A Gentleman's Honor (Bastion Club 2)

Thus far she’d avoided any declaration, thereby avoiding having outright to refuse it. Given her masquerade, she didn’t want to risk an overt dismissal, didn’t want to draw any attention her way; the most she dared do was behave coolly.

Ruskin’s pale gaze had been traveling her face; it rose to trap hers. “If you would grant me the favor of a few minutes in private, my dear, I would be grateful.”

He still held her fingers; keeping her expression noncommittal, she eased her hand free and used it to gesture to Adriana. “I’m afraid, sir, that with my sister in my care, I really cannot—”

“Ah.” Ruskin sent a glance Adriana’s way, a comprehensive survey taking in the besotted lordlings and gentlemen gathered around her, and Miss Tiverton, whom Adriana had taken under her wing, thereby earning Lady Hertford’s undying gratitude. “What I have to say will, I daresay, have some impact on your sister.”

Looking back at Alicia, Ruskin met her eyes; his smile remained easy, a gentleman confident of his ground. “However, your concern is… understandable.”

His gaze lifted; he scanned the room, filled with the fashionable. Lady Amery’s soirée had attracted the cream of the ton; they were present in force, talking, exchanging the latest on-dits, exclaiming over the latest juicy scandal.

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“Perhaps we could repair to the side of the room?” Ruskin brought his gaze back to her face. “With this noise, no one will hear us; we’ll be able to talk, and you’ll be able to keep your ravishingly lovely young sister safe… and in view.”

Steel rang beneath his words; Alicia dismissed any thought of refusing him. Inclining her head, feigning serene indifference, she laid her fingers on his sleeve and allowed him to steer her through the crowd.

What unwelcome challenge was she about to face?

Behind her calm facade, her heart beat faster; her lungs felt tight. Had she imagined the threat in his tone?

An alcove behind a chaise filled with dowagers provided a small oasis of relative privacy. As Ruskin had said, she could still see Adriana and her court clearly. If they kept their voices low, not even the dowagers, heads close swapping scandal, would overhear.

Ruskin stood beside her, calmly looking out over the crowd. “I would suggest, my dear, that you hear me out—hear all I have to say—before making any reply.”

She glanced briefly at him, then stiffly inclined her head. Lifting her fingers from his sleeve, she gripped her fan.

“I think…” Ruskin paused, then continued, “I should mention that my home lies not far from Bledington—ah, yes! I see you understand.”

Alicia struggled to mask her shock. Bledington lay southwest of the market town of Chipping Norton; Little Compton, their village, lay to the northwest—as the crow flew there could be no more than eight miles between Little Compton and Bledington.

But Ruskin and she had never met in the country. Her family had lived a circumscribed existence, until recently never venturing beyond Chipping Norton. In embarking on her masquerade, she’d been certain no one in London would know her.

Ruskin guessed her thoughts. “We never met in the country, but I saw you and your sister when I was home last Christmas. The pair of you were crossing the market square.”

She glanced up.

He caught her eye, and smiled wolfishly. “I determined, then, to have you.”

Involuntarily, her eyes widened.

His smile turned self-deprecatory. “Indeed—quite romantic.” He looked back at the crowd. “I asked and was told your name—Miss Alicia Pevensey.”

He paused, then shrugged. “If you hadn’t appeared in London, no doubt nothing would have come of it. But you did appear, a few months later—as a widow of more than a year’s standing. I wasn’t fooled for a moment, but I comprehended your need of the ruse, and appreciated your courage in implementing it. It was a bold move, but one with every chance of success. I saw no reason to do other than wish you well. As my admiration for your astuteness grew, my interest in you on a personal level firmed.

“However”—his voice hardened—“when I offered you my protection, you refused. On reflection, I decided to do the honorable thing and offer for your hand. Again, however, you turned up your nose—quite why I have no notion. You seem uninterested in attaching a husband, solely concerned with watching over your sister as she makes her choice. Presumably, given you transparently have no need of funds, you’ve determined to make your own decision in your own time.”

His gaze returned to her face. “I would suggest, my dear Mrs. Carrington, that your time has run out.”

Alicia fought down the faintness, the giddiness that threatened; the room seemed to be whirling. She drew a slow breath, then asked, her tone commendably even, “What, precisely, do you mean?”

His expression remained intent. “I mean that your performance as a hoity widow in dismissing my suit was so convincing I checked my information. Today, I received a letter from old Dr. Lange. He assures me that the Pevensey sisters—both Pevensey sisters—remain unwed.”

The room gyrated, heaved, then abruptly stopped.

Disaster stared her in the face.

“Indeed.” Ruskin’s predatory smile dawned, yet his self-deprecation remained. “But fear not—having concluded that marrying you would be an excellent notion, nothing I’ve learned has changed my mind.”