He smiled a little at the thought, but levity immediately vanished, replaced by a great heaviness of spirit. Helping Allie heal the breach with her father was one of the few entirely unselfish things he had ever done. He hoped that virtue would prove to be its own reward, because there weren’t any others.
Abandoning his dinner, he headed for the music room. Playing the piano was usually a good distraction. He reminded himself that the first few weeks of sobriety had been the worst, but after that things had become easier. Surely in time Allie’s loss would also become easier to bear.
It hadn’t yet.
After two days rattling around the inside of the coach, Alys was tired and rumpled and questioning the wisdom of this mad trip. She stopped at the Silent Woman and booked the best room so she could rest and freshen up. Though she had flatly refused her father’s offer of outriders, the crested Durweston traveling carriage was still the grandest equipage ever seen at the modest inn. She was recognized, of course, and time was wasted in greeting people, since she didn’t want to appear too proud to talk to old friends.
After a short nap and a light meal, she prepared to go to Strickland. It was nearly dark, and a respectable female would have waited until morning, but she was in the process of abandoning all claims to respectability. Besides, her sense of urgency was too great. She could never have rested knowing that Reggie was only a few miles away.
Since she was acting like a scarlet woman, she had decided to dress like one. She’d brought her newly acquired French maid, who was a skilled hairstylist, and her carefully chosen gown was bittersweet red, a rich, subtle color that made her skin and hair glow. After donning the gown, she examined herself in the mirror.
“Madame looks magnifique,” her maid said admiringly.
“Madame looks like a strumpet,” Alys said dryly.
“Oui, but a lady at the same time,” the maid said, eyes twinkling. “Only the finest of modistes can do both in one garment.”
The maid was right—the gown was a triumph of the art of provocation. The silk was simply cut, clinging and swirling over the curves of breast and hip and thigh. Not only was the neckline extremely low, but Alys had ordered the modiste to put a knee-high slit in one side seam. She had been thinking of Reggie when she ordered the dress. Duke’s daughter or not, she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to wear such a revealing gown in public. It made her figure, never demure, look positively indecent.
Alys inhaled deeply and wriggled a bit, then nodded in satisfaction at the result. She looked her best. If Reggie thought her half as attractive as he claimed, he would never be able to resist her in the red dress. And if he could resist ... well, she would take stronger measures.
An hour of Mozart did nothing to quiet Reggie’s restlessness. Impatient and irritable, he closed the pianoforte and stalked off to the library.
The evening was unusually chilly, so he knelt at the hearth and methodically built a fire. Most Britons would be aghast at having a fire before November, no matter what the temperature, but he could afford it. Small indulgences were compensation for what he didn’t have. A very feeble compensation.
He tried to lose himself in The Aeneid—he’d always rather identified with the roguish Aeneas—but tonight none of the usual distractions helped. The lonely, empty hours stretched endlessly in front of him. Tomorrow would be just the same, unless it was worse.
What was the point? What was the bloody point? He ran his hands through his hair, then pulled his coat off and tossed it aside, edgy and uncomfortable in his own skin. A glass or two of brandy would help him through the night.
It wouldn’t stop with a glass or two.
So what if it didn’t? So what if he did drink himself to death? Who would be hurt? There was no Alys here to injure, or look stricken at what he was doing to himself. And one of the housemaids, Daisy or some such, had been eyeing him with interest. She was rather tall and had brown hair. If he was drunk enough, perhaps he could imagine, at least for a few moments, that she was Allie... .
Oh, God, Allie ...
A shudder went through him, chilling him to the bone. Then he pushed himself violently from his chair and stalked to the liquor cabinet. Not allowing himself to think about what he was doing, he lifted the Venetian glass decanter that replaced the one he had broken and poured a generous four fingers of brandy. Then he tilted the goblet and watched the play of light through the amber fluid as he prolonged the anticipation. The brandy glowed like topaz. Sweet poison. Sweet surcease.
As he lifted the goblet, Nemesis raised her head and whimpered from her station by his chair. “What’s the matter, don’t you approve?” He tilted the glass toward the collie in a mocking salute. “Here’s to all well-intentioned females, and the men who aren’t good enough for them.”
Then he raised the glass to his lips.
Having left her maid at the inn and her carriage and coachman in the stables, Alys quailed at the prospect of marching up to the front door. In spite of her boldness in coming here, she found that her new confidence was a fragile growth.
It would be best to check and see what Reggie was doing. It was full dark now, and the best lit room in the house was the library. Perhaps he had company. Perhaps he had another woman there—Cousin George’s Stella must be in need of a new protector. Maybe Reggie had imported a whole damned harem. Even if he missed her, she doubted that monastic suffering was his style.
Walking softly around the house, she went to the library French doors. Luckily, the draperies hadn’t been drawn, so she could see inside.
Reggie was there, alone. For a moment she simply admired the sight of him as he leaned against the mantel. He had removed coat and cravat and was in his shirtsleeves, all lithe power and dark male beauty.
Then he raised his arm. With a chill that iced her bones, she realized that his long fingers were wrapped around a goblet filled with a liquid the unmistakable color of brandy.
The cool touch of glass on his lips revived his common sense. Sweet Jesus, what was he doing?
Reggie lowered the goblet and stared at it. Anyone with the sense God gave a goose should know that drinking from loneliness would be a mistake of major proportions. He hadn’t gotten sober for Allie’s sake, or to live up to his parents’ hopes, or for anyone else. He had done it for himself, for his own pride and dignity.
No, it hadn’t been for pride. Pride was how one behaved when others were watching. Honor was what a man did when there was no one else to see. If he knew that he was going to die tomorrow, he would still not seek oblivion in drink. Whatever his life might hold in the future, for the sake of honor he would see it through sane and sober. And though he missed Allie hideously, he was not truly alone, had not been so since that night he had broken and been reborn.
With a fierce twist of his wrist, he tossed the brandy into the fire. Blue flames blazed up from the liquor. Then he carefully placed the empty goblet on the mantel. There would be no more smashed glassware; there had been enough high drama in his life. He was an honorable country gentleman, no more, and he intended to be no less.
As he watched the flames flicker and die, he heard a small sound from the direction of the French doors. He looked up. Then his jaw dropped, and he stared in stunned disbelief as Lady Alyson Blakeford swept into the library.
She was pale, but she offered a cheerful smile. “I’m so glad you threw that brandy away. It’s always much easier to talk to you when you’re sober.”
Attila streaked across the room and began banging against her ankles, making excited yowling noises. She bent over and scratched the tomcat’s head affectionately. “I’m glad someone is pleased to see me.”
She straightened and removed her dark velvet cloak, laying it over a chair. Underneath she wore a shimmering dark red dress that showed an amazing amount of her splendid figure, and lovingly caressed the rest. Reggie felt himself tense all over. “What are you doing here?” he said harshly.
She strolled over to join him by the fireplace, l
eaning against the mantel with elaborate casualness. Her shining hair was pulled up loosely in a riot of curls that threatened to come tumbling down at a touch. She was like a grand and delectable confection suitable for a king. She looked like a duchess, not a steward.
Things had been much easier when she’d had hay in her hair.
Realizing that he was staring all too obviously at her lush body, he raised his gaze to her face. Her wide eyes sparkled with mischief, but underneath was uncertainty. “I have a contract with Strickland,” she said lightly. “It was very bad of me to go on holiday during the harvest.” She reached out and drew a slim finger across the back of his hand, where it lay on the mantelpiece.
Even that light touch almost destroyed his control. He snatched his hand away from her and retreated along the mantel. Building a fire had been a mistake; it was far too hot in the library. In fact, he was ready to go up in flames. “I released you from your contract. For God’s sake, Allie, get back to London and live the life you were born to.”
“To release me without my consent and without cause is illegal,” she said blithely.
She was wearing some subtle cosmetic that made her lips look particularly ripe and kissable. He stared at her mouth, his breathing heavy and irregular. “In that case, you’re fired. I’ll pay your salary until the contract expires. Now, go! ”
She dropped all pretense of lightness. “That’s not the life I want, Reggie. I would much rather be here at Strickland.” She drew a deep breath, which did dramatic things to the minimal bodice of her dress, and still more dramatic things to his loins. “And even more than Strickland, I want you.”
He flung away from the fireplace, wishing she had had the grace to stay away rather than come here and make everything so much harder. When he’d put a safe distance between them, he turned to face her.
“Allie, you have a position and fortune that allow you more freedom than any other woman in England. You can do almost anything you want. You can have any man—or as many men—as you want,” he said bluntly. “You’re just on the verge of taking wing and enjoying that freedom. The fact that I gave you your first real lesson on the delights of the flesh doesn’t mean you have to spend the rest of your life with me. There is so much more for you to discover.”
She cocked her head to one side. “Do you mean that making love can be better than what we did?” she asked with disbelief.
Reggie’s face tightened as vivid memories of that night eroded his will even further. “I can’t speak for you, but from my point of view, it has never been better,” he said quietly. “But it wasn’t only sex I was talking about. You can use your fortune and influence to help people on a scale impossible here at Strickland. You can rub elbows with the Prince Regent, or the prime minister or the poet laureate if you choose.”
“I can do that no matter where I make my home. Are those the only reasons you went to my father and told him where to find me?” She shifted her stance, and her silk gown flowed across her willowy body, revealing an enticing length of long, shapely leg.
He had known that she had a sensual nature, but now that she no longer believed herself hopelessly unattractive, she could teach Delilah a thing or two. Trying to steady his breathing, Reggie said quietly, “When you spoke of your father, I heard echoes of myself in you. I wasted many of the best years of my life locked in a meaningless feud with a man I hated. I didn’t like seeing you do the same with a man you loved.”
Alys was deeply moved by his perception and generosity. She was also giddy with relief as she realized that Meredith was right: Reggie was being noble. Surely he could be cured of that.
“You’re right. I was letting my life be shaped by anger and pride, and I didn’t know myself just how much it was hurting me until the breach with my father was healed. It is far better to live a life shaped by love.” Brazen though she might be, it was almost impossible to say the next words. “That’s why I’m here,” she said haltingly. “Because I love you.”
He stood halfway across the room, tall and unyielding. “Don’t confuse desire with love. You’re a woman of rare passion, and for years that nature has been denied. Don’t throw yourself away on me merely because I was the one who helped you find yourself. How long would it be before you became curious about greener pastures? I won’t bind you to promises that you won’t want to keep.”
He was thinking in terms of promises? This was definitely progress. She began walking across the room toward him, her steps slow and provocative. “I am no green girl, Reggie. I don’t have to sleep with half the rakes in England before I can properly appreciate what you and I have. Would you be talking this fustian if I were still Alys Weston?”
He was silent for a long moment. “I was on the verge of asking Alys Weston to marry me when I deduced who you really were. But there is an enormous difference between Mr. and Mrs. Davenport, and the Duchess of Durweston and her commoner husband, Mr. Davenport. You can’t turn away from your heritage again, Lady Alyson. That cat’s out of the bag and won’t go back in.”
In fact, the cat was still stropping her ankles, Alys realized absently. So Reggie had actually wanted to marry her. How could she get him back to that point? “Is all this nobility because you have too much pride to take a wife who is wealthier than you?”
“That’s one factor,” he admitted, “but there are others. Good God, Allie, think of what everyone would say! That you were seduced by a fortune hunter who took advantage of your isolation and inexperience to trap you into a disgraceful marriage.”
“That might be said,” she agreed, “but, in fact, you’re the only man I can really trust, because you were interested in me when I wasn’t an heiress.” She smiled. “Whose reputation are you most concerned about, yours or mine?”
“I’m concerned for both of us, blast it!”
As she covered the last few paces, she shook her head sorrowfully. “I’m disappointed in you, Reggie. What kind of a rake cares what anyone else thinks?”
She stopped directly in front of him and looked up into his aquamarine eyes. “Will you be more agreeable if my father disinherits me? He half threatened to when I said I was coming here.”
He stared down at her, raw emotion in his eyes. “Could you bear it if he does disinherit you?”
“Yes,” she said flatly. “Could you bear it if he doesn’t?”
He let his breath out in an explosive sigh. “I don’t know.”
Too much money was a problem that could be solved, she thought. On the more important questions, it was time for a new tack. “Reggie, I am quite ridiculously in love with you.” She slowly scanned him, admiring every lean, muscular inch. “And not just for your body, beautiful though that is. I love your honesty and your deplorable humor and the sense of honor you pretend not to have.”
She raised her gaze to his, and asked the hardest question of all. “Do you love me?”
He took a shuddering breath. “Of course I do. That’s why I don’t want to see you make a decision you’ll regret.”
He didn’t move, but his whole body radiated tension, and in his eyes she saw a love and craving as intense as her own. Reggie had always walked a lonely road, living by his own iron code, sustained by pride. Now that pride divided them. Also, perhaps, the small boy who had been shunted aside and taught that his wishes were of no account could not believe it possible that he was loved.
Her heart ached for him. For both of their sakes, she must convince him they belonged together. To overcome the barriers of pride and self-denial, she must return the humor and passion he had given her, as well as offering her own love.
She reached out and deftly unbuttoned his waistcoat, then began on his shirt.
He grabbed her hands between his and held them away from him. “Good God, Allie, what are you doing?”
“Trying to compromise you,” she explained. “Then you’ll have to marry me, or not have a shred of reputation left.”
For a moment he stared. Then his tension dissolved into laugh
ter, his blue eyes brimming with warmth. “You are the most impossible woman I’ve ever met, and far too much like me for my peace of mind.”
Since he had released her, she neatly undid some more buttons, then laid her hand inside his shirt against his chest. His skin burned beneath her touch.
He gasped and trapped her hand against his chest. “My capacity to be noble is limited,” he said, deadly serious. “If you don’t leave here in the next ten seconds, I am never going to let you go again. The infinity of choices that you have now will be reduced to only those that include me.”
“Splendid,” she whispered as she tugged his shirt loose with her free hand. “That is exactly what I want.”
He held her gaze for one taut, endless moment more. Then he surrendered, crushing her to him as their mouths met with savage hunger.
No longer denied by logic or propriety, the desire that had bound them from the start flared into consuming fire. She gloried in the remembered feel of hard muscle and bone, fierce strength and aching tenderness. There was none of the hesitance of new lovers, but rather an absolute recognition of kindred spirit and yearning flesh, as if they’d known each other for a thousand lifetimes.
Their clothing came off in a tangle of crushed and ripped fabric. Then they lay down together before the fire, and she learned that lovemaking could indeed be better than what they had already shared. Flame and sweetness, gift and demand, they joined with a searing emotional resonance that spiraled them up to new heights and depths and widths of loving.
And when he whispered ragged words of love, the greatest joy of all was knowing that they both had found their homes in the shelter of each other.
Much later they lay drowsing together in front of the fire, covered by her velvet cloak. She smiled dreamily. The first night they had made love, Reggie had said that she deserved better than the library floor, but actually the library floor was an absolutely marvelous place. Attila was curled up against her right side, and from the sound of canine breathing, she guessed that Nemesis was lying by Reggie. A scene of perfect domestic bliss.