A Proper Scandal (Ravensdale Family Book 2) (37 page)

Minnie rolled her eyes beneath her long lashes, but said nothing.

“Did you hear me?” Alex asked, tracing his finger down her aristocratic nose. He dropped a kiss on the end of it and watched the line of her mouth soften into intimate tenderness. It took years to discern her playfulness from a carefully guarded heart.

Minnie lay facing him, propped up on one elbow, the sheets pooled around her waist, her body bare. The silky strawberry blond tresses flowed around her like a wild river, fragrant with the alluring tuberose she wore on her flawless skin.

Looking at her now, it was difficult to imagine the beautiful creature was once the starving girl who longed for pretty things. They both fought for so long, and they had finally arrived to the destination of their childish daydreams. Funny, that now he achieved everything he desired, he still felt the integral piece missing.

“Marry me, Minnie Ravensdale,” he whispered. His heart was beating like a drummer boy marching into battle. He felt just as overcome with nerves, too.

Her pulse quickened under his touch, but she didn’t flinch or smile. Instead, under the flutter of lashes, she looked at him briefly before staring back down at the mattress. “No.”

His heart sputtered in protest before it knocked against his chest in one final, painful thud. “I’m not playing,” he said, making clear his warning. He would not chase after her any longer. If she didn’t want to be his, than he would walk away and clean his hands of her. They could no longer afford to play children’s games with each other’s hearts. She had had his at ransom for much too long already.

Her fingers played with the bottom sheet in avoidance. His hand crashed down to hers, perhaps a little too roughly to convey his tenderness. He was making a mess of this marriage proposal. He hadn’t been shot yet, so it was fairly better than his first.

“I cannot marry you, Alex.” Her hand became still under his.

“Why not? Be mine.”

“Because of those very words—
be mine
. I cannot be anyone’s except my own.”

Alex withdrew his hand and ruffled his hair, sitting up to better digest her dismissal. “How progressive,” he sneered, taken over by jealousy. “How very bohemian of you, darling.” He hated himself, spewing his hurt for her to laugh at.

With a sigh, she collected the sheets and covered her body. She was forsaking him already. He never knew their connection was so fragile as to be thrown away so easily. “Perhaps I should clarify. I’ll not marry you because by doing so I give myself to you for you to do and treat as you wish. By marrying you, I no longer exist. I become your wife. Everything that I fought for, everything that I suffered, everything I’ve gained, would have been for naught the day I walk down the aisle to you.”

He scoffed at her words, feeling the knife twist some more into his heart. “Your faith in me is remarkable. You think I would take away everything you have worked so hard to achieve for the sake of a name?”

Of everyone, Alex understood how important it was to have a name, and he wanted to share his with her. But he would never expect her to change by doing so.

“You have.”

Alex’s anger was seething, but he collected himself enough to arch an inquiring eyebrow. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

“You collected me from Paris,” she continued.

“I didn’t like the idea of you being anyone’s whore.” That much was true. But there was more. Not that she would believe him.

She waved her hand into the space between them. “I’m in your bed. I’m your whore now, Alex. Does that make you feel better?”

“You asked to stay for a night and you haven’t left. How is that my fault?” Hell, he hadn’t wanted her to leave, but he didn’t appreciate her finding fault with an arrangement he had little say in. “I don’t want you to be my whore,” Alex said so ominously, he feared he would snap and collect her to his chest and never let her go. “I’m not asking for anything to change, except to have the privilege to call you my wife. That’s all I ask—be my wife. I don’t want your reputation sullied further because we live in sin.”

She crossed her arms around herself and remained quiet as he rolled toward her.

“I’m already a ruined woman.” She shook her head for a moment, her hair swinging softly across her shoulders. “I’m demimondaine. I’ve tarnished my family’s reputation, nearly had your theater shut down. I’m not even welcomed at the woman’s shelter by the other society women. I have a narrow piece of this world claimed for myself now, and those edges can’t be blurred. My reputation is that of a courtesan, of an actress.”

Alex wanted to sweep her hair away so he could land a kiss on the curve of her shoulder.

“No one marries their mistress. I made my decisions and I’ll live the life those decisions acquired. I’m my own woman, Alex. I’ll never be anyone’s wife.”

“You have been my wife for some years now,” he said in spite of himself.

She turned to him, her face etched in a deep sadness that he didn’t understand.

“You agreed twice. It shouldn’t be hard to do so again.”

“I’m not who I was then.”

“Neither am I.” When she still didn’t answer, his tone lightened. “We’ve both changed, but we’ve grown together, too. We’re as much alike as we are different. Do you understand?”

Her lips stretched into a smile, the one where her cheeks framed it for the world to marvel at its magnificence. But her eyes gave away her secret. Minnie was smiling solely for his sake.

He kissed her with enough craving and ache that he hoped to change her mind. For one blissful moment, she met his wish and melted under his lips, matching his desperate moves, hungry and frightened. But Minnie cooled, her lips stilling before she tensed and tried to pull away. When Alex didn’t relent, she bit his lip.

“My answer is still no,” she whispered, the weak words sounding so certain.

The room spun at her answer. Alex glanced to Minnie, then back down to the blood on his fingers. He jumped out of bed and made a swipe for his dressing robe from the chair’s back.

“Where are you going?”

“These marks I live with—” he said, waving a hand at his arm, “—remind me of the wrongs I have committed even if I’m an honest man. And these scars—” he pointed to the dark marks around his wrists, “—remind me that I’m not whole, but that I have survived.” He paced at the foot of the bed, struggling to find a way to tell her the rest. He held out his hands, his palms opened to her. “But I have nothing if I do not have you here. In my arms.”

“Don’t be upset, Alex. Come back to bed.”

“I have nothing left to give you and you have everything you want.” He shrugged into his robe. “I’m not going to make a fool of myself any longer, following you around like one of your many admirers. I’ve risked everything for your happiness and you still deny me mine. I can’t do it anymore, Min. You can do as you wish, but you won’t do it with me any longer.”

He pulled the sash tightly, feeling it cut into his middle, his hands shaking. “I trust you remember where your house is. You can stay there from now on. You’re no longer welcome here.”

“Wait. Don’t—”

“I don’t want you in my office either. You can report to the stage director. I have no business with the theater any longer. It’s simply a building I own. And as for you. Well, I don’t care any longer.” Alex slammed the door behind him, cutting off her protests.

“Alex?”

For some years now, Alex had always turned and answered. He had always run to her side. He rescued her, even if she could not admit when she needed help. And she never could.

He took another step, and then another, distancing himself from her pleas, distancing himself from the only person who mattered in his life, because that was all that was left to do. He left his heart there bleeding in his bed, but he would need to find a way to continue on without it.

*

Minnie acted onstage now in London, as well as off. In the weeks after leaving Alex’s, she buried herself in work and accepted every social invitation. Her nights were long, her days filled with charity work. She did everything she could manage to avoid thinking of Alex, but even with the little sleep she secured for herself, she still dreamt of him, still craved the touch of him.

“Grace,” Minnie greeted her sister, walking into the front hall of her Mayfair townhouse. “Come in. I’m glad Clara let you visit. I’m going absolutely mad here by myself.”

“Of course.” She was the picture of a proper English Rose. That had always been the difference between them. But of what she remembered, her sister was always refined. Far more than any other Ravensdale.

“It’s only that I thought they would keep you away since I’m such a corrupting force,” Minnie continued, leading the way to the morning parlor. She laughed, though there was nothing funny about the truth. She wasn’t sure why she was forcing a cheery tone.

“You’re my sister, Minnie. Besides, everyone in London loves you. You’re all the papers are talking about right now.”

That was the truth. She was having a difficult time leaving the house without being asked for her autograph. “Yes, well,” Minnie said, sighing a little as they walked through the parlor door. It was a fine room, dressed in satins and velvets, pink of course, with an elegant crystal chandelier from Murano. The ceiling was plastered with a frame of roses and the carpet was a lush oriental, costing a small fortune. It was the only room in the house she had sufficiently dressed for company. “Please, have a seat. I’ll ring for tea.”

Her sister sat on the edge of the velvet sofa, sitting perfectly erect, as Clara had always demanded.

“I haven’t had much time to decorate the house, so…”

“Oh, it is just lovely, Minnie. You must be proud. It’s beautiful,” Grace said, reaching over and squeezing Minnie’s hand.

“Not everyone agrees, but I’m happy to have my own household.”

Tea arrived promptly, a beautiful new tea service she had selected, fine porcelain with elegant hand-painted floral and gold leaf trimming. It spoke of adulthood and an elevated station. Most in her position would be proud of such lovely belongings. To Minnie, it was just another cup of tea in the grand farce of things. She was dripping in loveliness, her lavender morning gown included, but everything was just a house, or a teacup, or a dress to her. The fineness didn’t matter anymore. She had dreamed of lovely things once to such a degree she ached for them after she left the comfort of Burton Hall. It had taken years to figure out that finer things didn’t matter in one’s life.

“What beautiful teacups.” Grace traced her finger over the raised paint on the porcelain. “Such fine painting.”

“Thank you,” Minnie said, taking a sip of her tea. She wished to return to bed. Perhaps after Grace left she would do just that and sleep the rest of the day away. She was becoming remarkably good at that skill. “Enough about me. Tell me everything I missed, sister.”

“Well, everything, Minnie.” She stopped stirring her tea and laid the spoon beside the cup. It didn’t escape Minnie that Grace’s hand trembled. “I’m preparing to be married soon, if the season goes well. I’ll never get to know you as I wished.”

Minnie’s heart broke a little more as she saw the tears well up in Grace’s gray eyes. “I’m here now.”

“I missed you so.”

“I could not stay and live what was planned for me. I could not stand the thought of being polished and pushed off to the first man offering the best arrangement. Surely, you understand.”

“Uncle never would have agreed unless you were happy with the match. He never follows the rules. You wouldn’t have been an exception.”

“Yet you’ve admitted that you’re in London to be married.”

Grace picked up her teacup once more. “I would be content at remaining at Burton Hall, true. But I’m of age now and if I do not marry, I’m to tour Europe with the company. Can you imagine me as a traveling musician?” Grace laughed, a sweet chitter. “Besides, why is it so bad to want to be in love and be loved?”

Minnie rolled her eyes. Romantic nonsense. “Nothing, if that’s what you wish for.”

“Is that what you wish for?”

“I’ve lived enough now to know love doesn’t matter.” Minnie frowned.

“Oh, how can you say that? Love is everything. It shapes us all in ways we could never imagine. Without love, life would be just a series of pointless days. It’s the whole reason for living.”

“Dearest, you’d think you were the bohemian instead of me with that view. Love is fickle. And for all its sweetness, I’ve seen it ruin women.”

“I’m not a child anymore, Min.”

That was the precise moment Minnie felt the first prick of tears at her eyes. It had been weeks in the making. But Grace’s mention of her nickname was the ultimate undoing. So much for holding her head up high and dealing with the mess behind closed doors.

“Of course.” Minnie dropped her head into her hand, the teacup rattling as her hands began to shake. “Tell me about everyone. How are the twins? Have you heard from Theo and Rhys yet in Africa? How are they?”

Minnie was certain Grace replied, but the words were lost, giving way to the ugly shouting in her own head:
You deserve to be alone, you chased him away…