Her knowledge of Spanish was frightfully sparse. The way he spoke it, in his mellifluous, accented voice, made it sound beautiful. Almost tender. But for all she knew, he was calling her a spoiled chit.
He sobered, releasing her chin before sliding his glove back on. “Dear. It means dear.”
Rayne bowed, and with those final, parting words, he was gone from the garden, leaving her to watch his imposing form stride away. When he was out of sight, she allowed herself to settle quite soundly upon the bench she had derided for being dirty.
A sennight.
As she sat alone in the garden, staring into the blossoming clumps of Sweet William at her feet, she could not stop thinking of the sadness in his eyes. Nor could she stop thinking about the manner in which he had touched her. The velvet roughness of his bare skin upon hers.
One whole week.
It hardly seemed time enough to prepare herself.
But somehow, it also seemed like a lifetime away.
Chapter Four
Alessandro had gonemad.
That was the only reason he had agreed to wait seven days to make Lady Catriona Hamilton his.
Seven damned days.
What had he been thinking?
Madness was also the sole explanation for his presence at aball. A boring society ball, being held by the Marquess of Searle and his marchioness, who was Alessandro’s half-sister, Leonora. Balls were nothing but a pestilence. There was nothing more inane than lords and ladies preening about and dancing. He suppressed a shudder and sipped his ratafia, which was decidedly not strong enough to quell his rising temper.
For nothing, it seemed, could spur his ire quite like the sight of Lady Catriona dancing with another partner. He watched her on the dance floor beneath the glittering chandeliers, smiling as she elegantly made her way down the line before twirling about with a man Alessandro did not recognize. He did not like it.Maldición, not one bit.
Leonora appeared at his side suddenly, smiling and looking radiant. “Alessandro,” she greeted him. “I am so pleased you decided to join us this evening.”
He did his best not to glower at his sister, for she was beloved to him. “It was not of my own volition, I assure you.”
Leonora’s smile faded. “I know you dislike balls.”
“I would prefer to have my eyes pecked out by ravens,” he said.
In Spain, he had witnessed ravens feasting upon the bodies of soldiers. He would never forget the sight. Such a strange dichotomy between the man he was in Spain, theguerrillero, and the man he was supposed to be here in England, the Earl of Rayne. He scarcely even knew who he was any longer.
Both men, it was certain, were devils.
His sister blanched. “You must not say such things in society, Alessandro.”
No, he must not. Far better to pretend there was not a war waging on the Continent, ravaging his home and his people.
Bitterness made his lips curl in a grim twist. “Forgive me,hermanita.”
“Lady Catriona is beautiful,” Leonora observed, “and quite kind and intelligent as well. I do approve of her.”
He approved of her, too. His gaze flitted back to the dance floor where she was once more twirling with the blond-haired fool whose cravat had been tied into a ridiculously elaborate affair. He looked like a cake.
Alessandro scowled. “She was an expedient solution to my problem.”
Leonora tapped his arm with her fan. “You need not be so grim. If you had not shot Monty—”
“Leonora,” he interrupted her with a suffering sigh, still not able to tear his gaze from his future bride. “Need I remind you of the reason for the incident to which you refer?”
Leonora sighed at his side. “No, you do not.”
