Page 46

"He carved this in Spain?" She focused on the wooden horse, to keep from blurting out something worse. Despite the simplicity of the carving, the vitality of the animal came through clearly. The mane blew on the wind, the ears were pricked up, and one foot was delicately poised in mid-step. And it was so small, fitting perfectly in her hand when she picked it up. "It's remarkable."

"Yes. I sent it home to Julia, thinking she might like it. Will had no brothers or sisters, and by then his father had cut him off."

She looked up in surprise. “What? Why?"

He was watching her stroke the horse, his eyes dark and moody. “He didn't approve of Will's choice of wife," he murmured. "She was a Spanish lady of good family, beautiful and kind and mad about Will, but not English. I expect Lucey thought Will would set her aside if he were harsh enough, come home and marry Darrowby's eldest or some other girl from Hertfordshire. He waited years to have a son, and by the time Will came along, Lucey had his whole life planned for him. Unfortunately for both, Will disagreed with the plan. He must have been the only man in the dragoons who thought army discipline a pleasure, after life with his father.”

Cressida’s fingers, tracing the horse’s flying mane, paused. “He beat his son?”

“With vigor,” said Alec grimly. “I daresay it gave Will’s wife quite a fright the first time she saw him out of his clothes.” He drained the wineglass and reached for the bottle. There were three bottles, and Cressida had a feeling two were already empty. “Unfortunately for old Lucey, his son was just as strong-willed as he was.”

“Then he didn’t abandon his wife?”

“God, no,” Alec exclaimed. “He never would have, either, even if it meant he could never come home.”

She thought of the man who had been Alec’s friend. Julia had said something about a friend called Will, Alec’s partner in youthful escapades. Another brave, daring fellow, she’d supposed. He must be, to marry a girl he knew his father would disapprove and then stand by her even at the risk of banishment. Not like other men.

“Good,” she whispered.

Alec raised his head. His gaze sharpened for a moment. “Ahh. Someone broke your heart.”

Cressida tensed. How had she given that away? Then her gaze fell on the wineglass. Of course. All it took was a drop of wine and she lost her wits around him.

"Marianne broke my heart," he said, almost offhandedly. "I was madly in love and thought she was, too—until I came home from Spain and she told me she preferred a more refined sort of fellow. Like my brother, in fact, who proposed to her while I was gone."

Cressida tried to conceal her astonishment. Alec only gave a faint smile. “My own brother courted the girl I wanted to marry. Unsporting, don't you think? I was ready to call him out for it, if only he'd had the courtesy to fight back. But Freddie just stood there and insisted he loved her too much not to marry her, but he would gallantly step aside if she wanted me instead." He made a wry face. “Of course she didn’t. She wanted him.”

"Did you really love her?" she asked hesitantly.

“Absolutely,” he said with the solemnity of a man deep in his cups. “But not the right way, the way she wanted to be loved. It was a young man’s love, shallow and selfish. And utterly unfounded in any mutual passion or sympathy of temperament, either. My father told me we would make each other miserable—which, naturally, only increased my determination to win her. I did so hate it when he was right and I was wrong.” Cressida smiled without thinking at the droll way he said it. “Marianne wanted poetry and delicacy, and in the end it was far better for all of us that she threw me over, although it took me quite some time to admit that."

He meant it, she realized. She didn’t know Marianne Hayes well, but even their brief acquaintance was enough to make Cressida think it would have been a terrible marriage. Even setting aside Julia’s declaration that he’d once been a terrific hellraiser, Cressida couldn’t see this version of Alec, controlled and unflappable, pleasing Mrs. Hayes. The woman was gentle and sedate, devoted to her children and fond of watercolors and embroidery. Mrs. Hayes had once shared a lovely needlework design with Callie, for new slippers for Granny. Cressida pictured Alec punching Mr. Prenner and rifling his office, and couldn’t imagine them together.

“I was in love once,” she said suddenly. "His name was Edward. He was a lieutenant of the navy, very dashing. My sister had married, and I was. . . well, eager for some adventure and romance of my own, I confess. And at first it was wonderful. He said he would show me the world, that we would sail together when he had his own ship. But he changed his mind when his superior officer pointed out that my family would be no help to his career."

"That revolting scoundrel,” he declared.

She bit her lip. “Yes, but I didn’t realize it for far too long.”

“But you did realize it.” He raised a finger for emphasis, and she smiled. He was endearingly earnest when drunk.

“I did,” she said softly. “And as you said—it was better in the end that he threw me over. I don’t think about him anymore.”

“Quite right,” he said. “Never trust a sailor. Riddled with scurvy, the lot of them.” He rolled his head against the back of the chair to look at her again. “Enough of old heartaches. What’s kept you awake tonight?”

She creased a fold of her dressing gown. "Nothing of consequence."

He raised one eyebrow. "Nothing?" He picked up the bottle to refill the glass, but it was empty. He held it up and squinted down the neck, then half-dropped it on the floor, where it rolled under his chair. "Then what leads you to wander?"

"I really didn’t think anyone would be awake," she said again. "If I’d known you would be here. . . "

"Then what?" She stared fixedly at the window. "Would you have stayed away, Miss Turner? Do I frighten you still?"

She whipped around in dismay to see him watching her with a sly smile. “No!”

His smile grew. Cressida felt the heat of his attention through her dressing gown and nightdress as if he touched her bare flesh. Again she had the sense that, even drunk, he could see her very thoughts. It had unnerved her in the past, but tonight was even worse. Her skin tingled with gooseflesh, and her nipples pulled into tight, hard buds as his eyes swept over her.

"Good," he said in a husky whisper.