Chapter Thirteen

"W hat a convoluted life our families lead," Cornelius remarked as he led Alice in to supper.

"Helen and your brother? Perhaps they have not been honest with each other."

Cornelius cast her a quick glance as he though he knew it was a barb, but he seemed more curious than ashamed. There were far too many people around then to discuss anything personal.

As they approached the buffet tables, Cornelius suddenly grabbed the arm of Sir Julius. "Where is Lucy? How is Eddleston? Have you heard?"

And Alice immediately felt guilty she had barely thought of the young earl once she had heard he was alive. She had been too taken up with the problems of the living—namely herself and Helen—to consider Eddleston's injury.

"They expect him to live," Julius said. "Lucy must still be with him. I don't see her here." His one eye fixed on Alice. "Shall we sit together, and we can gossip about our brother and your sister?"

"We could just sit with my sister and ask," Alice said, but Helen was already seated with Mr. Winslow at a small table where no one else could join them.

"Repelling all boarders," Sir Julius remarked.

Hastily, Alice changed the subject. "When does your own wedding take place, sir?"

His rather harsh face softened. "In about a fortnight."

"I wish you very happy," she said genuinely. He had the face of a man who had suffered much and could not quite believe in his current fortune. But when they sat down with his betrothed and Roderick, it was obvious that Antonia adored him. Roderick and Cornelius seemed also to have taken her to their hearts, for they laughed with her and teased her as though she were already one of them, and Antonia bantered back. When Lucy rushed in, both smiling and tearful, the whole family gathered her in, shielding her from the curious and comforting her.

They were good people, Alice thought with a lump in her throat. Kind people. Amusing people. So why did she doubt Cornelius?

Because he had said nothing that could not be construed as mere flirtation? In all honesty, he had offered nothing else, and yet…

"What did you mean about Lady Morgan?" she murmured as they returned to the ballroom at some distance from other people.

"I'm not sure," he said. "Just that Morgan looked upset very quickly when I danced with her. Did he look like a guilty man to you?"

"No. But I believe men—some men—regard other women as their right, but do not accord the same to their wives."

Cornelius grunted, obviously distracted, though his gaze remained on her face. "What did she say to you?"

Alice's cheeks burned. "That she doubted the wisdom of her choice when she dismissed you. I don't know how serious she was." Miserably aware that she could be driving him into Cecily's arms, she refused to be less than honest. "That she values your friendship and loyalty."

His lips twisted. "I may not dance with you again, may I?"

"No, my mother would have an apoplexy, and in Gervaise's current form, he would have us married by the end of the week."

Cornelius laughed, and Alice's heart lightened, especially when she felt the secret brush of his hand on parting. It gave her the strength she needed when she could no longer avoid the Duke of Atherstone.

She was with Serena and Lord Wickenden, an old family friend, and several others when she saw the group parting as if of one will. She knew Atherstone was coming. Well, it had only ever been a matter of time. She could not avoid him forever. If he offered again, she would refuse him again, and now she knew better than to go anywhere alone with him.

So she curtseyed to his bow, and, as he exchanged pleasantries with Serena and Wickenden, who were old acquaintances of his, she began to hope that he had not come for her after all.

But he had. "May I hope for this waltz, Lady Alice?"

"Thank you," she said graciously, glancing at Serena as her nominal chaperone. The duke should really have asked her permission, but such conventions were relaxed at a masquerade, she supposed, even after the unmasking. However, she doubted the duke, so exalted and toadied to by Society, ever asked permission. Even his invitation to her sounded more of a command.

"You have become quite the belle of the ball," he murmured as the orchestra struck up their introduction, and he placed his arm at her back and clasped her hand.

Her flesh crawled, though she refused to show it, "It is my family's ball," she said wryly. "Everyone feels obliged to dance with me."

He waltzed her backward and turned, maintaining the perfect distance between them, for which she was grateful. "Yet you danced twice with the same man. I do not like that."

"Oh dear," Alice said with no pretension whatever of regret. "But then, Your Grace's permission is not required."

"It is now."

"I fail to see how," Alice said frigidly.

"We are betrothed."

Fear churned her stomach, but she would not give in to his mocking, overwhelming gaze. "I missed that announcement."

"It was lost in your sister's to the obscure officer."

"You are deluded."

"They are not betrothed?" he asked derisively.

She smiled. "He is not obscure, but a decorated hero praised by Wellington himself."

"Braithwaite could look higher."

"Braithwaite is already married."

"You have humor," he observed glacially, although she did not like the spark behind the ice. "And a certain vivacity that I enjoy. Neither should be overdone."

"In the opinion of Your Grace, which, of course, must weigh with me, because you are the guest of my family."

He smiled, the spark stronger and oddly terrifying in the cold face. "Oh, I shall enjoy schooling you. For a time, at least. Shall I push Braithwaite for an early wedding? Or should I allow us time to enjoy the anticipation?"

Her blood chilled. "The only say my brother will have is to refuse any offer you make for me. I have already told you my answer, and so has he. I would be grateful if you did not press me further."

"Oh, my sweet child, I shall press you a great deal further," he mocked. "But the wedding is already decided. You have no further say in that."

"I shall not marry you. Ever. I would like to return to my sister."

Rather to her surprise, he stopped dancing and placed her hand solicitously on his arm, walking her off the dance floor.

There, she thought in relief. Like most bullies, all he needs is someone to stand up to him .

But he was not walking toward any of her sisters. He had her hand clamped under his on his arm, and his much larger body was pushing her away from the dancers and toward the door into the part of the castle that was not open to the public.

She halted, digging in her heels in, but he merely pulled her on, his strength frightening.

"Don't make a fuss," he said in in light, conversational tone. "I shan't touch you unless you provoke me beyond endurance. But we need to talk, to clarify a few matters."

"Talk to my brother," she snapped, though a pulse had begun to beat hard in her throat, making it difficult to speak.

"Oh, I shall, I shall," Atherstone said, pushing open the door at the end of the passage.

She tried to bolt, but somehow he had got behind her and pushed her inside with his body. The door closed, sending memories spilling through her brain, paralyzing her. She could already feel, again, the terrible suffocation of his mouth, his hard, cruel grip that she could not break…

But he liked her fear. That was the spark she had recognized in his eyes when they danced.

So, as she had done so often during her Season, to cover her discomfort and the fact that she did not wish to be there, she raised her head, produced a distant smile, and pretended to wait patiently for him to say something interesting.

"Braithwaite is an unusually indulgent brother," Atherstone said, walking up to her. Instead of halting in front of her, he walked around her in a circle. "So it is likely that you do not appreciate how little power young ladies of your class possess in the matter of marriage. It is all with your brother and me, not with you."

The back of her neck pricked, but as he re-emerged before her, she shrugged elegantly, a mixture of her haughty mother and Frances. "If you imagine so, by all means go ahead and tell Braithwaite—and the world, if you are silly enough—that we are betrothed. I shall still deny it, even if by some miracle you get me to the altar. I have a remarkably clear and carrying voice."

Her words did not appear to surprise him, let alone upset him. Instead, he smiled. "You are a unique case," he allowed, rather like a doctor diagnosing a rare illness. "Which forces me to take other steps. If you defy me, I shall simply ruin Cornelius Vale and his entire family. Financially and socially."

Her lips parted in shock. "You can't!"

He laughed. "Don't be silly. Of course I can. I might even enjoy it."

She couldn't breathe. Blindly, she tried to walk past him, but he would not stand aside, even mirrored her every step, demonstrating his implacability and the futility of defying him.

"I don't suppose you have considered," she said, proud of the steadiness of her voice, "all the ways a wife may find to kill her husband."

At last she had shocked him. She saw it in the momentary widening of his cold eyes. And then the door suddenly opened and Delilah Vale almost tumbled into the room with Antonia Macy, Lord Linfield the diplomat, and his sister Miss Talbot. All the ladies were laughing.

"Oh, Lady Alice," Delilah said in apparent surprise. "Just the person we were looking for. Your mother wants you."

Since Atherstone had turned haughtily toward the newcomers, Alice walked straight past him. But he still imagined he had a victory.

"I trust I may rely on your discretion, ladies, my lord," he said in his smooth, hateful voice. What he clearly meant—and assumed would happen—was that they would shout Alice's in discretion from the rooftops, providing yet another reason for her to marry him.

"For what?" Linfield said. "We were here all the time. Your Grace."

He bowed. The ladies all curtseyed. Alice did not. She merely walked out of the open door.

Delilah caught her hand as Linfield closed the door on the duke. "Are you well?" she asked, her voice casual, though her eyes were piercing.

"Quite." Alice swallowed. "How did you…?" she began shakily.

"Cornelius was worried but thought it best we find you by apparent accident. Cornelius cannot act to save his life."

Then he was not acting with Cecily …

The ball, which had begun so excitingly, so blissfully, had turned into a nightmare. Like so often before, she just wanted it to end.

And yet she was ridiculously grateful when Cornelius made a point of seeking her out as his family took their leave. Having thanked Eleanor, he stepped back to allow Lucy, Felicia, and Sir Julius to discuss Eddleston's care with Eleanor and Maria, and her heart leapt pathetically as he came directly to her.

"May I call tomorrow?" he murmured. "Or would you meet me outside?"

"Outside," she said at once, for she wished to be under the same roof as Atherstone as little as possible, and she was sure there were fierce family quarrels to come over Helen's betrothal.

"You're liable to get caught in the rain… Do you know the old chapel near the Black Hill boundary?"

"Of course. Two o'clock," she said, and walked away to speak to Delilah.

*

By the time Alice discreetly left the castle the following day, she was in a state of deep confusion over her own life and profound anxiety over her little sister's. Oddly, the person she wanted to talk to, to help her sort everything out, was Cornelius, and yet there were too many things she could not tell him.

He won't even be there. It will be best if he isn't. I'll give him a quarter of an hour, and then I shall simply ride home again .

The old chapel was a small stone ruin next to a stream. Though local people said it was an abandoned church, it was so ancient that no one actually knew what its original purpose had been. It had four walls up to about shoulder height, and someone, perhaps a vagrant or a courting couple, had placed what looked like a large wooden headboard on top of the walls, lashing it in place with frayed ropes wrapped around the window hole on one side and the space left by a broken stone on the other. It didn't add to the place's beauty, but Alice supposed it was practical, if precarious.

He won't be there .

He stood between the chapel and the stream, gazing at the flowing water, so deep in contemplation that he didn't notice her presence until she dismounted. At the thud of her boots on the damp ground, he turned and smiled, a spontaneous, welcoming smile that melted her bones, particularly as he strode at once to meet her. His fingers brushed hers as he took the reins from her and tied her horse next to his at a fallen tree that must have come down in last week's storm.

"I was afraid you wouldn't come," he said.

I was afraid you wouldn't . "I nearly didn't. Everyone in the castle seems to have run mad. Eddleston is shot yet merry as a lark, and even my mother, a high stickler for propriety, does not object to your sister Lucy haunting his bedchamber. Admittedly, her focus is on other things, since Helen is to be married within the week."

" A week ?" Cornelius repeated, clearly startled. "Why the rush?"

"Presumably because Gervaise does not believe in her and Roderick's innocence after the Whalen disaster."

"Don't call it that," he said quickly. "It was not a disaster but a triumph for you both."

"And yet Helen is to be rushed into a marriage she is not ready for just because your brother was injured saving her from a riot." She broke off, swallowing. "Sorry. She is younger than me. We did everything together, but I always tried to look after her."

He took her hand. It jumped in his hold, but she did not withdraw it. "If it helps, I have never known Roderick to be pushed into anything he did not want. It may be going faster than he had planned, but I think he always meant to marry Helen."

"Always? They have only known each other a fortnight! And no one can change my brother's mind. I have never known him so stubborn."

He tugged her by the hand, encouraging her to walk with him by the stream. "The twins approve," he said lightly. "And Lucy likes Lady Helen. She has an odd gift of reading character from very little. If she thinks Helen and Rod are suited, they probably are. The timing may seem wrong, but I think we have to leave that to the happy couple to sort out."

"But that's the problem!" Alice exclaimed. "She is not happy! Just determined to go through with it."

"Are you happy?" he asked.

"What?" She glanced up at him, flustered. "We are not talking about me."

"I am." He halted and, with one light hand on her shoulder, turned her to face him. "Delilah thought Atherstone had not touched you last night. Did he?"

"No. He is nothing, and I don't even want to think about him. Helen is much more important."

"So are you." Without warning, he bent and kissed her parted lips.

Her heart fluttered. Her thoughts scattered, and yet it lasted only an instant.

"I want to show you something," he said, and dragged a scroll of paper from his pocket.

Intrigued, she released his hand and unrolled it. As she read, she leaned back against the tree next to her, vaguely aware of the gurgling of the stream water, the singing of a blackbird, and Cornelius, standing very still, staring into the stream as though he could not bear to see her reaction. That trust touched her more than anything. She realized he had never shown his poems to anyone, apart from the publisher who had been hundreds of miles away when he read them.

This poem was about a woman, full of fun and wit, life and longing. His woman leapt off the paper, vital and fascinating, sweet and desirable, brave, talented, and true to her dreams.

It moved her to smiles and almost to tears. If I could only inspire a quarter such joy in him …

"Is it new?" she asked, aching because it must have been inspired by meeting Cecily again.

"Yes." He looked up from the stream and met her gaze. Color stained his weather-beaten skin. "I wrote it for you."

"Me?" Her voice squeaked, and his lips twitched.

"You told me you put my poem to music. I can be no less honest. Don't you recognize yourself?"

She shook her head, unable to speak. Blindly, she let the paper roll back up and handed it back to him. "It isn't signed," she said gruffly.

"I didn't know how to."

Cornelius and Simon… Does one love Cecily and one me?

His smile had grown rueful. "No criticism?"

"It is beautiful," she managed. "Wonderful. But it is not me."

"It is how I see you."

Heat flooded up from her toes, burning her face, and all she could think of to say was: "You wrote poems to Cecily, too."

He considered. "I wrote poems of love and loss. Emotions she inspired in me. But they were not her . I don't think I ever knew her."

He had not taken the scroll from her, and her hand fell as she gazed at it. "And this is me ?"

"Don't you recognize yourself at all ?"

She shook her head, then frowned and unrolled the paper again. A smile flickered across her lips. He saw the vulnerability beneath her brusque tongue, her chafing at the bonds of propriety that confined her nature as well as her talent. It was too intimate, too terrible , to be so easily read. And yet it was beautiful…

She was afraid to look up.

"Keep it," he said lightly.

And because she could not bear him to think she was disappointed—God knew she was not!—she took a step closer.

"Thank you," she whispered, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. And then, because it was so close, his mouth. She let her lips linger, softly caressing his. He felt so wonderful, especially when his arms closed loosely around her and he kissed her back.

She slid her free hand up over his broad shoulder to his nape to draw him closer, and now the whole length of his body touched her. Feeling a surge—not of fear but of excitement—she pressed closer. Still the blissful kiss went on and on while he softly stroked her back, her cheek, her nape.

When he swept his hand down over the curve of her rear, she gasped with more pleasure than shock, and he deepened the kiss, not with force but with leisurely, sensual coaxing. Fire licked through her whole body, even in places a lady did not think about. Especially in those places.

Oh, help me … She wanted it to go on forever. She wanted more. He stroked her waist, and upward, brushing the side of her breast, spreading his caressing fingers until she moaned, gluing herself to him, and the hard column against her abdomen was not remotely disgusting, but elating and wonderful…

He let out a groan, dragging his mouth free and pressing his cheek to hers. She could feel his heart thundering above hers.

"You are too beautiful," he said unsteadily. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," she said, bewildered by the question. "You may kiss me again if you like."

"Oh, I like," he said fervently. "But in truth, I daren't. You are much too tempting." He glanced upward at the sky. "And I think it's going to rain."

They went into the chapel, even Alice having to duck beneath the makeshift roof. It stank a bit as if animals had sheltered there too, but when Cornelius spread his overcoat for them to sit on, and lounged against the damp wall with his arm loosely around her shoulders, she was utterly content.

But she never dodged difficult issues. And this was one she had to know.

"Tell me about Cecily Morgan."