Surrender to Love

“I like its dryness! I remember reading one of Papa’s books once that was all about wines and different vintages and where the best wines come from. It’s the effervescence—all those little bubbles—that take getting used to at first, I suppose; although I daresay that with enough practice one would no longer notice.”

By the time she had drained a second glass of champagne and found herself holding a third, Alexa wondered, with a sudden return to caution, how Lord Charles had managed to maneuver her out through the French doors and onto the gallery. She must be careful or she would spoil everything, and Aunt Harriet would be disgusted with her.

Alexa had turned to place her back against the polished wooden railing, and in her white and gold ball gown she seemed to be framed by the pattern of trees and lawns and a dark night sky studded with a profusion of glittering stars. How much Lord Charles wanted to seize her in his arms and kiss her, knowing that of course he did not dare try to do so, at least not yet. He must be careful not to startle her or scare her off; and there was that aunt of hers to be reckoned with as well.

There was an unaccustomed stammer in his voice when Lord Charles said: “There is a slight possibility...Miss Howard, I am very much aware of the fact that we have only known each other a few hours, and I am only too well aware of manners and convention, believe me. But I have so enjoyed conversing with you and, well, what I mean to say is that if our ship should happen to be delayed in Colombo for a few days, I would deem it an honor to be permitted to call on you. You did mention that you would be staying with Sir John Travers at his residence here, did you not? I would naturally request his permission first, and your aunt’s as well; but if you would have no objections to our meeting again, I would like that above all things!”

“At least you had enough sense to come back inside before your absence could be remarked upon. It would never do, my girl, to let yourself become conspicuous!”

Harriet, fanning herself vigorously, had given Alexa a very thorough scrutiny when she had returned to sit demurely at her aunt’s side again while the young Viscount took himself off to procure her a dish of fresh fruit and cream. At least, Harriet had thought then, she did not look as if she had been kissed; and her ball gown still looked uncrumpled and had no stains from food or drink upon it. She grumbled. “But what on earth made you suddenly decide you were hungry at this late stage in the evening, just when the dancing is about to begin again?”

Alexa gave Harriet a mischievous smile. “Two and a half glasses of champagne, I’m afraid! I really do not feel at all hungry after that enormous dinner; but I remember listening to the boys talk, and they all agreed that it was most unwise to drink on an empty stomach.” Catching Harriet’s expression she added quickly: “Please don’t think that I am in the least intoxicated, Aunt Harry, even if this was the first time I have tried champagne. I understand that it is quite de rigueur nowadays for ladies even in the highest circles, and that even the Queen does so occasionally. So you see there’s no need for you to look at me that way or to scold; for I might just as well get used to it and learn to hold my liquor, as the boys upcountry would say.”

“Hold your liquor indeed!” Harriet snapped. “And if you keep talking of those harebrained young officers you used to ride and hunt with as ‘the boys’ you could very well be misunderstood by someone who does not know you. Champagne! Nasty, fizzy stuff—I never did acquire a liking for it. Tell me the truth now, because I won’t have you making a fool of yourself when the evening’s gone so well until now. Do you feel at all dizzy? Does your face feel abnormally hot? You look quite flushed...”

“Oh please, Aunt Harriet!” Alexa could not help the note of impatience in her voice. “I have told you the truth; and you have been reminding me all evening that I am a grown-up young woman now and not a child. I do not feel dizzy and if my face appears flushed...” She broke off when Harriet nudged her ankle with her foot; and looking up saw Lord Charles return, followed by two servants.

“Hah! I’d like to see you put away all that, my girl!” Harriet whispered from behind her fan in a grim undertone. Her look was dour, for she would have liked to say much more to her headstrong niece on the subject of drinking; especially champagne, which was said to have a very insidious effect.

There appeared two small gilt-edged tables and a large silver platter holding every imaginable kind of fruit, together with pitchers of thick cream. But even as the servants began to arrange everything before her, Alexa’s eyes had already gone beyond them and past the smile on Lord Charles’s face to rivet, without reason, upon the man who walked at his side. She had thought the Viscount Deering tall, but this man was taller yet by at least four inches and had broader shoulders. His formal evening attire fitted him so closely that it had obviously been made for him—long, tightly fitting trousers (Aunt Harriet called them “unmentionables”) that matched the black double-breasted jacket cut short in front to display a richly embroidered satin brocade waistcoat fashioned of varying shades of reds and golds and dark green; a strangely glowing dark green that seemed to match exactly his dark-lashed eyes. Animal eyes, Alexa thought inconsequentially. Like some she had seen glowing out at her from the dark in the sudden flare of a campfire. And there was something dangerous and almost barbaric about him that she could sense without quite understanding why or how at first: that sun browned face that was as dark as that of any native, with curly black sideburns sweeping down rakishly from temple to jaw line and serving only to emphasize the harsh planes of his face. Even though he wore an air of easy assurance and civilization he was—in some strangely indefinable way— different. Like a primitive tribal warlord of ancient times who had chosen to masquerade in modern clothing; at least, for as long as it suited him.

Alexa discovered almost immediately that she did not like him, and that she especially hated the insolent way in which he looked her over without seeming to. She could almost feel his eyes on her mouth, her bosom, her... And now, unfortunately, she could not help the flush that colored her cheekbones while she thought angrily that the man was obviously a cad, and she was amazed that Lord Charles would associate with such a person.

It was all Alexa could do to keep up an appearance at least of being poised and unconcerned while the Viscount Deering proceeded to introduce her and her aunt to his several-times-removed cousin Nicholas. De la Guerra. Puzzlingly, a Spanish surname, although it was the mother who had been Spanish, according to Lord Charles. Not that it mattered to her—she only knew what her senses felt and wondered why her hands suddenly felt so cold and clammy, while she wished at the same time that he would walk away instead of continuing to watch her—for all the world like a leopard eying its prey.

“The Misses Howard live on a large coffee plantation in the central, mountainous part of Ceylon where it gets quite cool at certain times of the year, so I understand.”

“But I suppose that Colombo, in spite of the heat and humidity, must have its compensations. Do you visit here often, Miss Howard?”

Suddenly, Alexa found herself clenching her hands under the folds of her skirt, her first stirrings of disquiet growing into ugly suspicion that kept expanding and expanding. His voice, with an edge of cynicism underlining each overtly polite word... She had the feeling she had heard it before. That... Oh, please God, no!

“No!” Alexa said the word aloud without meaning to, and far too abruptly, judging from the Viscount’s rather startled glance. “That is—” she amended quickly “—we do not visit Colombo often at all. Do we, Aunt Harriet? This time it was only because... Of course it is so kind of the Governor and Mrs. Mackenzie...”

What on earth was wro

ng with the girl? Harriet thought irritably. She had behaved so well and with such poise all evening; and now, all of a sudden, she had begun to stutter like a schoolgirl. It had to be the champagne she had indulged in.

“We arrived only yesterday,” Harriet interposed smoothly before Alexa could say another word. “And it is really such a long and tiring journey—especially since we had to be up well before dawn. My poor niece was so worn out by the time we arrived that I had to send her directly to bed.”

“Why, we arrived only yesterday too!” Lord Charles exclaimed.

“However, since Colombo Roadstead is best approached in daylight we were forced to drop anchor some distance out to sea. Quite frustrating, in a way, since we were close enough to see the lights and even to make out which belonged to the Governor’s mansion, with the aid of a glass. In fact, if either of you ladies had happened to be wakeful enough to take a moonlight stroll last night I am certain you would have noticed our riding lights.”

As she listened to that slightly drawling voice Alexa had begun to feel slightly nauseated. How...oh, but how unspeakably low and vile he was! He wanted her to know that he recognized her, of course. Like the predatory jungle feline he had reminded her of from the first, he wanted her to suffer the torture of anticipation while he continued to play his cruel game with her. Perhaps he hoped to see her crumble before him, losing her poise, her pride and her courage.

“I am afraid that both my niece and I must have been already sound asleep by the time the moon was up.” Thank God for Aunt Harry! “In fact Alexa slept so late into the day that she missed both breakfast and lunch before I decided to wake her,” Harriet continued.

With a grateful smile for Lord Charles that excluded her tormentor, Alexa had begun to take tiny nibbles from the mountains of food that had been set before her. Fresh pineapple, mango and papaya topped with thick cream had always tasted delicious before; but now she hardly tasted anything at all; eating only because it saved her from having to engage in conversation or look in his direction. What a detestable, despicable man he was, this “Cousin” Nicholas that Lord Charles seemed to admire so much. It was quite apparent, for all his surface playacting, that he was by no means a gentleman and was obviously unused to dealings with ladies. A gentleman would have acted as if nothing had happened—and of course, thanks to her, nothing had taken place between them, Alexa reminded herself. She had sent him away, hadn’t she? And had decided to forget everything that had happened last night, had quite succeeded in doing so, until now. Why didn’t he go away? Or—a thought alarming enough to cause her heart to pound—what did he hope to achieve by playing cat-and-mouse with her?

“Is everything to your satisfaction, Miss Howard?”

Lifting her head, with a mixture of defiance and bravado arming her, Alexa managed to produce a brilliant smile for Lord Charles. “It was exactly what I had been craving all evening, and I do thank you for your kindness and consideration.”

He sent her a relieved smile in return. She had been so silent for the past few minutes that he had begun to wonder uncomfortably whether she had been offended in some way, perhaps by his introducing his cousin without first requesting permission to do so. And then, of course, Nicholas tended to be rather overwhelming when one met him for the first time. Sheltered young ladies especially could not be used to the kind of man who disdained what he referred to as “silly parlor games”; usually with a dangerous glint in those strange eyes of his that boded no good. But on this occasion Nicholas had laughingly promised to either behave himself or take himself off as soon as he felt it a strain to do so. To sheathe his claws, in fact.

“You.won’t use that certain tone of voice on her, will you? She’s quite young and has been very sheltered. Never even been home to England, so I understand, even though she was born there. And this is her first ball—celebrating her eighteenth birthday, Mrs. Mackenzie told me. She’s really quite different, you know.”

“My dear Charles! Why on earth should I take the trouble, to—sink my claws in her, did you say? Into some guileless little thing who probably won’t even recognize sarcasm if it’s directed at her? Believe me, I don’t bother to waste my time on giggling young innocents. I’ve lived long enough to discover that only women present a challenge worth taking up.”