"What of Hallerton?"
"No."
"Huzzah, my darling," he whispered. "And I presume that means you would not leave me to Eliza Kent?"
"Absolutely not!"
"Thank god." He urged her close and seized her mouth. She opened for him, all that he was, heroic, charming, wounded, and she reveled in his claim of her lips and tongue.
This was madness and temptation. She pushed at his chest. "I cannot have you."
He turned stiff, cold. This man, so strong, so adamant was a fierce stranger. Fired in battle, forged by injury, he loomed over her. "You can. I did not spend the last ten years of my life outsmarting my enemies not to find a way to gain the one prize I desire most."
She gave him her own resolve. "I won't ruin you."
"You can't. Do you know why?"
She shook her head.
"You love me."
"You must go."
He straightened his frock coat and shot his cuffs. Running one hand through his disheveled hair, he stepped back. "I will hear you say it. Before this damned party is done. I swear you will be mine."
* * *
The next morning at eleven, Alastair stepped out onto the front portico of the house, took one glance of Bee talking with Carlson and revisited the subject he'd pondered through his sleepless night. How to prove to her she could not ruin him?
Hell.He cursed beneath his breath and cast about the frozen landscape for some serenity. Truth was, ironic as it seemed, he might damn well ruin her! His brain did not work well. Not when he was sad or angry. And he was both since coming here, his hope to marry her fled like a feather on the wind. And if he allowed his anger to possess him, he could make a nasty scene and shame her. Not anything he wished to do. Ever.
He buttoned his new superfine cape against the winter chill and joined twelve other house guests who milled about on the pebbled court. They awaited their turn to pile into the manor carriages that one-by-one drew up to the door. Their mission was to cut fresh greenery to bring home to decorate the dining room.
Bee with Carlson was ordering the line of carriages. Her eyes met his once, then slid away. The gentleman beside her acknowledged him with a nod that was more triumph than pleasantry.
Alastair snorted. He'd dispense with this suitor, like the toy soldier he was. At once, he whirled away to consider his battlefield.
At the edge of the copse, the footmen had erected a tent where hot chocolate and full tea was to be served, brandy too, for a chaser. Alastair loathed this greenery search, having frozen in winter too often on the march to find the prospect of frostbite fun.
He needed to be gone from here, Bee by his side, enjoying kisses in a hot bed, making merry and frankly, making heirs. Not watching her smile, as she did now, at that prig Carlson.
This morning, she was a beauty in a royal blue woolen redingote trimmed in silver fox. Her little hat secured with a big silver bow, she stole glances at him when she thought he might not be looking. But he was. Constantly. She was the sight he'd wished for, called for in the dark of his despair. She was so lovely. Her back straight, her cheeks pink, her mouth firm but her eyes, her long-lashed cerulean blue eyes, were red-rimmed.Oh, my darling.Had she been awake all night? He ached to hold her.
If he carried her off, she'd not object. But then, she'd be ruined all over again. Then she'd hate him, berate him for treating her so. She wanted restitution. And he couldn't give it to her. She wanted a fine reputation. And he had no means to grant it. She wanted the respect she'd enjoyed as a child of a good family, and he could not snap his fingers like a genie to award it. He sagged against a pillar, filled with the helplessness that assailed him when he'd not known his name or his family or his country.
Marjorie and Griff appeared before him.
"Come join us, Alastair!" Marjorie looped her arm in his. Griff took his other and led him toward a landau. "Or must I say, Your Grace?"
"You should," Griff told her with a lop-sided smile. Unlike Bee and Alastair, these two had not become friends until two years ago when Griff was home soon after the death of the girls' brother, George. Their relationship, however, seemed as warm and as close as Bee's and his.
"Tomorrow is as good a time as any," replied Alastair. "I might be used to it by then."
"I'll sit between you," Marjorie said as Griff took her hand to lead her up and settle in the cab. "Here, stay warm. Put this blanket over your lap."
"Shouldn’t we take another of the ladies?" Alastair said.
"On the way home we will," said Griff, giving notice to the groom to walk on with the horses.
