The First Time We Met: The Oxford Blue Series #1 (7 page)

‘Sadly no. There’s no time for that because we’ll need to get our hair and nails done in the afternoon, but worry not – I know the perfect place.’

I am ascending the steps of Rashleigh Hall, holding up the most divine dress I ever owned. I say ‘ascending’ because plain walking would not do justice to The Dress – a full-length silk column that’s subtly draped at the front, but cut so low at the back it skims the base of my spine. As soon as I spotted it on the rail at the store, I knew I had to have it, even though it’s more daring than anything I’d usually wear. Immy looks sensational in a full-skirted cobalt dress that’s a perfect foil for her brunette hair, which is styled on top of her head like a Grecian goddess.

After the store arranged to deliver the gowns and matching masks to Wyckham, Immy and I parked the bikes in the racks and grabbed a cab to a boutique spa in the countryside, which is owned by one of her cousins. We got our hair done by the spa’s head stylist, who Immy says is from some TV makeover show, and squeezed in mani-pedis, just in time to make it back to Wyckham to do our make-up

Holding our skirts above our ankles, we finally reach the top of the steps. I’ve been to formal events at the
White House and a couple of embassies, not to mention high school and university proms, but this is different. There’s an air of fairy tale about Rashleigh Hall, accentuated by everyone around us wearing masks. They make it tricky to see but add to the mystery.

Flames flicker from metal baskets arranged along the edge of the steps, casting shadows on the ground and warming my skin as we pass. The October evening is chilly and dark, of course, because it’s eight o’clock now, but I’m so excited I don’t even mind the wind blowing the leaves around my skirt and chilling my bare back.

We got a cab to Rashleigh Hall, which rests in its own estate a few miles out of Oxford. I have to say that the website doesn’t do it justice. The grand facade is in the baroque style with a series of huge columns ranged across the front of the house and a vast classical portico above the door. Apparently the architect was inspired by a design for the Louvre, which seems kind of appropriate.

‘Is this a public venue?’ I ask Immy as we pass through the doors into the huge reception vestibule. The mask, a silver affair that matches my dress, cuts down some of my peripheral vision, yet even so I can see the vivid colours of the painted ceiling three floors above us. The buzz of excited chatter overlays the sounds of a string quartet playing Vivaldi’s ‘Winter’ as waiters glide around with trays of champagne and canapés.

‘It’s owned by one of Jocasta’s relatives, some earl or other, but he rents it out for photo shoots and weddings. These places cost a fortune to run these days – you
have to make them pay.’ Immy lowers her voice, her black-feathered mask fluttering mischievously. ‘But it’s a shed compared to Alexander’s place.’

I give a little laugh in reply because, truth to tell, I’m not comfortable that Immy may think I am interested in Alexander for his wealth and title. Money, even old money, holds no real appeal for me although I’m well aware that life would be a whole lot tougher without enough of it. The thing is that my great-grandparents started off in life with hardly a bean and worked their way up by succeeding in business. OK, my grandpa was well-to-do by the time my father was born, but he always instilled the work ethic in Dad, who passed it on to me. Not that he needed to, because as far back as I can remember I wanted to succeed on my own terms. That’s another thing that bothered me about Todd: he never really took my passion for art seriously.

I certainly don’t need to hang on to the coat tails of some aristocrat now, even if he does turn up.

A waiter hands us glasses of champagne as we’re sucked deeper into the marble vestibule. The room is full of men in white tie and girls in glamorous dresses but my eye is drawn to the artwork. A huge portrait of an aristocratic young woman, dressed in white with a blue silk sash, dominates one wall. I’m sure it’s an original of a copy I’ve seen at the White House.

‘Immy, have you checked out this amazing Reynolds?’

She sips her drink then murmurs, ‘No, but I’ve checked out some pretty stunning talent. We seem to have made quite an entrance.’

She nods at a knot of guys a few yards away, who raise their glasses to us.

‘Do you know them?’ I ask, sipping my fizz, acting as if I haven’t noticed them.

‘No, but I might make closer acquaintance with the tall one in the dark purple mask. He’s completely hot.’

As I check him out, a curly-haired guy in a kilt smiles back at me then nudges his purple-masked friend. ‘I do believe they may be coming over …’

Immy giggles. ‘Good. I knew you and that dress would be a major attraction.’

‘Hey, I think the word you used in the store was “elegant”.’

She finishes her fizz and swipes a canapé from a tray. ‘It
is
elegant, and it also makes the most of your assets. Now, let this nice man top up your champagne and let’s see how we can wangle seats next to the Purple Pimpernel and his Scottish friend for dinner.’

It’s past ten thirty now, dinner has been over a while and there’s still no sign of Alexander. I gave up scanning the room hours ago and now I don’t care if he’s flown off on a mission to Mars. I
really
don’t care because I’m being whirled around the floor by the boy in the kilt. There’s a disco starting in one of the other rooms, but Immy and I thought it would be a laugh to try out the Scottish dancing in the grand ballroom. The band is playing a reel which is
wild
and has the whole dance floor shrieking and hooting with delight. This Angus is a doctor-friend of Rupert’s who has entertained me
over dinner and I could not resist when he pulled me to my feet. It’s almost impossible in the dress and hardly anyone knows what they’re doing apart from Angus, but it’s a blast.

The fiddle player stops and we come to a halt, breathless and laughing. The room is spinning a little as I stop. With the endorphins kicking in, not to mention wayyy too many glasses of champagne, I don’t really mind when Angus puts his arms round my back for the slow waltz the band has struck up.

‘Do you mind.’

There is only one man who makes his questions sound like orders and I don’t even need to turn round to know whose hand is at my elbow. What I am not prepared for is the sight of Alexander Hunt in full military dress uniform.

Still dizzy from the reel, I wobble on my heels. Angus has stepped aside as Alexander fills my vision. I want to hate him, but I’m too pole-axed by his sheer physical presence.

He isn’t quite the tallest man in the room, he just seems as if he is. In the uniform, I swear he stands up even straighter. He’s wearing tight-fitting black trousers like riding jodhpurs, and a short red jacket with claret lapels and cuffs over his white shirt and bow tie. He faces me, and it’s then I notice two tiny badges of airplanes on the lapels. It’s as if every eye in the room burns into us as he settles his hands either side of my waist.

Angus, arms folded, lurks at the side of the floor and I feel guilty. But not
very
. In fact, overwhelming desire comes closer to my feelings right now, though I would rather die than let Alexander know it. Some of the people around us are waltzing properly, but we’re in our own little universe. His breathing quickens as he rests his fingers on my bare back, and though it’s the lightest of touches I feel as if he’s scorching my skin.

I’m desperate to distract myself from a fierce urge to press myself against him. ‘That was pretty abrupt …’

His lips curve in a smile of triumph. ‘It was.’

He pulls me a little closer, and my breasts brush against the cloth of his jacket. My senses are alive to every tiny movement of his fingertips on my skin and to the sensuous way my dress clings to my body.

‘Don’t think this changes anything …’ I challenge him to look away first, but his gaze is rock steady, his eyes burning into me with an intensity that takes my breath away.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.’

He seems to inch a little closer and now we’re barely even moving to the music while everyone circles around us. His breath is warm against the nape of my neck, making every pore tingle deliciously. I close my eyes briefly, revelling in the hardness of his chest against my breasts, knowing I should break away, but losing the battle, and before I even know it’s happening our mouths meet in a hot, deep kiss.

It’s so unexpected it almost knocks me off my feet and it’s a second before I respond. When I do, there’s no holding back, I relish the taste and texture of his gorgeous mouth. His hands slip lower down my back to my bottom, pulling me tight up against him. There’s absolutely no doubt of how he’s feeling about me and every inch of my body zings with desire.

Even when our lips finally part, I don’t want to open my eyes and face the world but, gradually, I become aware of the buzz of voices in the room. The music has stopped and there’s only the two of us now. Everyone else is leaving the dance floor, some of them glancing over their shoulders at us while others watch us from the sidelines.

We’re the centre of attention, but Alexander keeps his eyes on me and takes my hand in his.

‘Let’s get out of here.’

Maybe it’s my dress that makes me almost trip over my heels or maybe it’s because my legs are watery, but I’m struggling to keep up as he pulls me across the vestibule towards a door beneath the grand staircase. Maybe I catch sight of Immy and Rupert as we exit the room, but most of the faces around me are a blur. I know I’ve had too much champagne and that I’m crazy to allow Alexander to whisk me off like this, but any common sense I had flew out of the grand sash windows of Rashleigh Hall when he marched on to the floor.

A guy calls out to him from a fug of cigar smoke as we pass. ‘Alexander!’

‘Not now.’

‘What about the game later?’ he shouts.

Alexander’s reply is almost feral. ‘I said, not
now
.’

So there is a game later and I wonder if I am part of it, a stake to be played for and won because what Alexander wants he gets. I don’t care right now and, anyway, I’m more than equal to any challenge he cares to throw at me.

We shoot through a library, stopping at a panelled door on the far side. Finally, he releases my hand.

‘And what’s this?’

‘Somewhere we can talk.’

He takes a key from the pocket of his trousers and inserts it in the lock. The door opens, he steps into the black space and flicks a switch. The room is bathed in a muted, almost green, light.

‘After you,’ he says, as politely as if he’s letting me go ahead of him in the lunch line, though his hungry look makes me feel as if I’m about to be devoured.

Immediately my senses tell me that this place looks, smells and feels different to the rest of Rashleigh Hall. The ceiling is lower, giving it an air of intimacy, and the walls are panelled with dark oak and painted a rich red above the dado rail. Mahogany chairs and deep-buttoned sofas line the walls, which are hung with hunting prints. All of this is cast in shadow, in contrast to the billiard table that dominates the room, the green baize cloth lit by a suspended chandelier.

The place has such a consciously masculine feel that I can almost hear the soft hiss of gas lamps and smell the cigar smoke in the air. It is so obviously designed as a retreat from the world, a place where no lady would have ever set foot unless she was invited for a very specific purpose.

That image both excites and repels me; like so many aspects of Alexander Hunt and his set do. The door closes with a soft click as he locks it and the rest of the world no longer exists. The band music is so faint that I have to strain to hear it, and only the distant pulse of a bass line reminds me that, yards away, several hundred people are dancing and partying.

As he approaches, the key is outlined in the pocket of his trousers, which sends a tiny shiver through me. My heart feels as if it is trying to escape from my ribcage at the realization that I am locked into a small room with Alexander. There is no escape now for either
of us and I’m not sure how I feel about that. My reaction is to retreat deeper into the room, stopping by a chaise. I want him badly but I also realize I’ve walked – or rather waltzed – right into his hands.

I run my hand over the leather of the chaise, cooling a palm made hot by his firm grip on it. ‘Is this a private room?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘How did you get the key?’

He crosses towards me and my stomach flutters a little. ‘I know the family.’

Moving away from the sofa, I rest my hand on the billiard table. ‘Ah. Of course you know the family. Do you know everyone?’

‘Only the people I need to.’ As he sits down, the fabric of his trousers strain over his thighs. Throwing his arm along the back of the chaise, he spreads his legs wide and I’m mesmerised by those long legs encased in tight black trousers.

He allows his gaze to drift down my body from my head to my feet. It’s a slow, deliberate assessment – everything he does has a purpose – obviously designed to unnerve me and, of course, it does. ‘How’s your ankle, by the way? I noticed you were able to manage a reel with Angus.’

‘You know, it turned out not to be as bad as I’d first thought.’

‘My treatment must have worked wonders, then.’ His deep voice is silky smooth and sends shivers through my body.

‘My powers of recovery must be better than you expected and maybe the damage wasn’t as bad as you thought in the first place.’ I throw him a triumphant glare, but, as if my body wants to prove him right, my ankle throbs on cue, followed by a few places higher up.

‘In that case I’m delighted to be wrong.’

‘Is that a new experience for you? Being wrong?’

‘Not new, but certainly unfamiliar.’ He uncrosses his legs, making space for me on the sofa. ‘And why don’t you sit down,
please
.’

No other man I’ve ever met could make the simplest of words sound like an invitation to get naked. He angles himself towards me, and I notice that his face is tanned, like he’s been caught out in the sun, even though the skies have been grey in Oxford since he left. Perhaps Immy’s theories about his absence having something to do with his army work are right. Perhaps he also looks a little tired underneath the sunburn and that, inexplicably, makes him seem almost human and even hotter.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t call you,’ he says.

I shrug. ‘I think you may be confusing me with someone who cares whether you call or not.’

‘Oh, really?’ He seems amused, and when his knee nudges mine through my dress my thigh tingles. He’s a tall guy, well-built rather than bulky, yet he seems to take over any space he enters. I clasp my hands together in my lap. ‘So have you been anywhere nice while you’ve been away?’ I ask.

‘ “Nice” is not the word I’d use, but I have been out of town, as you might say.’

‘Out of town?’

His laugh is brief and ironic. ‘In a manner of speaking.’

Is it me or has he edged closer? My chest rises and falls a little faster and I’m seized by an urge to wipe the smug expression from his arrogant lips with my own. He brushes an imaginary mark from his trousers. Unhelpfully, the gesture draws my attention to the muscles in his thighs.

He frowns. ‘Forgive me for saying it, but you seem very tense … I can understand it if you’re angry with me for not calling you, but it couldn’t be helped.’

‘Like I said, I’m not bothered.’

‘Good, I’m glad that’s clear between us. You see, I
had
thought you might have wanted to see me again, but now it looks like I misread the signals from you. I’m only human, despite what you, may think.’

‘I don’t think anything about you, Alexander.’ Fifteen–love to me, I think.

‘That’s most unfortunate because I
do
think about you.’

Fifteen–all. Actually, damn, I think he aced that game. ‘Oh.’

‘However, if I’ve genuinely never crossed your mind in the past few days and you’ve
absolutely
no interest in me whatsoever, then perhaps I should give up thinking of you at all.’

My fingers are warm and when I glance down I find he’s taken them in his.

‘If I
had
thought about you …’ My voice falters because his thumb is circling the hollow of my palm in
a way that looks innocent yet feels like the prelude to something intensely erotic.

‘In the event of that slim possibility …’

‘
Very
slim … oh …’ His jacket brushes my bare arm and shivers of sensation dance through my body. ‘
If
I – ah – had thought about you, I suppose I might – just
might
– have been wondering where you had been,
but
…’

‘You haven’t given it a second’s thought?’

‘Not even a nanosecond’s.’

He gives an exaggerated sigh that has my hackles rising. ‘In that case, I won’t have to disappoint you by saying that I can’t tell you anyway. You’ll have to trust me.’

‘Trust
you
?’

‘Is it really
that
hard?’ He leans so close to me that there’s only the silk of my dress between my skin and his thigh. Suddenly, the impulse to press my mouth to his again is almost overwhelming. It’s as if some drug has been injected into my bloodstream that’s stolen away my inhibitions. I can’t blame the champagne. It’s the wickedly sexy gleam in his eyes, that seductive voice, the whole incendiary package that is Alexander Hunt.

‘Why don’t you try me?’

‘I haven’t been in Oxford because I’ve been …
working
. Do you remember the phone call I took while you were in my house?’

I feign an interest in a hunting print on the wall. ‘Possibly.’

‘That was work saying I had to leave that evening. I didn’t know when I’d be back.’

I hardly trust myself to speak anyhow, because I know I’m still a little high on the champagne and a lot high on Alexander’s sheer physical presence and the intriguing prospect of finding out more about him. Not, of course, that I want him to know that I’m remotely interested in any aspect of him.

‘So do you have to go off on these jaunts often?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice on the polite side of bored.

‘I never go on “jaunts”,’ he says, imbuing the word with thinly disguised contempt. ‘As for having to disappear off in the middle of my course, that shouldn’t happen at all. We should be keeping term, of course, according to the college rules.’ He hesitates and his mouth tilts in a maddening smile. ‘But I don’t like to play by the rules, as you’ve probably worked out by now.’

‘Ah ha. I get it now. You’re a rebel. That explains everything.’

‘A rebel?’ He gives a soft laugh. ‘I hardly think so, but if that’s the way you like to imagine me then I can live with it.’

The way I like to imagine him? I almost hate the guy, but I want to wipe the smile off his smug, gorgeous face with my mouth even more. And I swear he opened those long legs even wider, leaving me in no doubt that he’s as turned on as I am.

‘So, you have a sabbatical for a year?’ I ask in what I hope is an aloof kind of way.

‘Of sorts, and hopefully I won’t have to go off too often from now on.’

‘How long have you been in the army?’

‘Since I left Oxford the first time. I did my first degree here after I left Eton and then I went to Sandhurst.’

‘Ah. Sandhurst. Of
course
. The officer training college.’

‘Well done.’

‘I’m not entirely ignorant of British history and culture, whatever you may think.’

He shakes his head. ‘On the contrary, I’d never make that mistake. I suspect your knowledge extends to some very esoteric fields.’

Actually, I have the feeling that compared to Alexander, in some fields I’m a complete novice, and does he
have
to look at me in that ‘scorch your panties off’ way? ‘But military academy … that sounds tough,’ I murmur, saying anything to cover the rogue blush that’s started at my chest and is rapidly rising up my neck

He gives a wry smile. ‘It wasn’t a holiday camp and at times I’d have given everything I owned to be anywhere else, but I survived, as you see, and now I love my job.’

His row of medals draws my attention. No, I can’t tease him about those, because I know they don’t hand them out like candy to just anyone. I’d love to know what he’s done to get them, but I’d rather rip out my fingernails than ask him. He’d only give some flippant reply anyhow.

‘So,
what
are you? You turned up in the uniform tonight, after all. Can you tell me or will you have to kill me?’