Surrender to Love

Trailed by one of Madame Louise’s errand boys who was loaded down by hatboxes, Alexa found her steps becoming slower as she wondered if all the little millinery boutiques had private rooms upstairs for daytime use by those who needed a certain kind of privacy and could afford to pay for it. Private. Secret. How many secrets were really secrets? Pausing in front of one particular shop window that displayed rather daring books published in France, Alexa smiled to herself, wondering if every woman who visited the little millinery stores wondered about the others there. Perhaps whoever might have followed her to Milady’s would wonder too if she had gone there for new bonnets or to meet a lover. About to move on, Alexa suddenly caught sight of the novel Lelia by George Sand, which she had not been able to find before. Ignoring the looks she received from two dowagers who happened to be passing, Alexa commanded the patient boy to wait for her and stepped boldly into the store, which was frequented almost entirely by men, only to be sorry she had done so a few moments later when she saw who was there. “Speak of the devil...” The old saying suddenly filled her mind as she inclined her head slightly before giving her attention to the clerk behind the counter and telling him exactly which book she had come to purchase in a brisk, matter-of-fact voice.

“Fashionable bonnets and French novels. A creature of opposites. Are you quite recovered from your cold?”

“Lord Embry! How very kind of you to inquire!” Having given him a forced smile that matched the tone of her voice, Alexa was happy of the chance to turn back to the clerk. “Thank you. That is exactly the book I am looking for. If you would be kind enough to inform me of the cost...?” She might have known, Alexa thought bitterly in the next instant, that he would not allow her to escape him so easily.

With a manner of easy familiarity that made her grit her teeth with rage, he reached across the counter to pick up her book and study it with a tilt of one dark brow. “George Sand? Surely you cannot be one of her followers? Somehow, I would have imagined that you would prefer a different type of novel.”

“Indeed, my lord? I can only hope that your imagination did not picture me enthralled by the novels of Mrs. Gore, for instance. But then, there’s no accounting for the tastes of different individuals, is there?” Alexa could only hope that both her voice and her attitude conveyed nothing more than cold indifference to his opinions, even while she wondered if he meant to continue fencing with her. To her relief, however, he tossed the book down on the counter with an irritatingly casual shrug before observing that if there was one thing he had learned it was that a gentleman never attempted to argue with a lady. She had not quite liked the unnecessary emphasis he had given that last word, and her brows drew together loweringly while she hunted for some suitable cutting retort; but at that moment a rotund little man emerged from some dusty corner bearing a large parcel that was neatly done up with brown paper and string and ornamented by several large red blobs of sealing wax.

“It’s the books his Lordship the Marquess ordered last month, my lord—the rare editions. I hesitate to send them over in view of their value, my lord, but he did tell me most specifically that he wished to have them at once—in fact, the very day they arrived! So when I learned that Lord Embry was here I thought I might dare take the liberty of inquiring... That is...”

Happy that Embry’s attention was directed elsewhere for a change, Alexa made haste to complete her purchase, wishing that the clerk who waited on her had not insisted almost indignantly that milady could not possibly walk out of the store with a book that was not nicely done up with paper and string. It was a rule and he had to abide by it or lose the position he had held for the past five years. And after all that, he was snail-slow into the bargain, and Alexa’s foot began to tap angrily as she kept her eyes fixed in the direction of the door she longed to go through, pretending she could not overhear the conversation between Embry and that funny, gnomelike little man.

“To save you any further embarrassed stutters and apologies, Milliken, I’ll take the damn books along with me and make sure that they are delivered to the Marquess and none other. And for God’s sake spare me your thanks as well! I wouldn’t do it unless it was convenient, as you well know.”

“Ah, your Lordship is too kind, too condescending. And I also meant to ask, of course, if your Lordship found everything that your Lordship was looking for upstairs? All was to your satisfaction? If there is any—urn—particular edition your Lordship might wish me to find, in any language, I am sure I shall be able to oblige.”

What an oddly obscure kind of speech that had been, Alexa thought as she almost snatched up the small package the clerk handed to her grudgingly and made purposefully for the door. Not that it interested her in the least, even when Embry had deliberately lowered his voice before replying and there had been some talk of money paid by the month or every quarter. Not for books, surely? She could not see Nicholas of all people as a collector of rare editions.

“Do you happen to have your carriage waiting?” Alexa had been so occupied with her thoughts that to hear his voice at her side startled her into a gasp before she recovered sufficiently to shoot him a coldly suspicious look, which he returned with a bland smile she found quite unusual for hint, unless of course he had some devious objective in mind.

“If you meant to be kind enough to offer me conveyance back home, my lord, I must thank you for your consideration, but I did travel here in my own carriage, which is just...”

“What a stroke of luck! I hadn’t realized how infernally heavy books can be, and I left my horse stabled several streets away. I was wondering in fact if you might not mind taking me in your carriage? You could set me down in Belgrave Square if that is the most convenient for you, for I had planned to call on Belle-Mere in any case. Ah, Lady Acton! Always a pleasure. And you’ve met Lady Travers, of course?”

Alexa had no chance to say anything at all in reply to his aggravatingly impudent speech before they had come face to face with one of the worst gossips that Lady Margery had warned her against, one of the bulging-eyed matrons, in fact, who had caught her standing alone with Newbury in the corridor. Trailed by her two younger children and their subdued-looking governess, Lady Acton gave Alexa a smile that reminded her of a crocodile, while her sharp brown eyes went curiously from Embry to Alexa and back again. And since she had halted, they had no choice but to do the same as Lady Acton said archly: “Ah! Been shopping, I see! But you must not worry—I will not ask for what and for whom. And I am so happy to see Lady Travers quite recovered from her cold. My dear, we have all worried about you, you know, and have missed seeing you riding in the Row. Shall we see you at the ball for dear Helen? But how silly of me to ask. Of course you will be there! Such suspense!” Lady Acton gave an exaggerated sigh before she moved her gimlet gaze from Alexa’s face to her companion’s. “I imagine that everyone is wondering the same thing. Will that particular night be the exciting occasion when a certain announcement we have all been waiting for is made at last? Such a lovely, well-mannered girl, and such a perfect choice. Even Acton said so, and he does not usually comment. Don’t you agree with me, Lady Travers?”

“Oh yes! I’ve said the same thing myself, dear Lady Acton. The perfect choice, the perfect match!” Ignoring Lady Acton’s rather startled look, Alexa managed a guileless smile and widened her eyes before she added confidingly, “But you know how slow men can be sometimes!”

“And I suppose that was meant to be another of your subtle feminine reprimands, my sweet Alexa?” Before she could recover or utter any protest, Alexa felt her arm taken and gripped in a manner mat warned her against her first instinctive impulse to wrench it away. Then Nicholas Dameron said in the same lazy drawl: “I’m sure it is safe to confide in as discreet a friend as you are, Lady Acton, that Lady Travers has been taking full advantage of being my close friend and confidante to subject me to almost daily sermons and advice on the very same topic.” Even Lady Acton, her mouth slightly open, seemed incapable of speech for once as he continued

with smooth hypocrisy that made Alexa take a deep breath of barely suppressed fury: “Ah, I had been hoping to find an ally in you at least, but since I find myself outnumbered by all you ladies who have decided I must become affianced very soon to a paragon of all the feminine virtues, how can a mere male argue? I can only hope that I will not disappoint your expectations!”

The hypocritical, despicable bastard! Searching in her mind for words, Alexa could find none that were sufficiently descriptive enough as she was forced, by the warning pressure of his fingers biting into the soft flesh of her arm, to stand there at his side with an artificial smile pasted onto her face while she heard him say that he was sure Lady Acton would excuse them both for the moment—he had promised to deliver Lady Travers and her new bonnets to Belgrave Square within the hour.

By the time he had handed her with a falsely overdone politeness into her carriage and had joined her in it, Alexa could feel herself almost bursting with pent-up fury. If not for convention, if not for the throngs of people in Burlington Arcade, if not for the presence of her coachman and footman when they had found her carriage, why, she would have told him to find himself a hansom or to walk, for all she cared! And the memory of Lady Acton’s face as they had walked away... Oh God! How could he have said what he did? Lady Acton—one of the worst gossips in town!

No sooner had they started off than she turned on him like one of the Furies, her voice positively trembling with the force of her righteous anger. “Do you have any idea of what you said? Of what she might have thought, for God’s sake? Lady Acton is... That look on her face when you said in that particular tone of voice... Do you know that you must be mad? Do you realize what you might have... What your fiancée might... What... That look! She was quite speechless! Her...” While attempting to control herself, Alexa caught Lord Embry’s squinted look and wicked, almost little-boy grin by some mischance and broke into laughter, totally incapable of further speech. Each time she started to recover, the memory of that particular look on poor Lady Acton’s face was enough to send her into more fits of hysterical laughter, until, inevitably, she could hardly breathe and tears streamed down her face.

Whenever she laughed too hard, Alexa would always develop the hiccups, and it was impossible to try to act dignified when one had the hiccups! It was the only reason, of course, for her not being able to either protest or wrest herself away when she suddenly became aware that Lord Embry was no longer sitting opposite her in the carriage but beside her instead, and worse still, was holding her in his arms with a degree of familiarity that was quite uncalled for.

In broad daylight on Regent Street with all the usual traffic that crowded it! If she could only fall into a swoon as easily and conveniently as some women seemed able to, Alexa would have done so with relief. Having driven her into hysterics, he could at least have shown enough consideration to draw the curtains over the carriage windows. But no. And by this evening not only Lady Acton but the rest of fashionable society would doubtless be buzzing with rumor and speculation and outright gossip. Unbearable! Especially since he did not seem at all concerned, Alexa thought angrily as she made a belated attempt to free herself, protesting in choked whispers.

“There was no need—to take advantage of... Stop!”

“You would have fallen off your seat if I had not kept you from doing so, you stubborn, silly... And since all I am attempting to do is dry your face with my last clean handkerchief—dammit!—you might as well stop gasping like a beached fish and keep still; do you hear me?” His voice was as grimly uncompromising as the ruthless manner in which he scrubbed at Alexa’s face until her cheeks felt sore, and she almost cried again from sheer frustration and rage.

“A... a beached... How dare you! And I wasn‘ t gasping, I was... Stop it, before you take all the skin off my face, you brute! Ohh...!” Alexa’s voice had risen to a wail of exasperation when she became suddenly aware of the interested looks they were receiving from another carriage that had come up alongside hers. Not only the twin Viscounts Selby and Rowell but their formidable mother the Duchess—her lorgnette raised—and their two younger nieces Ianthe and Philippa as well. Helen’s sisters who were also her half sisters Alexa thought, and almost began to laugh uncontrollably again at the looks on all of their faces.

She must have made some choked sound in her throat as her dilating eyes went back to meet Lord Embry’s narrowed regard once more, for he said in a casually interested tone of voice, “Are you often subject to, er—strange fits of this nature? And is there any known cure for them?” But there was nothing either casual or even civilized about the way the green of his eyes seemed to darken as they dwelt upon her mouth; nor about the way his fingers tilted up her chin just before he kissed her, giving her no chance to speak or to resist as the arm that had been about her waist tightened so savagely as to almost cut off her breath.

“I say, what a collection of new bonnets and boots! There, on the other side of the street? Did you notice, Mama?” Roger, Viscount Selby, was as usual a little quicker in recovering his wits than his brother Myles. But unfortunately his youngest niece Philippa was not only observant but possessed of a particularly piercing voice as well, almost drowning out his attempt at being tactful.

“Isn’t that Embry? But I thought he was supposed to marry Helen and that was why Belle-Mere is giving a ball—to announce their engagement!”

“Of course it isn’t Embry!” Myles said in a pooh-poohing kind of voice that immediately made Philippa glare at him balefully before he added pacifically, “Don’t you want to see all the new things in the shop windows, Pippa? You said you did earlier, y’know.”

His heart sank, however, when his mother raised her lorgnette before saying in her most forbidding tones, “That is Lady Travers—I am positive of that much at least, for one cannot mistake her hair! But as to the other person who is with her, one cannot quite...”