at the summerhouse by the lake in the outer parkland had turned out to be, Persephone racked her brains for a place that would assure them a great deal more privacy. ‘Meet me in the Queen’s Apartments then. You know where they are, I suppose?’
He nodded solemnly and somehow she doubted there was a stick or stone of vast and rambling Ashburton he didn’t know, since he had obviously failed to leave his role of watcher and sifter of information behind when he left India.
‘There’s an inner closet that leads off the state bedchamber with no windows to give away a light while we talk privately. That wing is deserted again now Jess is away, so nobody should see either of us come or go and I can’t come to Jack’s wing myself when you’re known to be occupying it.’
‘That didn’t stop you the other day,’ he objected.
‘I was so agitated I forgot you were still here,’ she said brusquely, and if that really was a glint of hurt pride in his eyes he should review his warrior credentials. ‘Midnight,’ she mouthed and stalked off as if they’d had a falling-out, which ought to please Cousin Corisande no end.
Alex made himself do his duty and be polite towards Lady Henry’s guests while doing his best not to look at them full on, since he’d learnt his damaged eye seemed to bother some people far more than his other scars for some reason. Whilst he was with the lovely Miss Seaborne he seemed to forget he wasn’t just one more bemused gentleman, happy to gaze on her beauty and burn. He wondered how many men would envy him his assignation with her and if that meant heshould be elated or disappointed she thought he was safe to meet at midnight.
Every single male who still longed for a woman in his bed and wasn’t already fathoms deep in love would covet an unchaperoned meeting with her, so he wasn’t at all special in that respect. Tonight Persephone Seaborne was even more of a picture of lovely femininity than usual in a gown of cream satin and gauze that showed off her glowing chestnut locks, creamy complexion and graceful figure. He lingered in a quiet corner to revisit an image of her holding court in a London ballroom, which he was glad she had no idea he carried in his memory.
Not long back from India, still tender from wounds of the body and of the mind that had been inflicted on him there, he’d been at the rout in a desperate attempt to find a trace of Annabelle in polite society. He had treasured the vain hope that a whisper might reach him of what had become of her after she’d left his father’s dubious protection.
Despite the glitter and fuss and clamour of the ton at play during the height of the London Season that made him feel alien and uncomfortable, he had found no sign of hismissing cousin. He had been foolish even to hope, since Annabelle was barely seventeen when she ran away. Instead of a trail that might lead to his cousin, he had been fascinated by a beautiful young woman so in command of her world that he realised how ill he fitted in and left as soon as he could tear himself away.
Miss Persephone Seaborne had been almost too perfect that night. He had envied her the security and support of a large and powerful family to scare off fortune hunters and keep the worst of the rakes at bay on Annabelle’s behalf. Yet even then he felt ill when he imagined Miss Seaborne wed to some suitable pattern-card gentleman. It was the way of his kind to marry for mutual advantage and he never hated it more passionately than he did in that overcrowded London ballroom.
Alex supposed he had pushed his own failure to protect Annabelle on to Miss Seaborne. Her position as society beauty, toast of St James and close as a sister to the mighty Duke of Dettingham meant that Jack would thrash any man who tried to touch her against her will. Underneath his restless bitterness Alex knew he was to blame for Annabelle’splight and it was doubly unfair to put the blame on Miss Seaborne. He should have
He nodded solemnly and somehow she doubted there was a stick or stone of vast and rambling Ashburton he didn’t know, since he had obviously failed to leave his role of watcher and sifter of information behind when he left India.
‘There’s an inner closet that leads off the state bedchamber with no windows to give away a light while we talk privately. That wing is deserted again now Jess is away, so nobody should see either of us come or go and I can’t come to Jack’s wing myself when you’re known to be occupying it.’
‘That didn’t stop you the other day,’ he objected.
‘I was so agitated I forgot you were still here,’ she said brusquely, and if that really was a glint of hurt pride in his eyes he should review his warrior credentials. ‘Midnight,’ she mouthed and stalked off as if they’d had a falling-out, which ought to please Cousin Corisande no end.
Alex made himself do his duty and be polite towards Lady Henry’s guests while doing his best not to look at them full on, since he’d learnt his damaged eye seemed to bother some people far more than his other scars for some reason. Whilst he was with the lovely Miss Seaborne he seemed to forget he wasn’t just one more bemused gentleman, happy to gaze on her beauty and burn. He wondered how many men would envy him his assignation with her and if that meant heshould be elated or disappointed she thought he was safe to meet at midnight.
Every single male who still longed for a woman in his bed and wasn’t already fathoms deep in love would covet an unchaperoned meeting with her, so he wasn’t at all special in that respect. Tonight Persephone Seaborne was even more of a picture of lovely femininity than usual in a gown of cream satin and gauze that showed off her glowing chestnut locks, creamy complexion and graceful figure. He lingered in a quiet corner to revisit an image of her holding court in a London ballroom, which he was glad she had no idea he carried in his memory.
Not long back from India, still tender from wounds of the body and of the mind that had been inflicted on him there, he’d been at the rout in a desperate attempt to find a trace of Annabelle in polite society. He had treasured the vain hope that a whisper might reach him of what had become of her after she’d left his father’s dubious protection.
Despite the glitter and fuss and clamour of the ton at play during the height of the London Season that made him feel alien and uncomfortable, he had found no sign of hismissing cousin. He had been foolish even to hope, since Annabelle was barely seventeen when she ran away. Instead of a trail that might lead to his cousin, he had been fascinated by a beautiful young woman so in command of her world that he realised how ill he fitted in and left as soon as he could tear himself away.
Miss Persephone Seaborne had been almost too perfect that night. He had envied her the security and support of a large and powerful family to scare off fortune hunters and keep the worst of the rakes at bay on Annabelle’s behalf. Yet even then he felt ill when he imagined Miss Seaborne wed to some suitable pattern-card gentleman. It was the way of his kind to marry for mutual advantage and he never hated it more passionately than he did in that overcrowded London ballroom.
Alex supposed he had pushed his own failure to protect Annabelle on to Miss Seaborne. Her position as society beauty, toast of St James and close as a sister to the mighty Duke of Dettingham meant that Jack would thrash any man who tried to touch her against her will. Underneath his restless bitterness Alex knew he was to blame for Annabelle’splight and it was doubly unfair to put the blame on Miss Seaborne. He should have
Similar Books
