Letter From a Rake: Destiny Romance (5 page)

The Marquess of Brooke.

It was clear to Millie that when the Duke had gathered his family together to hear Viscount Ashton’s speech, he had made Alex stand behind him so their host could not see him.

She would have preferred that he had sent his ill-mannered son home, but she knew the scandal that would have caused.

Alex moved slowly away from his family and found an empty space in the crowd. He now had a direct line of sight to Millie. She tore her eyes away from him and looked down at her gloves.

Charles leaned in close and whispered in her ear ‘Lift up your head, Millie, and give them all a smile, you look thoroughly miserable. Please don’t spoil this evening, you know how important it is for all of us.’

He took hold of her hand, and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. She smiled.
Good old Charles.

Raising her head, she looked out into the crowd, well away from where Alex was standing, only to find her gaze once more falling upon him. He, consistent with form, stared back at her.

He had somehow managed to work his way across the ballroom and now stood on the opposite side of the room from his family.

Calling on all her reserves of stubbornness, she willed herself to keep looking out over the gathering, a brittle smile painted on her face.

She tried in vain to study the nearest of the Indian wall hangings, taking in the intricate floral pattern around its edge, but it was no use. The spark of anger she had felt on the dance floor now began to flame into a small fire of resentment.

Fed up and despondent at her disappointing first week in London, and now the victim of a twisted game played by a rich brute, Millie decided enough was enough.

If he thought she would simply allow him to carry out his stupid vendetta without her retaliating, then he was in for a nasty shock.

Why can’t you leave me alone? There have to be plenty of other young women you could tease. If you think you have found an easy target, you are sorely mistaken. I am much stronger than you think.

She gave a laugh and nodded her head towards him.

Someone had to stand up to the likes of Alex Radley, and Millie Ashton had never been one to shy away from a fight.

Though he didn’t yet know it, the Marquess of Brooke had met his match.

He couldn’t be certain of the exact time, but the one thing clear in Alex Radley’s mind as he watched the dawn’s first light creep slowly across his bedroom floor was that he had not slept a wink.

For some inexplicable reason, the Angel of Fate had decreed his life was not complicated enough and had decided to throw Miss Millicent Ashton into his path for good measure.

Stretched out, chest down, with one arm hanging lazily over the side of the bed, he contemplated the events of the previous evening and their likely repercussions.

The moment he had set eyes upon her, Alex knew he was in trouble. Her effect on him was both immediate and violent.

He liked women and enjoyed the pleasure of their company, both in the ballroom and the bedroom, but never before had one of them grabbed his attention the way Millie had. Grabbed it and then held it in a vice-like grip.

He remembered striding through the crowd with his brother, cheerfully greeting their many friends, ready for an evening full of laughs with David.

As soon as they arrived at the party, they had spotted Lucy over in the far corner of the ballroom and made a beeline for their sister. The next thing he knew, his body had sprung to life in a roar of heated lust as he set eyes upon the most exquisite creature he had ever seen.

The blood had rushed from his head to his heated loins, rendering him incapable of meaningful speech.

Unable to move, he’d thought himself on the verge of passing out. All he could do was stare at the luscious sight before him as he fought to control his body. In the middle of a crowded ballroom, he had felt his manhood twitch and then stand resolutely to attention.

Shocked, he had been at a loss as to what he should do. At first, he tried kissing the poor girl’s hand and trying to talk his body into behaving, but that had failed.

And just as his raging erection threatened to punch a hole in his trousers, his brother had lost his temper and shoved him to one side.

Tears had welled in Alex’s eyes at that moment. In a state of complete agony, he then came up with the brilliant idea of trying to dance with Miss Ashton, believing that if he could make his body think of dancing then it would calm down and he could regain control. He had barely made it to the dance floor. Of course, as soon as he faced her there, he knew what a huge mistake he had made.

Talk about trying to stare down the devil.

He let out a sigh and rubbed his eyes. The whole evening had been an unmitigated disaster for him from start to finish. He had managed to insult his host, offend a guest of honour and anger his father all in the space of an hour.

The highlight of the evening had been when David dragged him out into the garden and berated him for his dreadful behaviour. Away from the delectable Miss Ashton, Alex’s body had calmed down enough for him to be able to see straight.

‘What the devil was that all about? How could you do that to a girl you have only just met? You know the rules: you toy with the innocents a little, allow them to fall in love with you and then let them down gently. Instead you publicly humiliated Lucy’s new friend, whose uncle just happens to be our host. What has come over you?’ David demanded.

David had listened while Alex explained his predicament. Then shaken his head.

‘I have never heard of anything so absurd in my entire life. She is pleasant enough to be Lucy’s friend, but she is certainly no diamond. There must be a thousand prettier girls in London for you to make a fool of yourself over.’

After punching his brother hard on the arm, Alex turned to see Lucy appear outside on the garden terrace. She had been crying and he knew he was to blame.

He and David had shared a brief panicked look. What was he to say to his little sister? ‘Sorry Lucy, you don’t mind if I lust after your new best friend, do you? Excuse my manners, but as my blood is currently pooled in my loins I am unable to make polite conversation.’

His mind had deserted him and gone completely blank.

When David explained it away as a muscle spasm in Alex’s back, Alex had put on his best contrite face, and given a heartfelt promise to make things up to Millie.

Lucy had accepted David’s offer of a dance and gone back inside when the Duke appeared through the French doors and angrily demanded an explanation for his son’s actions.

Knowing his father would not believe the story about a bad back, Alex had been compelled to tell the truth. His father had berated him. ‘Stop behaving like a callow youth and control your lust, young man. You are not thirteen years old. Do you have any idea how embarrassed your mother is? Lord knows what I am going to tell her.’

After agreeing that the back injury lie was the more socially acceptable explanation, Alex had remained out in the garden until he felt he could face the gathering once more.

For the rest of the night, he had not been able to get near Miss Ashton to apologise, and in the cold light of morning he realised that was probably not such a bad thing, as every time he had caught her eye from across the ballroom, his body had begun to harden.

Standing behind his father during Lord Ashton’s speech, he could see she was distressed. He had embarrassed her in front of the entire gathering and then she had been obliged to stand alongside her family as a guest of honour in the centre of the room. When he managed to catch her eye at one point he offered her an apologetic smile, but that only appeared to anger her further.

‘What a mess,’ he said as he rolled over onto his back and pulled the blankets up to cover his head. He longed to stay in bed and get some much-needed sleep, but of more pressing importance was working out how he could apologise to Millie without getting too close.

Closing his eyes, he saw her face and those stunning blue eyes. They were the deepest blue he had ever seen, and put to shame the delicate sapphire nose ring she wore.

His mind’s eye drifted lower and he thought of Millie’s breasts: full, plump and so ripe. How wonderful it would be to touch them, to run his tongue over her peaked nipples.

He sat up in bed, and threw back the covers. Staring up at him from between his legs was the hugest morning erection he had ever seen. He blinked at the sight.

He counted to three, and then called forth the image of his old Latin master Reginald ‘Tuppence’ Groat from Eton.

‘Think of the warts on old Groat’s nose, think of the warts,’ he muttered, as he watched his body submit to his will.

‘Bloody hell, why didn’t I do that last night?’

He flopped back on the bed and rubbed his face. He had made a complete fool of himself last night, but worse than that, he had humiliated an innocent young woman in front of a huge social gathering. And if there was one thing Alex Radley had a deep-seated fear of, it was any form of humiliation. Considering what he had done to her, he was genuinely surprised at how well she had maintained her composure.

Most other young society debutantes would have dissolved in a flood of tears and gone running to their mama. The look Millie Ashton had given him during Viscount Ashton’s speech could have frozen the Serpentine.

Accepting that staying in bed would resolve nothing, he leaped out and scrambled quickly across the floor to where his robe lay across a chair.

He tied the belt and, after opening the bedroom door, went to rouse his valet. Although the sun had barely risen above the horizon, he knew he had to be dressed and out of the house as soon as possible.

Before he did anything else today, he had to make amends with Miss Millie Ashton.

Millie cursed herself for having allowed Lord Brooke to make a fool of her.

As she woke the following morning, she felt like a kitchen cloth after it had dried several hundred dishes. Utterly wrung out and spent.

Life for her in England was becoming unbearable. She had tried to make friends, but apart from Lucy no one wanted to know her. Instead, she had been mocked and ridiculed.

Things had been bad enough over the past week and just when they had started to look a little more hopeful, Lord Brooke had walked into her life and racked her misery level up several notches.

He was breathtakingly handsome, and there was no doubt in her mind that he not only knew it, but exploited his looks for all they were worth. It was such a pity that he was the brother of the only girl in London with whom she stood any real chance of forming a friendship.

She could imagine that for him, life had always been easy. He had never had to work to make friends or be accepted. Women would literally throw themselves at his feet. His kind ruled the
ton
like the gods they thought they were.

She let out a tired sigh, and sat up in bed rubbing the crust of sleep from her eyes. The tonic Mrs Knowles had prepared for her when she arrived home from the party had certainly done its job. Millie had slept the sleep of the dead.

‘How could he possibly get a thrill out of making a spectacle of me? What an arrogant . . .’

She stopped herself as the door to her bedroom opened and her maid, Grace, entered.

Millie forced a smile and hoped Grace had not overheard her early-morning mutterings.

By all accounts the sweet young girl had many friends in other big households. It would not do for her to be telling tales of how foul-mouthed Millie Ashton was running down one of the most eligible bachelors in London.

‘Good morning, Miss. I hope your horrid headache is gone. Your mother was ever so worried about you; she would not let me dress you for bed,’ Grace said, opening the wardrobe and taking out a smart morning dress.

Millie silently thanked her mother, who, upon realising the foul temper her daughter was in, decided it was best to play lady’s maid herself when they got home. The little white lie of a post-party headache now meant Millie would be compelled to stay at home for a day or two.

‘Thank you, yes, my head feels a lot better,’ Millie replied.

It was only her heart that ached so desperately.

‘I won’t need the morning dress today, Grace; I won’t be venturing out. Mama and I were going to visit my new friend Lady Lucy at Strathmore House this afternoon, but our outing will have to be postponed until I feel well enough. I shall only need a dress for staying at home. One of my old dresses should suffice. I hope that later in the week, when I am feeling better, we shall call upon the duchess and her daughter.’

Grace gave her a look that said she knew more about last night than she was prepared to admit.

‘Very good, Miss,’ Grace replied. She hesitated for a moment then, appearing to think better of saying anything else, put the morning dress back into the wardrobe.

Please do not speak of last night, Grace, please just pretend you know nothing about it. I shall die if you say anything.

When Grace turned from the wardrobe with a cheery smile on her face, Millie counted her blessings. A few days at home, quietly working on her new scenic London tapestry, would do her the world of good. At the very least it would mean she could complete the top tier of St Paul’s Cathedral and perhaps make a start on the rest of the streetscape. The thought of stabbing a needle into something also held a certain appeal in her current state of mind.

She watched as Grace busied herself about the room, putting away Millie’s dress from the party and then selecting a simple day gown for her to wear. Grace hummed a happy tune as she went about her work, a stark contrast to the constant miserable condition in which Millie currently found herself.

This is ridiculous. I am usually the happiest, most cheerful person in the place. Granted, I am also the loudest and at times the feistiest, but I have never been like this before in my entire life. When have I ever sat silent and let others walk all over me? Never.

She shook her head. This had to stop. She had to find a way to live in England without going mad. The rest of her family were settling in well; they had put their lives in India behind them and moved on. Until she could find a way out of England, she would have to do the same.

With her elbows propped on her knees, she cupped her chin in both hands and stared at the bedclothes. If the solution to her problem was so simple, then why did she feel so sad?

Because I am not being true to myself. How can I become one of them? I will always be different. I have lived my entire life on the other side of the world. It has shaped who I am and how I perceive things, I cannot change that no matter how hard I try.

This is why I must go home.

A real headache began to pulse in her head.

To fit into London society, she would have to change, but in her heart, she knew that would be asking the impossible. She would never be quite like those who had been baptised in the font of St Georges, Hanover Square. London society dictated how you were to behave and if you operated within those boundaries, you would be safe. You would be protected. If you did not, then the rules ensured that you were ostracised and punished.

She swore under her breath. Last night now made perfect sense. How stupid could she have been not to have seen it?

She was too different from the other girls of her age; she stood out as an oddity. Society and Lord Brooke had made themselves clear: she must either conform or experience more of this public censure from the likes of him and the twittering misses.

‘A light in the dark,’ she murmured, remembering the humiliation of the dance floor.

‘Pardon, Miss?’ Grace replied.

Millie forced a half-smile. ‘Nothing. I have just had a bit of an epiphany.’

Grace screwed up her nose. ‘Shall I get you something for it?’

Millie laughed aloud, grateful for Grace’s unintended jest. ‘No, thank you; I am fine. An epiphany is when you get a good idea,’ she explained.

At least the next time Grace heard the word she would understand it and, unlike herself, no one would hold her up to ridicule.

‘Actually, Miss, there is something I could get for you. They arrived early this morning, but I didn’t want to disturb you. I could bring them in for you if you like,’ Grace replied with a shy grin.

A raised eyebrow was Millie’s first response. Then, seeing the little dance that Grace was performing on the spot, she smiled and nodded.

Grace bounced one last time and clapped her hands together excitedly.

‘Oh, they are so beautiful. I had a footman carry them upstairs. Please, Miss, he has been standing outside the door holding on to them now for ages. Can he bring them in?’

Millie rolled her eyes and laughed; Grace’s unbridled enthusiasm was so infectious that Millie leapt off the bed and hurried to open the door.

Fortunately, the footman in question had had the good sense to put the heavy glass box down while he waited. As she opened the door, he bent down and picked it up.

‘Flowers, oh my, but who could have sent them? I surely don’t deserve such a wonderful gift, but they are a lovely surprise,’ Millie said. She stood back from the doorway and allowed the footman to carry the large box of flowers into her room. He placed it on the top of her chest of drawers, turning it so she could see the card.

Grace gave him a wink and ushered him swiftly out of the door.

Millie stood back and surveyed the magnificent blooms.

‘I know what the white flowers are, they are obviously roses, and those behind them are orchids,’ she said, pointing to the tall white flowers at the back of the arrangement.

‘But I’m not so sure about the blue ones. Are those forget-me-nots?’ she asked, stepping forward and touching the tiny, delicate buds.

‘Yes, Miss, and those other blue ones are love-in-the-mist; how romantic. So nice to see that a gentleman knows his flowers,’ Grace observed.

Millie silently enjoyed the flowers, all the while knowing she was teasing poor Grace, who was doing her best not to snatch the card from the arrangement and read it herself.

Finally, Millie reached in and took out the card. ‘Miss Millicent Ashton; how terribly formal,’ she said, turning the card over. She looked at the back and pursed her lips when she saw that it was blank. She handed the card to Grace who turned it over several times, searching for the elusive message.

‘I thought when someone sent you flowers, they were supposed to come with a message, or at least a note to say who they were from. How am I meant to send a thank you card if I don’t know who sent them?’ Millie asked.

Grace stared down at her hands and muttered, ‘You must have met someone at the ball last night who liked you. Perhaps you made an impression on a certain gentleman who might like to make your acquaintance again?’

She gave Millie a hopeful smile before turning to fiddle with the hairbrushes on the dressing table.

Millie looked at her name written in bold ink on the card once more. She smiled.

Of course: Charles had sent them, he must have called into the florist early in the morning when out riding with their father and, being in too much of a hurry, had forgotten to sign the card personally or pen a quick note. ‘What a thoughtful brother,’ she said, as she pulled a single white rose from the arrangement.

At the dressing table, Grace let out a cough worthy of a stage performer and promptly dropped a hand mirror. Millie saw a flush of red appear on the young woman’s cheeks. Grace stood staring at the mirror as it lay where it had fallen on the carpet.

They were in luck. Hand mirrors made in India were designed to survive falls onto a stone floor, so the glass remained intact in its frame. Millie bent down, picked up the mirror, and placed it back on the dressing table. Then she stood and stared at her maid until Grace was forced to raise her eyes and meet her gaze.

‘Grace Brown, whatever you know about these flowers, please tell me now; if my brother did not send them I need to know who did.’

Grace bit her bottom lip and let out a sigh.

‘Sorry, Miss, I know I shouldn’t be talking about things that don’t concern me, but a carriage arrived early this morning after Mr Ashton had left and while your brother was out riding in the park. The man from the carriage delivered them to the front door. I know it was early because Mr Stephens, the head footman, was still downstairs having his breakfast.’

Millie’s eyes lit up. What sort of person would deliver to the front door of a grand house, and at that time of the morning? Deliveries were always to the rear; every shopkeeper and tradesman from Calcutta to London knew that golden rule.

She looked at the flowers once more.

‘But what if the person who delivered the flowers was not from the florist? What if it was someone who was used to being received at the front door of good homes?’ Millie muttered.

Whom had she met last night who would give her such a beautiful gift, and so early in the morning? She shook her head; there was no one she could remember from last night who would do such a thing. The only person she had made any impression on at the party was the odious Marquess of Brooke, and he was not likely to have sent her such a generous offering.

Millie held the single rose in her hand up to the light, which streamed in from the window.

‘How peculiar, but not to worry; they are absolutely lovely and no doubt in time I shall find out who sent them,’ she said, putting her nose to the petals and taking a deep breath.

Later, when she was dressed and seated in front of the mirror, watching as Grace worked to fashion her hair into a simple stay-at-home style, a thought struck her.

She looked into the mirror and addressed Grace’s reflection.

‘When the flowers were delivered, you said they came from a man who arrived in a carriage.’

‘Yes, Miss, they did,’ Grace replied, picking up another hairpin and placing it into Millie’s hair.

‘What sort of carriage was it? Did you get a look at it?’

Grace shook her head.

‘No, but Joshua, the footman who took the flowers, would have seen it; he came out into the street and spoke to the driver. He didn’t half get into trouble from Mr Stephens for it. Told him he should have sent them around the back and that it wasn’t proper to park in the street; said next they would be delivering the milk and leaving it on the front step.’

So, my mysterious flower-sender, you are definitely not used to using the servants’ entrance. Don’t think that just because you didn’t sign the card, I will not find out who you are. You have set me a puzzle, and I like nothing better than solving puzzles.

When Millie was finally ready for a day spent indoors, she sent Grace downstairs to seek out the footman who had accepted the delivery. She was intrigued by the mysterious delivery man and knew that the answer she sought lay with the markings on the carriage.

When Grace returned she gave Millie a piece of paper with a hand drawing of the crest Joshua had seen emblazoned on the side of the carriage.

‘Well done, Grace. Now we just need to find out to whom this family crest belongs,’ she said. The first place she would start would be with her mother.

With the piece of paper tucked into her pocket, she knocked tentatively on Violet’s sitting room door. She had been dreading this encounter all morning, and was surprised to see her mother rise from her chair and greet her with open arms.

She held Millie in a warm hug and cooed gently.

‘My beautiful girl, my darling daughter, I am so sorry for last night. It wasn’t your fault and I should not have been so hasty in judging you. Your father says it was all the Marquess of Brooke’s doing and you were not to blame. Horrid boy; I shall box his ears the next time I see him.’

Millie giggled at the thought of her mother assaulting a leader of the
ton
. She wrapped her arms tightly around her mother’s waist and enjoyed the welcome relief as Violet rubbed Millie’s back. She hoped one day to be as fearsome a mother tiger as Violet; no one would dare hurt her children.