculiarity of Lady Romeril's that the nobility had discovered—either at their own peril, or through the gentle hint of another. Despite being very little to most of them, Lady Romeril demanded—nay, expected—to be informed of all births, marriages, and deaths. It was trying, but there it was. William had got so in the habit now he quite forgot it was unusual.

Alice seemed to hide her surprise very well. "Read of it, Lady Romeril?"

There was just a hint of confusion in her voice that William did not understand.

A footman appeared at his side and momentarily distracted him. "A glass of champagne, Your Grace?"

William shook his head. The last thing he needed in the presence of Lady Romeril was to lose his sense. "No, I thank you."

It was only a momentary exchange. The encounter with the footman probably lasted no more than ten seconds. Five, more likely.

But appeared to be sufficient time to entirely destroy Alice's equilibrium. When William turned back to his future bride and Lady Romeril, it was to see one with a face of utter confusion, and another full of pain.

What the devil had happened?

"I-I was not aware... I did not know," said Alice, all her confidence seemingly drained.

William squeezed her hand on his arm in the hope of comforting her, though he was quite at a loss as to why it was necessary. What on earth had Lady Romeril said to—

"I presumed you had known," said Lady Romeril, shooting daggers.

What the blazes—

"And just in The Times, you say?" Alice said hesitantly, looking between them in bewilderment. "Our engagement, you announced it in The Times, William. Your Grace, I mean."

In any other situation William would have frowned at the intimacy spoken in public, but the woman seemed genuinely distressed. "I—yes, I think The Times was only—"

"Oh, Miss Fox-Edwards, how delightful to make your acquaintance—and with the duke! I read about the engagement in The Times, of course," said a woman William didn't recognize, approaching their group. "How wonderful! And the date is set, I presume?"

William did not reply but glanced at Alice—and was astonished to see her face paling and her demeanor most changed.

What on earth had happened?

She was marrying a duke. William was not arrogant enough to presume he was the most charming man in the ton. He certainly wasn't the richest, and though his looks were fair, there were gentlemen apparently who were more handsome than he. But still. He was hardly a beggar, hardly a bore, hardly displeasing to behold. And he was a duke!

He had presumed Alice would be pleased by the announcement, but it appeared more likely that she was about to faint away.

"I must introduce you to the Duke of Wincham—he's about here somewhere," Lady Romeril was saying over the patter of the woman William did not know.

"—quite the best thing to be married in silver, of course, but then you will know that. A duke! Such a conquest, I must congratulate—"

"And the Marquess of—there he is, the naughty man," persevered Lady Romeril, raising her voice louder to be heard over the din. "Miss Fox-Edwards, you must—"

William moved the moment he realized it was happening. As Alice's eyelashes fluttered the strength in her arm suddenly decreased and he was just quick enough to get his arm around her waist when—

"Oh! Oh, Miss Fox-Edwards has fainted—Miss Fox-Edwards has fainted!" Lady Romeril announced to the room at large.

Careful to keep his steadying arm around Alice, William shot a glare at his hostess. "Fresh air, my lady."

"What a thing to happen, and in my drawing room, too," Lady Romeril was muttering. "What was that, Your Grace?"

William gritted his teeth. "Fresh air."

"Oh, the balcony there is unlocked," said Lady Romeril, waving a hand nonchalantly at a set of doors. "I shall guarantee privacy for the poor woman. Shall I send for smelling salts, or a brandy, or a poultice, or—"

"Fresh air will, I am sure, suffice," snapped William as he walked, half carrying the silent woman in his arms.

Something strange had happened to him the moment Alice had succumbed to whatever panic was overwhelming her. He had been filled with a sense of... protectiveness. Possessiveness. A desperate need to keep Alice safe against all the frantic whispers that filled the drawing room as they reached the balcony door.

A silent footman opened it and William gasped as the cold evening air hit his face.

The door clicked shut behind him.

"Alice," William murmured urgently, looking into the face of the woman, he realized, he was starting to truly care about. "Alice, are you—"

"Well, now we are alone, we can talk properly," Alice said sharply, opening her eyes, straightening her now strong body, and wrenching herself from his arms.

William stood, shocked.

Gone was the fainting woman. Gone was the pale betrothed, hardly able to stand.

Before him stood a woman still wearing the same gown as Alice Fox-Edwards, who still had the face of Alice Fox-Edwards.

She also had the hands of Alice Fox-Edwards on her hips and was giving him a dark glare.

"A-Alice?" stammered William. He cleared his throat. "I don't understand what—"

"Why did you not tell me you had made the announcement of our engagement in The Times?" Alice said, still glaring as though he had committed some terrible crime.

What it could be, he was not quite sure. Was it not usual to do such a thing? William thought as quickly as he could, though he was still at a loss to understand precisely what he had done wrong.

"Is... is there a better, more prestigious newspaper in which I should have announced our engagement?" he asked tentatively. "And did you—did you pretend to faint?"

The latter question was ignored. "How could you announce such a thing without asking me?"

William stared.

He was still awake, was he not? He definitely felt as though he was standing in the cooling London night air. A plant of some sort had trailed its way along the balustrade—surely he would not have dreamt that. So why on earth was this nonsensical conversation happening?

"You pretended to faint," William said. "Why would you—"

"Oh, you would rather we had this conversation in public?" Alice raised an eyebrow.

He swallowed. "I would rather not have it at all, when I am so lost within it." Petulance was not really his forte, but he could not help the complaining tone.

Who could blame him? He was utterly at a loss to understand precisely what he had done wrong—and Alice did not appear to be inclined to tell him.

But then just as swiftly as Alice had reacted in anger, she seemed to crumple. Her hands left her hips, and her arms folded before her protectively.

Protectively against him?

"I . . . I was startled," she said softly, her large eyes meeting his. "I . . . if I had known, I would have asked . . ."

William stared, transfixed.

He had done what he thought was the right thing. Every engagement was announced in The Times. It was what the gentry and nobility did.

Yet somehow his adherence to rules had injured her. Injured a woman he would fain hurt in any way. And he had done it through an announcement? It wasn't as though it was very long. With no family of Alice's living, the statement had merely read:

An engagement is announced between His Grace, William Thomas Leopold Chance, Duke of Cothrom, and Miss Alice Fox-Edwards.

At the time, William had felt rather ashamed that it was so little. But Alice appeared to be distressed, truly distressed, it had been published at all.

What was going on?

"And Lady Romeril, wanting to introduce me to everyone under the sun," Alice said with a dark look. "I do not care for being paraded about like—like a prize!"

And guilt washed into William's chest.

Of course she didn't. What person would?

He had seen couples like that. One would consider the other an impressive catch and would definitely lord it over their friends and connections. With every introduction came a smile of glee as their betrothed became nothing more than an object to them. A thing.

Like I was doing with Alice, William thought wretchedly. More interested in getting under her skirts than understanding her mind.

Oh, hell.

"I... dash it all, Alice, that isn't what I intended," William said quietly, taking a step toward her. He halted as she took a step back. Blast. It was that bad. "I just—I did what everyone did. I did not think—"

"I know," Alice said, through evident pain.

William could have cursed if he were not afraid of offending her.

And he already had. Through his own ignorance of her, something that could no longer be excused, he had somehow harmed her. What harm an announcement of an engagement could do, he did not know, but that did not matter. The point was, Alice was injured. By his hand.

"I would never wish to hurt you," he said gently.

Somehow that was the right thing to say. She met his eyes this time with a small shrug as she said, "I know. It's just—the announcement, and Lady Romeril—"

"She is a bit much," said William quietly.

"It's all a bit much," she said in a low voice.

William hesitated.

This was supposed to be nothing more than a practical marriage. A match that would give him the opportunity to sire heirs and, if he were lucky, a jolt to get his brothers to start behaving.

Though admittedly it was yet to be seen whether the latter were possible.

And yet within weeks, things had changed. His heart had changed.

Where there had once only been physical desire, and who could blame him when looking at Alice Fox-Edwards, there was now something much more. Much deeper.

Respect.

William took a step forward and was encouraged to see that, though Alice was now leaning against the balustrade, she did not step away.

Yes, he respected Alice. Discovering the truth of her ward, how she willingly impoverished herself if it meant caring for a child—that was the sort of person he wished to marry.

The trouble was, he may have already ended that possibility.

"If..." William hesitated. She was just a foot from him, but he could not cross that line, not now. He had to speak first. "If you are having second thoughts—"

"Second thoughts?" Alice said quickly, eyebrows raised.

Dear God, but he wished he had time to think about this. William was not usually a rash person. Important conversations were typically rehearsed in his dressing room, his unfortunate valet playing the role of... well, whomever he had to have the awkward conversation with.

Flares of tension sparked up William's spine, but he persevered. This conversation was important.

Even if he would regret it.

"I don't want to go ahead with a marriage you are not fully committed to, Alice," William said quietly. "If... I don't wish to force... I think I would greatly enjoy being married to you, but you must not continue with this engagement merely... just because I asked you to marry me."

There. It was said.

He regretted it already. What did he think he was doing, giving Alice the opportunity to step away from him, perhaps forever?

His stomach rebelled against the thought just as Alice twisted something on her glove.

William's pulse skipped a beat. His signet ring.

And a desire, one he had never known before and could not control, overswept him. He would do anything, absolutely anything, to convince her to keep that ring on her finger. To make her his.

Whatever it took.

"I, for my part," he said, a little more hoarsely than he'd expected, "would very much like to keep to our arrangement."

When Alice looked up and met his gaze, there was a teasing look on her face that both reassured and thundered through him. "You don't even know what marriage to me would be like."

"I know what I would want it to be like," William said.

He stepped forward but just to the side, so he could lean against the balcony's balustrade alongside her. It was sweet torture, being this close to Alice and not touching her, but William knew he would lose all sense of decorum if he did.

Worse, they could be spotted.

"What?" Alice whispered, her eyes flickering across his face. "What would it be like?"

William swallowed. It was not in his nature to be open, but of all people in the world, Alice deserved to know. Still, it was easier to speak to his hands than her face. "I... well. I want to be happy—and for my wife to be happy, of course. A quiet life, in the country, if possible. Laughter, and music, and... and children. Lots of them, if we are so blessed."

When he looked up, Alice's eyes were shining. "I never thought... I would not have guessed that is what you want. Quiet, calm happiness."

William shrugged. "I may be a duke, but that doesn't mean I want to spend the rest of my life fighting for the Chance family! I want to be with someone I care about. Someone... like you."

For a moment, he thought he had gone too far—said too much, revealed too much.

Alice's cheeks flushed. She did look away.

His hopes sank. It had been too much to hope for. Most marriages, after all, continued for years without any hint of true affection. If he could respect his wife and be respected in return, perhaps that would be enough.

"I care about you, too," Alice said simply, slipping her hand into his. "Aren't we lucky?"

William's chest swelled. So did something else, but he was firmly ignoring it. "What are the chances?"

She grinned. "I suppose we should go inside."

His eyes widened. Dear God! Bedding Alice was never too far from his mind, but even so—

"To the party," Alice added with a knowing look. "We are at Lady Romeril's."

William blinked. "Yes—yes, we are. To the party, then."