Surrender to Love

She heard a harsh masculine voice she recognized all too well snarling oaths in Spanish and English and French as he demanded in turn where in hell his damned clothes were and why he was the only man who could stop Newbury from insanity? Newbury? Blinking her eyes determinedly, Alexa said in a sleep-fogged voice: “What on earth is happening and why is everyone making so much noise?‘” She wondered rather indignantly why he was already up and half-dressed when she was not and why he gave her such a darkly brooding, almost hateful kind of look before he ordered her to go back to sleep and wait for him because he had not finished with her yet, by any means!

“And let me remind you again that if you’re foolish enough to try leaping out of bed in your usual impetuous fashion, you’ll probably cut your feet badly enough to bleed to death!”

“But, Orlanda? Didn’t I hear you say...”

Adding to her growing feelings of frustration and rage, Alexa saw that even Orlanda, whom she had considered a Mend and ally up to now, was acting as if she did not even exist. In fact, she was holding the door open in what appeared to be a veritable frenzy of impatience while she cried out, “For God’s sake! Even now it might be too late!” And then the door slammed heavily behind them, and Alexa found herself alone in the Chamber of True Dreams with only a man’s dragon-embroidered Chinese robe and an unfamiliar ache and stickiness between her thighs to remind her of the reality of what had taken place and how easily he had managed to turn the tables on her in spite of all her careful planning.

It was only because he had been unscrupulous enough to use the advantage of his superior physical strength that he had managed to... No! She would not think of it yet; nor would she lie here on these silk sheets that were disgustingly stained now with her own blood. Go back to sleep and wait for him indeed! And what else had he

had the audacity to add? He wasn’t finished with her, indeed! Just as if she’d been some common prostitute he’d paid in advance for services he did not consider fully rendered yet! Well, she would make sure he received an unpleasant shock when he returned to an empty smoke-filled room, an empty blood-stained bed, and—an Accounting for the night which would include the extra charge that was normally asked for a virgin.

If she had dared stay longer, how much she would have enjoyed doing so, if only in order to see his face when he received it! But the sky had already begun to turn pink and all the usual early morning clattering and creaking of farmers delivering their produce and tradesmen preparing to open their businesses had already begun, making Alexa feel relieved that she had thought to arrive at the Temple of Venus in one of the plainest unmarked carriages owned by her friends. And even so she was still running the risk of being seen and recognized in spite of her hat and veil— arriving at the villa at this hour of the morning. How Bridget would scold and shake her head dolefully; but perhaps there would be no one else awake to see her—and Perdita had already assured her that both the coachman and footman were perfectly discreet.

In fact, they drove the small, closed carriage directly to the stables, from where a narrow, covered passageway led directly to one of the private side doors into the house. And Alexa had been given a key to that door....

Within a very few minutes now she would be safely in her room, ordering her poor Bridget to draw her a hot bath in the sunken marble tub. And then she would allow herself to think about everything and to remember... particularly those half-heard words and phrases that still continued to nag at her mind. Had Nicholas’s abrupt departure, only half-dressed, and Orlanda’s unmistakable agitation, really anything to do with the Marquess of Newbury? And if so... Ah, it was easier to concentrate on some thoughts rather than others.

Impatiently, Alexa felt the key turn silently in the lock before she pushed the door open, sighing with relief once she was through it and at the foot of the winding stone stairway that would take her to her chambers. The last person she had expected to find sitting there with her apron held up to her face was Bridget, who should have been waiting in her room instead.

“Oh...my lady, if you could only know how hard I’ve been praying and how many Rosaries I’ve said already! Ah, thank God you’re here at last before the rest of them have had the time to start wondering. It was the Duchess herself who told me I’d best wait here for you and...and...be the first one to tell you.”

Alexa did not need the evidence of Bridget’s swollen eyes and blotched face nor the renewed sobbing she broke into now to tell her what had happened, and she need not have said aloud what her mind already knew. “It’s... Sir John, isn’t it? When?” Alexa heard her own voice, and it sounded flatly devoid of feeling; but she had reached out blindly for the support that the roughly mortared wall afforded her as she leaned against it.

Words. “Oh, ma’am, it was in his sleep and God’s mercy to take him that way without any pain. It was Mr. Bowles who noticed first, when it was time for his medicine...”

More words, but they barely glanced off the surface of Alexa’s mind, already beginning to spin in an inescapable vortex of grief and guilt and self-hate. “Alexa, darling, you must think only of his release. It would have made no difference, you know, whether you had been here or not.”

“Ah yes, and you must also think that he would not have wanted you to grieve or to feel this... Ah, this quite ridiculous state of blaming one’s self—and for why? It is not what your husband he try to teach you, eh?”

They were all so kind to her! Bridget, Perdita, Giusto. And even Orlanda, when she heard. Business matters, they all reminded her. She must not forget that she was now in total control of an enormous fortune and would be one of the richest women in England when she finally arrived there. “Ah, my love, think how you are going to take all of London by storm! Once you are discovered by society you will find yourself positively deluged by invitations to every fashionable gathering.” Perdita gave a nostalgic sigh before she brightened up enough to begin describing the London of her day, before everyone had become so stuffy and conventional; when the threat of Boney across the channel had only heightened one’s pleasure in living each day to the fullest possible extent. “Oh yes, you will love London once you’ve grown used to the weather. It is the greatest city in the whole world now, as everyone agrees.”

The London that was eulogized by all its foreign visitors as being the greatest city in the whole world was indeed filled with all kinds of wonders and opportunities for those who had enough money to spend. There were the fashionable shops of Regent Street, Burlington Arcade and Bond Street to tempt even those with the most fastidious tastes, and the magnificently laid out parks where even citizens of modest means could stroll about and watch the beau monde as they rode by on their blooded thoroughbreds or their carriages with gold-crested doors. All the major thoroughfares were illuminated by gaslight after dark; and from the great houses of Belgravia and St. James’s crystal chandeliers spilled their brilliance through open windows and doorways as carriage after carriage drew up before them to discharge fashionably dressed gentlemen, wearing dashing velvet-collared capes and silk top hats, and elegantly gowned and bejeweled ladies wearing gold and silver ornaments in their hair.

This was London during the season, where those fortunate enough to possess titles in addition to wealth could keep themselves occupied both day and night with the pursuit of any kind of pleasure or excitement they might desire; and to young men fortunate enough to have large allowances to spend, such as the twin Viscounts Selby and Rowell, nothing could be more enjoyable than a London season, with so many entertainments to choose from. When one grew tired of the endless balls and receptions there was always the theater or the opera house, where all the Cyprians were to be observed, after which they could always visit Madame Olivier’s or Mott’s or Kate Hamilton’s for what they always referred to laughingly as a “nightcap.” But on this particularly warm and sunny afternoon, when they had already visited their hatter and their tailor before going to Hyde Park to watch the pretty horsebreakers show their mettle along Rotten Row, they had decided that nothing would taste better than the cream fruit ices sold at Gunter’s, in Berkeley Square, where they were always certain to encounter several friends and acquaintances, not to mention relatives.

“Trouble with being related to half of London is meeting them everywhere,” Selby said rather gloomily when he recognized the occupants of one of the open carriages stopped under the shade of some trees on the opposite side of the square.

“Worse when they happen to be sister Iris and her brood and you know they’ll expect us to escort them back,” his brother said just as gloomily as they rode over to join the ladies, who had seen them and waved. “Know too that Helen isn’t finished questioning us about Rome and about Embry. Pity him in a way if the match does come off. Cold as a cucumber, our little niece!”

Cold or not, there was no question but that Lady Helen Dameron was indeed a beauty. Her hair was not merely blonde but gold, and her eyes were a pansy-blue. Her nose was straight, her mouth the perfect cupid’s bow, her features cameo-perfect, as if they had been carved by a master sculptor from white and rose marble. And in addition to being a beauty at barely sixteen years of age, Lady Helen possessed the poise and self-possession of a mature woman, sometimes succeeding in rather overawing even her uncles.

For the past five minutes, however, Lady Helen had felt her poise slipping as her annoying twin uncles had neglected her completely to engage in some silly mumbled argument that took up so much of their concentration that they seemed not to hear any of the questions she asked them. She was not used to being ignored by any man, even if they happened to be relatives, and her cheeks became quite flushed with anger, causing her mother to ask anxiously if she was sure she was feeling quite well. “You cannot miss the grand ball at Stafford House, my love, for it is to be the social event of the season. And even your father has promised to attend with us.” Lady Iris ended on a distracted note as she wondered if her formidable mother-in-law might decide to go too, which would mean having to take a second carriage, unless Newbury decided, as he sometimes did, to drive himself, so that he could go out afterwards with some of his political acquaintances; and in that case of course he would sleep at his club and...

“Mama! Here’s the waiter we sent for. May I have a strawberry-flavored ice this time, please?”

“Oh of course, dear, of course!” Thankfully brought back to reality, Lady Iris beamed at her second daughter Ianthe, who took after her in personality as well as looks; whereas Helen was growing to be more and more like her grandmother the Dowager Marchioness and was just as determined to have her way. Sometimes Helen’s hardness worried Lady Iris a little, but she had long ago given up trying to change anything about her oldest daughter.

“I have only asked you the same question four times already!”

Since no one, not even her mother, had ever heard such a shrill note in Lady Helen’s usually soft and well modulated voice, it was no wonder that they all looked at her in surprise, even the two Viscounts who had caused such loss of self-control.

“I only asked,” Helen said in a softer and more controlled voice, “whether Embry is back from the country yet?” Her exquisite nose actually wrinkled slightly when she made a small moue of distaste. “I really cannot understand why he was not told by any of his friends that no one goes down to their country houses until it is past August and the season is over.”

The twins exchanged meaningful glances before the Viscount Selby, who was usually their spokesman, said rather stiffly: “Think we didn’t tell him? Deering too. Even Papa! Only raised that infernal eyebrow and told us he was going to look at horses. Didn’t say exactly when he’d be back, I’m afraid.”

“But if it was only for horses... Why, they have the best blooded stock at the Baker Street Bazaar in Marylebone, I’ve heard—even from you!”