Page 7 of The Gift of a Christmas Scandal

Alex bowed over the ladies’ hands. “Charmed, I’m sure. Please enjoy the hospitality of my home.”

Lady Selina curtsied, a fluid, elegant movement, worthy of a presentation at court, and his eyes followed the flow of her body, appreciating the delicious way in which the skirts of her gown clung around her as she moved.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Her voice was melodious – strong, yet not strident, quiet, yet clear. As she rose from the curtsey, her eyes met his again, and there was something… some shadow there, some hesitance, yet curiosity as well. Most of all, there seemed no hint of that speculative gleam which presaged an attempt to charm him, with intent to marry.

Which fact made her the most unusual woman he had met since he had departed Italy. Her parents stayed where they were, once the greetings were done, chatting to his mother about times past, and the minutiae of life, leaving her standing there, looking most uncertain. He could not help himself – he chose to engage her in conversation, for he could not bring himself to ignore her. As he opened his mouth to speak, he could almost feel Lady Phyllida’s eyes upon him, full of anger. He ignored the sensation.

“Lady Selina, it seems that the joys of gossip between old friends have captured our respective parents. Perhaps we should entertain ourselves with conversation, in the face of their abandonment?”

A becoming flush rose to her cheeks again, and something sparked in the depths of those intense green eyes.

“As you wish, Your Grace, I do feel rather silly just standing here – there are few others I know, of those present in this room.”

The forthrightness of her words took him by surprise, and a small laugh escaped him.

“What shall we speak of? I must admit that, after seven years away from English society, I fear that my capacity for polite social converse has somewhat atrophied.”

He had startled her into a laugh – it was as beautiful as her speaking voice – light, almost joyful, and pleasant to the ear, unlike the braying noises that many women produced.

“Then perhaps, Your Grace, we should not attempt such a perilous activity. Perhaps forthright discussion is a simpler option? But… Italy? I have never left England, but I want to – I have often lost myself in books describing foreign lands, and Italy has always seemed a place I might wish to visit. What is it like, in truth, if that is not too forward a question for me to ask?”

Alex blinked for a moment, surprised. It was far from the sort of conversation he had expected, and yet she had managed to choose a topic on which he was happy to speak, and one which seemed to result from genuine, unfeigned interest on her part. He wanted, he discovered in that instant, to know her better, to understand more of how the mind behind those penetrating green eyes worked.

“It is a pleasant land, far warmer than England. Its people are somewhat excitable of temperament, yet generous and kind on the whole. Everywhere you turn, the ruins of ancient history abound, and the cities and castles are at least as old as any here, if not older. I liked it well enough to stay seven years, and I would like, I think, to visit it again at some time.”

She looked at him, eyes wide, then sighed, as if remembering something unpleasant.

“You are lucky… as a man, you may choose to do things like that, to travel to far places. I suppose that I will never have the chance.”

She sounded so despairing that he felt the impulse to gather her to him, to comfort her somehow. That feeling startled him – he had never felt such an impulse before. His curiosity drove him to speak.

“Lady Selina – it may be rather presumptive of me to ask, but… why do you suppose such a thing? Surely that chance is always there. You might marry a man who loves to travel.”

As he spoke, the image of her married to a man like those who circulated in his parlour grated on him, for some unfathomable reason. He wondered which man it was. She had looked away, her fingers twisting together for a moment. Her voice, when it came, had an edge of bitterness to it – even then, it was still melodious.

“That seems less and less likely. The man that my parents wish me to marry has declared that he will never leave English soil. I do not wish to marry him, and never have, but my parents hold dear to the idea. And, unless I receive an offer from a man of higher standing, by Twelfth Night, my father will force my hand, believing the match to be in my best interests.”

Alex was silent, rather stunned by the raw honesty of her words, and by the honour she had done him, in trusting him with such a confidence. He felt a sudden affinity for her, brought on by the sad parallel of her situation to his.

They were both trapped, it seemed, by the will of their parents, in disregard of their own wishes.

He was unsure of how to respond, all too aware of the people surrounding them, of the jealous eyes upon her, as she spoke to him. But he wanted to know more. He would, somehow, find a way to speak to her in private. For now, he needed to lead the conversation in another direction. He spoke as softly as he could.

“Then you need a miraculous solution. I find myself in an equally awkward position, and also need a miracle. But none of this is suitable for discussion here.” She looked up, meeting his eyes again, the edge of hurt in hers, and uncertainty on her face. “I do not mean to discount your words, Lady Selina, I simply hope to protect both of us from unwanted gossip,” he flicked his gaze around the room, and she nodded, as if only then realising where they stood, “I would be most desirous of continuing this conversation later – in a far more private situation.”

The hurt left her expression, to be replaced by something else, something compounded of relief, and an odd certainty which he did not understand. As if unconscious of her action, she reached out, and for a moment, her fingers brushed his arm. Heat rushed through him at her touch, and he watched her full lips as she spoke.

“As you wish, Your Grace, and thank you. Do let me know when, and where, such a conversation might be possible.”

A cascade of images flitted through his mind, of ‘private conversation’ with this woman, and he felt the sardonic smile come to his lips as he whispered his answer to her words.

“I will, Lady Selina, I will. You may expect a discreet message. Is your maid to be trusted?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

He nodded, looking past her as the door opened, and more arrivals were announced. When he turned his gaze back to her, she smiled a conspiratorial smile, gave him a polite curtsey, and moved away, to allow him to deal with the newcomers.

~~~~~

When Selina had stepped into the parlour at Fortescue Grange, she had scanned the room for the Earl, and shuddered a little when she saw him. But at least he was standing at the far side of the room, talking to his hunting cronies. He would not leave that conversation easily. She’d turned her eyes back to their path through the crowd, and almost stopped in her tracks.

It was as if she was reliving that moment at the Chaterwood soiree, when the crowd had parted. For there he stood, the same man. Their eyes had met, and she’d felt a blush come to her cheeks. Her mother had chivvied her forward, and she’d forced her expression back to a bland smile. Once the Dowager Duchess had come to greet her mother, it had become clear to Selina that her dream man was none other than the Duke in whose house she was a guest.

Somehow, she had survived the introductions, and done all that was politely required. But every second of it, she was aware of the handsome man before her, whose eyes regarded her in a manner that warmed her through, and started that delicious fluttering, low in her belly. Then her parents allowed themselves to be drawn aside, and she was left, unsure what to do, standing there, her mind replaying those dreams of hers, where her lover wore this man’s face.

Now, here she was, in conversation with him. The fact that he was the Duke still had her reeling, that she would spend a week or more here, in his home, most likely seeing him every day, made her feel feverish with a most unseemly rush of desire. She still did not really understand what she desired, but it started with kisses, that she knew.

His kindness in rescuing her with conversation was a surprise, and she found herself so comfortable with him, that confidences slipped from her lips almost unbidden. She had expected him to be horrified at her unmaidenly frankness and attitudes, but he appeared to genuinely sympathise. There was a moment where she thought… but then his words had reassured her. And aroused both her curiosity and her desire.

She stepped away from him, a little dazed. She had just, she realised, agreed to a clandestine meeting with a Duke. What might be said, in that private conversation? And... what might be done, if they were alone? Feverish memories of her dreams filled her thoughts, even when the Earl found her, and delivered one of his self-centred ‘conversations’, which she barely heard.

The possibility of her dreams becoming real heated her to her core.