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Chapter 20

The Flower Shop

On the morning of the Marquess's ball, Alexander had decided to make a journey to a flower shop. The idea had come to him as he had breakfasted with Rose that morning.

"One of the orange trees has sprouted new leaves." Rose's eyes were full of delight.

"That is wonderful news." He smiled.

"I wish I could think of something to do with that patch of earth beside the maze. Yet, everything seems somehow wrong." Rose frowned. "At first, I thought perhaps hydrangeas, but no. Then I wondered about planting some apple trees, but that also seemed wrong. Do you know what used to be there?"

Alexander searched his memory. "I believe it was roses. White roses."

Rose flushed. "Oh."

"You do not care for roses?" Alexander realized that his wife had not actually planted any roses in the gardens at Emberly that had not already been there.

"When you are named after a flower, it seems most vain to admit that you like them above all else." Rose looked away, her cheeks endearingly red.

"I do not think it is vain, especially when one's namesake is so beautiful." Alexander smiled. "They are your favorite, then?"

Rose nodded. "And yet I cannot bring myself to plant them. I just… The thought of asking someone to buy me roses for the garden, it feels so vain. I do not think I could cope with embarrassment."

"Well, I am sure you will think of something equally lovely." Alexander tried to keep his smile to himself as he met Olivia's gaze across the table.

He could tell that she was thinking the same thing—that they should get roses and give them to Rose so that she might plant them without fear of appearing vain.

"Excuse me." The voice brought Alexander back to the present, and he realized that an elderly gentleman was trying to move past him.

Hastily, he stepped out of the man's way. He glanced around, wondering where the shopkeeper had disappeared.

I do not want to be late for the ball.

As he searched for the man, he glanced at a figure passing by the shop window.

A sense of unease washed over him, though he could not say why. When he looked back, the figure was gone. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He felt as though he were being watched.

"Your Grace, my most humble apologies. I hope I have not kept you waiting long." The thin voice of the shopkeeper reminded Alexander of the reason for his visit. "You said you required roses?"

"Yes. I would like a bouquet of roses, and also to arrange the delivery of some plants to my estate." Alexander's mind was still on the figure he had glimpsed. He thought it seemed familiar. "Rose bushes, to be specific."

"You have a passion for the flower, Your Grace?" The shopkeeper was making notes.

"They are my wife's favorite," Alexander replied distractedly, still feeling as if someone were watching him.

"Your wife has excellent taste." The shopkeeper nodded.

Alexander was distracted as he paid the man and left the shop. The same uneasy feeling still swept over him.

Where have I seen that face?

He glanced around the street, trying to see if the figure was still there. But there was no one.

It hit him like a bolt of lightning. Dark hair, one green eye and one brown, thin lips. The man who killed his father. And he had let the man escape.

You cursed fool. You just let him walk away while you ordered flowers.

He searched up and down the street, but as tall as he was, the crowds made it hard to distinguish any one person.

He is probably long since gone.

Once more, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

Ahead, he saw his coach waiting for him. He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw someone watching him, but when he turned around, he saw nothing out of the ordinary.

I am being paranoid.

If anyone was watching him, it was simply because he was tall. He stood out everywhere he went—of course, he drew attention.

Although a crowded place would make it easy to stick a knife between someone's ribs. God, what a maudlin thought.

He looked up at his driver and spoke clearly, deliberately, "I feel that I am in need of some air. I shall take a walk. Meet me at Liverpool Street."

The driver, Mr. Jenkins, raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Are you sure, Your Grace?"

"I am absolutely certain." Alexander held the man's gaze.

"I shall make my way to Liverpool Street." The driver nodded curtly.

"Excellent." Alexander rolled his shoulders, once more glancing behind him.

No one seemed to be paying him any more attention than usual.

You are being ridiculous.

He began to make his way through the crowd, only half paying attention to where he was going. He kept thinking of the man's face.

And you let him get away.

He collided with something hard and cold, and realized with a start that he had taken a wrong turn and walked straight into a dead end. Cursing, he turned around, only to find that he was not alone.

"Seems like you've gotten a bit lost," a voice said with glee.

A man stood in front of Alexander, a dagger in one hand and a pistol in the other. His dark hair was matted, slicked back and away from his face. As he smiled, he revealed three golden teeth.

Alexander clenched his fists. "You killed my father."

The man nodded.

"You've been following me." Alexander tried to keep his voice flat, emotionless as he felt the rage rise within him. "Why?"

The man shrugged, gesturing at him with his dagger. "I'm not sure it should be you who's asking the questions, seeing as how I'm the one who's armed."

Alexander lunged at the man. There was a bang as a gunshot went off. It missed Alexander, and he collided with the man. He knocked the gun off the man's hand and tried to wrestle the knife from him.

The man bit Alexander's arm.

Alexander let out a roar of pain and stumbled backward. The stranger swung at him, and he only just avoided his knife.

He needed to disarm him. The sound of footsteps filled the alley, and two armed men appeared behind the stranger. Alexander smiled. The stranger turned around as one of the men lunged at him.

There was a spurt of blood and a groan. The man who had killed his father clutched at his side.

"You're surrounded. It's over." Alexander smiled at his guards.

Mr. Jenkins understood my code.

"Give up."

The man spat at Alexander's feet, his eyes darting back and forth like a wild animal. The guards advanced on him, as did Alexander. The man seemed to shrink into the ground.

Coward.

He dropped his knife. Alexander smiled. The man was crouched low, his hands seeming to scrabble in the dirt. A second later, he flung dirt at Alexander.

Alexander tried to avoid it, closing his eyes and covering his face. Yet, that was all the distraction the man needed. Something hard and wet collided with Alexander's side. He heard footsteps and shouting.

He opened his eyes in time to see the stranger disappearing over the wall, then glanced at the two guards beside him.

"He is wounded, he will not get far." The first guard nodded to the second.

"See that you find him. And bring him to the magistrates when you do."

"We will."

The guards set off after the murderer.

Alexander turned around. He wanted to go after them, to hunt down the man who had killed his father, but he had a promise to keep. And he did not intend to break it.

I am going to a ball.

Why did the thought of chasing down an armed, dangerous murderer seem less terrifying than an evening with the ton.

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