A Taste of Seduction (An Unlikely Husband) (14 page)

Philip chuckled. “She’s gotten to you, hasn’t she, Alex?”

“Of course not,” he shot back. “If Francie wants to behave in such a ridiculous manner, that’s her business.”

“She’s gotten to you all right,” the older man said, chuckling again. “I can hear it in your voice.”

“She hasn’t gotten to me, as you say. I just don’t like to watch people make fools of themselves.”

“Especially, when you’re the fool, eh, old boy?” Philip squeezed Alexander’s shoulder.

Alexander raised his left eyebrow. Had Philip just called him a fool?

“I wasn’t going to bring this up,” the earl said in a sympathetic tone, “but, have you looked in the mirror today?” The old man’s eyes worked their way from the top of Alexander’s head to the tip of his shoes.

“Yes, of course,” Alexander said, running a hand down his jacket and trousers. “Why?”

“Your jacket is blue and your trousers are gray.”

“Like hell they are.” Alexander held out his arm to inspect the color of his jacket. Blue, a deep, dark midnight blue. He looked down at his leg. And his trousers were...gray. “Damn.”

The earl crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Like I said, she’s gotten to you.”

Alexander swore under his breath. “Francie has nothing to do with this. It’s Thomas, damn him. What good is a valet if he can’t choose matching clothes?”

“Oh, no, don’t blame this on Thomas,” the earl said. “I have it on good authority you booted the poor man out this morning telling him you could ‘goddamn well dress yourself’. Sound familiar?”

Heat stained Alexander’s cheeks. “He was too bothersome this morning, chatting about some nonsense or other. I had no choice but to boot him out.”

“Thomas has been a talker since the day he walked into Drakemoor three years ago. It never seemed to bother you before.”

“A lot of things never bothered me before,” Alexander retorted, shooting a quick glance toward the window.

“I see.”

Alexander chose to ignore Philip’s comment. “I’m going to change,” he said, yanking at his cravat and heading for the door.

“Good luck,” Philip called out. “Remember, blue with blue, gray with gray.”

The door slammed shut, closing off Philip’s laughter. Alexander swore again, cursing the day he ever laid eyes on Francie Jordan.

***

“Well, what’s happening?” Bernard’s quiet voice filled with curiosity and anticipation.

Philip grinned and offered Bernard a drink. “It’s a little premature to celebrate their nuptials, but I’d say we’re well on our way.”

Bernard took a sip of his drink and asked, “Why? Did our little ploy during dinner work?”

“Hard to tell,” Philip said. “But something happened, that’s for certain. Both of them are acting mighty strange. First, there’s Francie, up bright and early and running outside as though the devil were at her heels.”

“Alexander, I presume?”

“That would be my guess. She’s trying to avoid him, which makes me think something happened.”

“A spat, perhaps?”

“Or a kiss,” the earl said, smiling. “And you should see old Alex.” He chuckled. “I’ve never seen him so flustered. Threw his valet out this morning and then put on a pair of gray trousers with a blue jacket. I didn’t have the heart to tell him his cravat was cockeyed to the left.”

“Good of you to spare him a little dignity. Alexander is such a proud man.”

“That he is,” Philip agreed. “But we both know there’s no room for pride where love’s concerned. And make no doubt, it will be a love match.”

Bernard cast a doubtful look out the window. “How can you be so certain? From what you say, they’re barely speaking to one another.”

“Ah, but that’s the beauty of it, my friend. Soon enough, they’ll be doing more than just speaking.” Philip followed Bernard’s gaze and said, “What have we here?”

“It’s James,” Bernard said. “He’s brought a hat for Francie. How very thoughtful of him.”

“No, no, no. Don’t you know anything about this love business? Think again,” Philip said, as he watched Francie. “James wouldn’t bring Francie a hat without someone telling him to do so. He wouldn’t even know she wasn’t wearing one. But someone else would. Someone who’s been so distracted he can’t think of anyone or anything else. Even when he tells himself he’s not thinking of her, he’s thinking of her.”

“Alexander.”

“Exactly. Alex sent James outside with the hat. Alex is the one who’s concerned Francie will catch too much sun. Alex, my friend, is becoming thoroughly besotted.”

Bernard thought a moment. “Hmmmm,” he mused. “And Francie?”

“Why, can’t you tell by the way she’s looking at the windows, trying to catch a glimpse of someone, that she’s wondering who sent the hat? And all the while, you can bet she’s hoping
it’s Alex.”

“You don’t say.”

“I do say,” Philip declared, slapping Bernard on the back. “We’ll have a wedding in this house by Christmas.”

“What’s your next plan?”

“A ball for Francie introducing her into society. Even without a title, there’ll be a bevy of young bucks vying for her hand. Just wait and see. That will drive Alex insane. He’ll be beside himself, torn between envy and a desire to protect her from them. And from himself.”

“From himself?”

“Of course. Until he realizes marriage to Francie is what he wants, he’ll torture himself trying to be noble.” He laughed. “But that’s a few plans down the road. First, we need to start throwing them together at every opportunity.”

“I assume you have ideas on how to do that as well?”

“I do. Francie needs a new wardrobe. I’m sending her and Alex to Madame Druillard’s.”

“A carriage trip to London. Who will be chaperoning them?”

Philip threw Bernard a sly smile. “Mrs. Vandemeer, the widowed aunt from two estates over. I daresay, she’s old as Croesus, blind as a bat, and deaf to boot.”

“Do you think that wise?” Bernard’s bushy brows drew together. “What if...?”

“He won’t,” Philip said in a firm voice. “But he’ll be in hell for it, I’m sure. If my guess is correct, he’ll be half-mad with wanting Francie by the time he returns from London.”

“And then you’ll throw the ball and have all of Francie’s young suitors swarming about her skirts.”

“Exactly. Quite clever, don’t you think? Alex will be so jealous he’ll demand to marry her posthaste.”

“It’s risky, Philip. If either one of them finds out you’re plotting, they’ll be very upset.”

“That’s why they won’t find out, my friend. You and I are the only ones who know I’m giving them a little extra assistance.” Philip glanced out the window again. Francie sat cross-legged on the ground, face turned and half-hidden by the broad brim of her hat. “What the hell is she doing?” Philip murmured.

Bernard pointed a long finger toward the far end of the estate. “There. She’s looking out there.”

Philip could just make out a horse and rider tearing across the back lawn toward the fields. There was only one black horse at Drakemoor and Alex was the only one who could ride him.

“See? What did I tell you?” Philip grinned. “They’re made for each other.”

“Unfortunately, they haven’t been apprised of that fact,” Bernard added, shaking his head.

“But they will be, soon enough.” The earl’s voice filled with emotion. “Francie’s my daughter and I love Alex like a son. I’d never do anything to harm either one of them, but I don’t want to see them throw away a chance at happiness because they’re too proud to grab it.” His voice cracked. “I loved Catherine. Loved her with every breath in me and I want Alex and Francie to know that kind of love, too.”

***

“Father, are you sure you’re feeling all right?” Francie asked, clutching the earl’s large hand in hers. He was such a big man, towering was a better term, and yet at times like these, when he fell into coughing fits, he seemed more frail than James, a man half his size.

“Fine,” the earl coughed, raising a hand. “I’ll be fine.”

She scanned his flushed face, noted the beads of perspiration on his upper lip, and thought him anything but fine. Alexander said he’d been having these coughing spells for months now, had even seen a doctor, but had thrown the man out when he pronounced leeches for treatment. He’d refused to see another doctor, declaring he’d sooner cut his own wrists than let them cover him with slimy creatures who’d suck him dead.

And that brought an end to the discussion regarding medical attention. Francie had taken to mixing up poultices every evening and placing them on his chest. The relief, though temporary, provided a quiet time for them to spend together. It was during these nights the earl shed his jovial, gruff manner and looked at her with a sad tenderness in his blue eyes.

“You have your mother’s smile,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence enveloping them.

She’d been waiting for days, hoping against hope he’d say something about the woman he’d loved and lost. Francie’s smile deepened and she squeezed his hand. “Tell me about her.”

The earl heaved a sigh. “Oh, where to begin, child?” He closed his eyes and smiled. “She was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Eyes the color of emeralds, hair falling down her back in long black waves. I was mesmerized by her smile, captivated by her charm. I think I fell in love with her the first time I laid eyes on her. But it wasn’t just her beauty that touched me. She was a good person, a kind person with a quick wit and a laugh that made my heart smile.
And such an innocent. Catherine believed goodness and kindness would always prevail. I remembered this, even when I had no reason to hope any longer, even when I looked upon each day without her as a curse.”

He opened his eyes and blinked the wetness away. “She was right. Goodness and kindness did prevail.” He reached up to touch her cheek. “They brought me Alex.” His voice softened. “And then they brought me you.”

“Where did Alexander come from?” She’d always assumed he was the orphaned son of one of her father’s friends.

“The stables,” he said, simply.

“Stables?”

“Alex was the son of Harry and Alice Bishop, my groomsman and scullery maid.”

“Servants?” she whispered. She’d sooner believe Alexander belonged to a descendant of the king.

The earl met her shocked look with his steady blue gaze. “It was all quite sad. His father was a no
-good drunk, but I kept him on out of pity. One day he got himself killed trying to ride Baron’s father. Alex’s mother died within the month.”

Francie pushed past the lump in her throat as she pictured a young Alexander stripped of a father and mother. “And Alexander?” she breathed. “What happened to him?”

“He slept in the barn for weeks, no one to look after him, trying to carry on his father’s duties, eating what scraps the cook sent his way. Barely thirteen and forced into a cruel, harsh world with not a soul to care about him.”

Her heart ached for the little boy who had no home, no parents, no one to love him. She’d never known that kind of life. Her moments had always been filled with warm, nurturing swells of love and attention, plenty of food, fresh clothing, and a cozy bed. Alexander’s bed had most likely been a scratchy mattress of hay, his pillow a balled
-up shirt.

No wonder he’d become a staunch, proper perfectionist in his pristine cravat and elegant cutaway.

“That’s why he dresses the way he does,” she murmured. “Not a stitch out of place, not a wrinkle.”

“Exactly. When I found
him ,his clothes were so filthy I had to have them burned.” The earl ran a large hand over his face. “Thank God for Alex. He gave me a reason to live after Catherine died. It was just the two of us, hurt and alone, him needing me as much as I needed him. I couldn’t love him more if he were my own son.”

“I think he feels the same about you.”
A servant’s son. Orphaned and left to fend for himself. Her father’s revelation into Alexander’s childhood explained so many things. His clothes, his demeanor, his food.
His food
. Good gracious, his food! Now it all made sense.

“The meal the other night,” she began, not certain how to broach the subject. “When I switched the roast beef and pork…”

Her father chuckled. “Almost sent him into a fit of apoplexy. I took great pleasure in seeing his discomfort. Well done, child. Well done.” His tone grew serious. “Alex wants to control every detail of his life—his clothes, his food, his associations. He wants to remove all aspects of chance, deal only with the known. That’s why he wants pork on Wednesday and roast beef on Saturday. Eliminates the element of chance. Makes him feel safer.”

“It’s only food. As long as it’s well-prepared, why should he care?”

“Who knows? I’ve never gone hungry or lain awake at night wondering if I were going to be thrown in the street with the rubbish. I’ve never taken a beating from my father to spare my mother.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “That kind of fear claws at the most courageous of men, eats away at their core. I can’t imagine what it would do to a boy.”

“It turns him into a man who’s afraid to trust, afraid to believe in anyone or anything but himself,”
Francie whispered, crying for the little boy who could not cry for himself.