Chapter 2

Chapter

Two

T he house was a hive of activity as the family prepared for the Gully ball that evening. Even in the quieter corridors, Alexander could hear the rustling of silk gowns and the hurried steps of footmen rushing to prepare carriages and whatever else the duchess required.

Alexander sat in his office, a small, comfortable, but compact room just off the duke's grand library. The contrast between his office and the opulent rooms outside couldn't be more striking. His chamber, though well-appointed, was utilitarian compared to the lavish spaces reserved for the family. Shelves were neatly lined with ledgers and papers, and the scent of leather-bound books mingled with the faint whiff of tobacco. His desk, polished but simple, held a few scattered papers—a world away from the gilded edges of the furniture in the duke's quarters.

And just how he preferred it. To work for the Duke D'Estel was a privilege, but he disagreed with the lifestyle in which the upper echelons of society lived. So many of them went about their daily lives, oblivious to those struggling around them in the streets beyond Mayfair. His own life marred by struggle and all because his titled father was weak.

The door to his office was open, and from his vantage point, Alexander caught sight of the Duchess D'Estel pacing back and forth in the expansive foyer. The Duchess, a regal woman even in her anxious state, held herself with poise as her slippers tapped softly against the polished parquet floor, the glint of candlelight reflecting off the gleaming wood. She waited with thinly veiled patience for Lady Charlotte to join them for their evening out.

Alexander told himself the anticipation that thrummed through him was of no consequence. That the sudden quickening of his pulse had nothing to do with the thought of Lady Charlotte. But it would be a lie. For many months now, he had come to admire Lady Charlotte from the shadows, observing her interactions and gestures. She was one of the most beautiful and considerate women he'd ever met, an undeniable presence that made his chest tighten whenever she entered the room. He found himself stealing glances at her whenever he could, though he knew he had no right to do so.

A difficult realization as he'd promised himself never to be swayed by a woman who graced the highest society in London.

He shook his head. He needed to stop lusting after the chit—a situation that would not end well for him, should he act on those passions. There was no future in it. He was the duke's steward. Wealthy he may be by the standards of most men, but titled, connected, and well-bred, he was not. No dowry, no expectations, and certainly no standing to marry into a family like the D'Estels.

As the only bastard son of Marquess Lacy, he did possess that thin tether to the aristocracy, but it was a chain he would never wear openly. Illegitimacy was a stain that would ruin his prospects, destroy his employment, and cost him everything he had worked so hard to achieve. His father's indiscretion with a household maid had sealed his fate from the beginning. His birth had been whispered about but never confirmed, and it was a shame he bore quietly. A secret he kept buried in the vaults of his heart.

The only things his father had passed down to him were his quick wit and a mind for numbers, both of which had been essential to his survival. Those talents earned him the position of steward, not his bloodline, and his current station was no exception.

But he would never forgive his father for the hardships of his life. Great men such as Marquess Lacy were selfish, always there to protect the family name before doing what was right. He would never forgive his father his cruelty.

"Mama, I'm coming. Do stop pacing so, or you'll wear out the parquetry," came the familiar voice of Lady Charlotte, the sound of her soft steps descending the grand staircase filling the foyer.

Alexander's breath hitched as he caught sight of her. Lady Charlotte was a vision. Her gown, a luxurious confection of silk and gold embroidery, clung to her in all the right places, each stitch accentuating her graceful figure. The rich fabric shimmered under the chandelier's glow, the delicate threads catching the light as she moved. She paused momentarily, checking her coiffure, a towering marvel of teased and curled hair pinned perfectly into place. Her maid had undoubtedly spent hours crafting the elaborate style, weaving ostrich feathers into the pile of glossy curls. The feathers bobbed softly with each movement, a testament to her high status and impeccable taste.

She turned and glanced into his office, her wide, blue eyes meeting his. For a brief, sizzling moment, their gazes locked. Alexander sucked in a startled breath, fighting to keep his composure. She was glorious, far too magnificent for him to behold. Her ample bosom, encased in the finest silk, rose and fell with each delicate breath. Her unblemished skin, glowing with youth, was framed by her perfectly proportioned features—those wide, pouty lips a Siren's call.

Dear God, he could not look away.

Without thinking, his lips twitched in a half smile of appreciation, one that was not missed by Lady Charlotte. She raised one inquisitive brow, a teasing glint in her eyes, before continuing her descent and vanishing from his view. The space she left felt hollow, as though her presence had briefly lit the room, and now he was plunged back into shadows.

Alexander sat there a moment longer, listening to the faint sounds of the duchess and Lady Charlotte bustling out of the house, their voices drifting through the grand entryway and fading into the night. The urge to move into the duke's library, to catch a final glimpse of her as she boarded the carriage, gnawed at him. But he resisted. He did not need the duke—or anyone else for that matter—to note his interest. His position would be in jeopardy if anyone suspected the feelings he harbored for Lady Charlotte. He could not afford to lose control. And yet, each time he saw her, control slipped a little further from his grasp.

He rose, moving to the sideboard to pour himself a glass of whisky. The amber liquid swirled in the crystal tumbler as he walked over to the small window that overlooked the side of the house. The estate's gardens were sprawling and perfectly manicured by the gardeners who worked tirelessly to maintain the grounds. Below him, a small path meandered through the hedges, providing discreet access to and from the front and back gardens for those who wished to avoid the grandeur of the main entrance. Tall, thick hedges shielded the estate from prying eyes, lending the Georgian mansion an air of secluded elegance.

The house was splendid, a palace by all accounts, and Lady Charlotte was no less magnificent. A queen among her peers. He ran a hand through his hair, the frustration building inside him. He needed to regain control, to push down the reckless impulses that rose within him each time she looked his way. He couldn't afford to indulge these dangerous thoughts, no matter how much he wanted to.

She was not for him, and he certainly had little patience for the world in which she lived.

Perhaps he ought to go out this evening. Lose himself in the smoke-filled rooms of one of Mayfair's many gambling dens. There, amidst the clinking of glasses and the raucous laughter of London's less savoury fellows, he could distract himself from the pull of Lady Charlotte's allure. Winning funds from the wealthier men of society always lightened his mood, and tonight, he was in dire need of distraction.

Without further hesitation, he strode from his office, shrugging on his coat from the hook beside the door. The London night greeted him with the sound of hooves and wheels clattering over cobblestones. Hackney cabs trundled along the darkened streets, their lanterns flickering like fireflies in the misty air. Alexander hailed one and climbed inside, directing the driver toward Lady Dames, the gambling hell where he could often be found in the late hours.

Upon arrival, he entered the dimly lit establishment, the familiar scent of cigar smoke and brandy clinging to the velvet walls. Men of various fortunes lounged in high-backed chairs, some already engaged in games of chance, while others eyed their opponents, calculating the best time to enter the fray. Alexander walked the room, observing the players, assessing their wealth, and determining who might be the easiest prey. He settled into a few games—dice, Piquet, Faro—winning enough to fatten his pockets with promissory notes and IOUs, yet still, his restlessness would not abate.

The house was still when he returned to Duke D'Estel's estate not long after four in the morning. The staff, though weary, remained dutifully awake, waiting for the family to return from their revels. Alexander made his way upstairs, forcing his eyes not to linger toward Lady Charlotte's chambers. She would still be out at the balls, no doubt turning heads and enchanting lords while he brooded over what he could never have.

But his breath caught in his throat when he pushed open his bedroom door.

Lady Charlotte stood there, in nothing but her chemise and bedroom robe, rifling through the letters on his desk. The sight of her, bathed in the soft glow of a single candle, was enough to make his pulse race.

"What are you doing?" he asked, shutting the door behind him to ensure privacy. The idea that a woman above him in rank would dare to intrude on his privacy was so typical of her kind. Did she not understand to be caught in the same room together, scantily dressed and at this late hour, was not ideal.

Before he could chastise her more he noted Lady Charlotte's hair, sitting loose down her back, a light, captivating hue of curls that reminded him of hot summer days in the country.

He'd never seen her with her hair down before, and the sight left him grappling for words.

"I, ah…" She paused, her eyes wide and no further excuse forthcoming.

Nor should he expect there to be when she was rummaging about in someone else's personal space, disrespecting them.

"Should I call for your father and ask him to explain why his daughter thought to come into my room and start looking into my personal things? I do not think you would enjoy feeling so exposed should I examine your apartments."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Richards. I heard a noise up here, and I was certain you were out, which did not explain the sound, so I came upstairs to check. But I found the room empty, and shamefully, you caught me snooping at what you were reading."

Alexander studied her for a moment. They had never been so alone before. There was always someone around when they had exchanges in the past, which was a good thing because there was something about Lady Charlotte that he found utterly captivating and he was woefully unable to deny his rebellious thoughts.

"How did you know I was not in?" he asked.

She moved away from the desk and past him, inching ever closer to the bedroom door. Was she afraid of him? Did she think he would force himself on her?

Never would he be so heinous. But he could not deny that as much as he lusted after the chit, Lady Charlotte had taken liberties this evening, and she did not have the right to.

"Well, as for that." She paused. "I inquired when I returned home."

He narrowed his eyes. "Did the duke and duchess return with you?" he asked.

"No, they remained at the Gully ball. I had a slight headache, and my hand was aching." She held up her gloveless hands, and from where he stood near the bed, he could still see the bruising.

"Your finger is still giving you trouble?"

"Yes, unfortunately, it aches, and the gloves this evening did not help." She shrugged. "One must beget a husband, and no broken finger shall deter me."

A pity, he wanted to say but refrained. It was not his place. She was far too above him to give such an opinion, even though he could not help but feel pity for her. She would marry well, a gentleman who did not love her, and their life would be a never ending playbook of boredom. But at least they would have played their part and done their duty to their family.

His lip cured at the thought. "Well, it is best that you return to your room, and might I suggest you do not come back here again." His words were curt and brooked no argument.

But it seemed she agreed when she turned on her heel, opened the door, peeked into the corridor, and fled his room without another word spoken.

Alexander shut and locked the door before slumping against it. The scent of vanilla teased his senses, and he breathed deeply. She smelled so damn good. Too good.