Twice Tempted by Eileen Dreyer Page B

grandfather did?” Alex asked instead.
    His father had pulled out his watch and was wiping the face with his handkerchief. “Do you wonder why she doesn’t want to be rescued?”
    That stopped Alex for a moment. “Well, obviously her grandfather impressed on her how undeserving she was to enter society. He kept her locked away for the last four years. She hasn’t even made her bow.”
    The wiping stopped, and Sir. Charles looked up. “Why do you think that is?”
    Alex scowled. “Because she grew up in a slum.”
    His father, the most patient man in Christendom, merely nodded. “Is that all?”
    “What?”
    “Before you do rescue her—because I have no doubt you will do so—you might want to find out if there is anything you don’t know.”
    Alex felt something unpleasant crawl around his gut. “I imagine there’s a lot I don’t know, like how it would feel to live under a bridge.”
    His father’s gaze was piercing. “And what else?”
    “What else? What do you mean, ‘what else’?”
    “Don’t be dense, Alex. How did she and her sister survive? Just how long were they living under the bridge before their brother found them?”
    Alex thought of the vague allegations her grandfather had made and felt sick. “Are you telling me to ask her?”
    “No. But I’d go check that her grandfather had them thoroughly investigated.”
    Alex stared, unnerved by the temptation in his father’s words. A frisson slithered down his back, and his heart sped up a bit. Did he really want to know about Fiona’s life before her rescue? Did he want to know why the marquess had hidden her away? Did it matter?
    “Don’t you think that’s a bit underhanded?” he asked.
    His father smiled sadly and snapped his watch shut. “It’s very underhanded. But would you rather do a bit of clandestine work or humiliate that girl by having her secrets exposed in public? Do you think she deserves that?”
    Alex’s heart rate kept increasing. He felt suddenly unbalanced, as if the sure earth had dipped. The whisper of temptation grew louder, and he looked away from his father, as if the idea needed grave consideration.
    “I would rather not give the marquess the satisfaction of asking,” he finally said.
    Sir Joseph waved off the consideration. “You don’t have to. I know who he uses to make his inquiries, an excellent Bow Street Runner named Barkley. I used him to investigate that young man who wanted to marry Cissy last year.”
    Alex was surprised into smiling. “Is that why the lad made that sudden trip to Antigua?”
    “No daughter of mine is going to be tied to a man who will gamble her into poverty. I’ll contact the runner and tell him to see you. Do you need me to wield my formidable diplomatic skills?”
    Alex lost the urge to smile. “I think I can manage. Thank you.”
    They had both risen, and Alex returned to the desk and his paper, when his father stopped in the doorway. “You haven’t asked her to marry you yet, have you?”
    Alex looked up, the almost-empty paper in his hand. “No, sir.”
    Sir Charles nodded. “If you’re tempted, just remember Amabelle.”
    If anyone else had said that, Alex would have leveled him. But the gentle concern in Sir Joseph’s voice sapped some of the sting from the words.
    Nothing could sap the sting out of the memories. Sir Joseph was right. Alex had married Amabelle to save her, a bird with a broken wing. He’d thought that his love could heal a girl too fragile for the world, a woman who only saw her worth reflected in men’s eyes. The marriage had been doomed long before it began.
    No one would compare Fiona Ferguson to Amabelle, of course. Amabelle had been delicate, small-boned, and big-eyed, like a china doll too easily injured. It had been her very neediness that had drawn him. Drawn him and every other man within hailing distance, all wanting to soothe Amabelle’s life, ease her way, since she couldn’t seem to do it herself.
    Alex actually smiled at the