Regency Desire: Mistress to the Marquis / Dicing with the Dangerous Lord

‘Let him go, Razeby. I think he’s drunk.’

She saw the snarl on Razeby’s lip. ‘Stay away from her, Quigley,’ he hissed.

Quigley nodded, his face powder white. ‘Message understood, my lord.’

Only then did Razeby release his grip on the man.

Quigley picked up his hat, which had been knocked off in the process of being slammed face first into the wall, and disappeared through the door.

Alice did not move and neither did Razeby. They stared across the few feet that separated them. Her heart was thudding hard enough to break free of her ribcage. Her blood was rushing so fast she thought she might faint. But neither were because of Quigley.

‘Are you all right, Alice?’ His voice was quiet, but intense and loaded.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

He moved slowly to stand in front of her, his eyes raking hers. ‘He did not hurt you?’

‘No.’ She shook her head.

And all of the tension that was roaring between them had nothing to do with Quigley.

Their gazes were locked, unable to look away. Inside she was trembling so much she feared it would show.

‘I am glad of that.’ He reached his hand to hers and took hold of it, his fingers surrounding hers with warmth and strength and gentleness. ‘You are shaking.’

‘It’s cold in here,’ she lied.

He slipped off his tailcoat and wrapped it around her shoulders.

The scent of him enveloped her, bringing with it too many memories, too many conflicting emotions that warred and struggled within her chest.

‘No!’ She pulled his coat from her shoulders and thrust it back into his hands.

The silence hissed between them, the tension winding tighter.

And still she could not look away. And neither could he.

Their eyes held, conveying so many words, none of which could be spoken.

Her heart was thudding so hard she could feel each beat reverberate through her body. A shiver rippled down her spine and tingled across her skin. She was breathing faster now, more shallow, not knowing how much longer she could keep herself together.

He looked at her for a moment longer. Then he drew her a small incline of his head and walked away.

Through the open door she watched him pass the two young ladies who were poised on the brink of entering the withdrawing room.

‘Ladies,’ she heard him say politely as he calmly walked past them.

The two girls were giggling and gaping as they entered the withdrawing room. But they fell silent when they saw her standing there, their eyes growing wide with shock and speculation.

Alice held her head up, flicked some imaginary dust from her skirt, then sauntered out with all the dignity of a duchess, as if she did not give a damn that she had just been caught with Razeby in the ladies’ withdrawing room.

When Razeby came back into the drawing room Quigley’s chair was empty. Razeby returned to take his seat by Miss Althrope’s side, who was far too well bred to comment upon a gentleman’s absence. Whether she had noticed Alice leave he neither knew nor cared.

His blood was still pounding from the sight of her, his mind still focused and intent—with lethality towards Quigley and something else altogether for Alice. He could feel her in every beat of his heart.

It was not supposed to be like this. He was not supposed to feel like this. He knew that, but sitting there with Miss Althrope by his side, his eyes half on Madame Catalani, half on the door waiting for Alice to return, he did, and there was not a damn thing he could do to change it.

At last Alice slipped into the room, resuming her place beside Kemble once more. She did not so much as glance his way. Just sat there seemingly quietly intent upon Madame Catalani’s performance. But she did not need to look at him. He was so damned aware of her that Madame Catalani could have missed every single note and he would not have noticed. He could feel the sense of Alice thudding through his chest, feel the knowledge of what was between them in his blood and in his bones. He stared straight ahead, as if watching the soprano, but he was watching Alice for every minute of that concert. And he could not look away.

Chapter Twelve (#ue4f0f10f-a38d-5358-aa6e-4787ba8a1f26)

Alice did not know how she got through the rest of that musicale. Her hands were still trembling when she got home. She told herself it was because of Quigley, but she knew it was not.

It was wrong on so many levels. Razeby had rid himself of her without the slightest regard for her feelings. What had been between them was nothing more than sex. He was actively searching for a woman to marry. And yet this afternoon in that ladies’ room made her think she had got it all wrong. It was preposterous. Downright ridiculous. But that look in his eyes, filled with meaning, piercing, as if he could see right through to her very soul. As if he felt, really felt, the same as her. The whole experience had shaken her more than she wanted to admit, stripping all her denials away for the flimsy pretences they were.

And that realisation made her feel weak and out of control and afraid. Afraid that the mask was in danger of slipping, the threat of all that lay beneath exposed to the world.

Never let them see how much they hurt you.

The mantra came easily to her lips. She knew it by heart and had said it to herself a thousand times since that night with Razeby. And yet now she was panicking, gathering her armour around her all the tighter. Telling herself that she had been mistaken in what she felt and what she thought she had seen in his eyes.

He had taken all she had to give, used it and discarded it. She could never allow herself to forget. All she had left was her pride. She would not let him take that. She could not let him take that. She had no choice but to carry on.

‘So, how was Madame Catalani the other day?’ Venetia took a small sip of coffee and glanced across to where Alice sat on the sofa in Mercer Street.

‘She’s got a wonderful voice on her. Magical almost.’ So magical that it could make a woman betray herself and imagine things.

‘I heard Razeby was there, too.’

‘Was he?’ She tried to sound vague, but she could not meet Venetia’s eye.

‘Alice,’ Venetia said softly, ‘there is a rumour going around, about you and Razeby, at the musicale.’

‘There are always rumours,’ Alice said flippantly.

Venetia said nothing, just held her eyes, looking at her, knowing she was lying.

Alice closed her eyes and gave a sigh. ‘It wasn’t like that.’

‘What was it like?’

‘It was Quigley. He followed me into the ladies’. You know what he’s like.’

‘A lecherous old toad.’

‘He made a pass at me. He’s got a strength in him that you wouldn’t credit, Venetia. I thought he was just an old man. I never thought that he’d actually use force.’

Venetia paled. There was a look of horror in her pale eyes, even though she was trying to hide it and her voice when she spoke was calm. ‘Did he… hurt… you, Alice?’