“Miss?”
“Yes, Zander isn’t it?” At his nodshe continued. “I feel the need for some air.”
“Oh miss, you cannot go around theterrace and gardens without an escort. It isn’t proper.” He frowned, makinghim look like a harried elf. “Shall I see if I can find Mr.Runyon?” Zander’s tone, coolly polite, held a note of dislike.
“No. No, that won’t be necessary. Isimply wish to sit in the quiet for a moment. I find the celebrationoverwhelms me.”
Zander gave a knowing nod. “Justso. Miss Miranda told me you are from Hampshire.”
Alexandra nodded in reply.
“My mother was a good Hampshire lass aswell.” He winked. “I know a place where you can collect yourself,safe from prying eyes. Let me direct you to the orangery.”
“The orangery?” She really needed someair. Pain twisted between her eyes.
“Many estates have them. LordRobert, the previous Marquess, installed it after acquiring a preference forthe rare fruit. The orangery is quite safe and no one will bother you.Besides, the smell of the orange blossoms is quite soothing for nerves, I’mtold.”
“Thank you, Zander. You are sothoughtful.”
Zander led her down the hall to stonesteps leading to a paved walkway. The walkway led to a small, gateddoor. Zander turned the large brass handle carved in the shape of a treeand swung open the door. “Just through there, Miss. Stay on thepath. Come back up the steps, and I shall see you to the ballroom whenyou are recovered.” He turned and strode back to his army, already pointing ata lax serving boy.
Alexandra walked through the doorway,sighing as the smell of oranges filled her nostrils. Zander wasright. The smell of oranges soothed her. She tilted her headback. The ceiling of the orangery was glass. Horriblyexpensive. Hundreds of stars, real stars, twinkled merrily. Themoon, pale and full, hung heavy in the sky, seeming so close Alexandra wonderedif she could touch it. Her relief at escaping the excess and falsescenery of the ballroom washed through her.
The smell of orange blossoms lured herdeeper into the orangery. Alexandra read about orange trees, but hadnever actually seen one. Oranges did not often grace the table of HelmsbyAbbey. The ache in her head and heart eased a bit. Theoutline of a bench was before her and Alexandra walked towards it, marveling atthe sky above her.
“Bitch!”
Alexandra froze, her slippered toeconnected with the hard wood of the bench.
“Shall I show you who is reallymaster? You spread your legs willingly enough earlier. Now it’stime to play some more.”
Alexandra held her breath. What hadshe happened upon?
“Ow! M’lord your ‘urtin me.”The female voice, etched with pain and sexual undertone lingered in the quietair of the orangery. “Not so rough.”
Two bodies scuffled in the dark.Alexandra moved back from the bench, sliding herself along the wall. Herfoot nudged a clay pot. Alexandra stood still. Shaking, she liftedher foot over the clay pot.
The sound of a riding crop cracked throughthe air.
Alexandra halted. A ridingcrop? Why would -
“Please, sir. I’ll be a goodgirl. Ye don’t have to hit me so hard. I’ll do whatever ye wish,”the female voice sobbed.
The bushes directly in front of Alexandrashook, parting to allow her a glimpse of the two bodies, moving together.The figures of a man and woman shone with the light of the moon. Thewoman’s gown sagged down around her waist, exposing her breasts. The manbehind her had one hand on the woman’s back and her skirts clutched in hishands. The woman’s buttocks appeared ghostly against the dark of theorangery.
Alexandra heard a whistle then a snap ofleather against flesh.
The woman jerked.
Alexandra pushed her fist against hermouth to keep from screaming. The man thrust his body forward in anurgent manner. “Who is your master?” The man commanded the woman, hisvoice laced with lust. But even lust could not disguise that voice.
Bile rose in Alexandra’s throat.
“Who?” The crop came down.
The woman moaned and jerked.
Alexandra flinched as the crop madecontact with the woman. Her body collided with a clay pot. Thepottery shattered on the stone floor.
