Sutton gave a choked laugh.“Badger, Herbert is theonlyother male heir to Cambourne. Otherthan myself, of course. Jeanette covets the Cambourne money and estateabove all else. She always has. My father used to say that she marriedCambourne, not him.” Sutton shot her a wry look. “Why doyouthink,” he said softly, “she would bother with Herbert?”
Alexandra’s neck prickled at theimplication. “Surely you don’t think –“
“It’s of no importance.” Sutton gaveher one of his most brilliant smiles and waved his hand in the air. Thesmile didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t you want your birthday gift?” Heattempted to distract her.
Would Jeanette actually try to haveSutton murdered? Alexandra’s heart caught in her throat. She thoughtJeanette Reynolds capable of many things, but it never occurred to Alexandrathat murdering Sutton happened to be one of them.
“Badger.” Sutton pulled a tiny, giltwrapped box from his pocket. “No more talk of the wicked witch. Especiallynot today.” He waved the box in front of Alexandra.
“I should like to read what the Dowagerhas to say for myself.” Alexandra made a grab for the Dowager’s letter, butSutton shook his head, and placed the letter out of her reach.
“Nothing to concern yourself with on yourbirthday.”
Sutton hid something. She was sureof it. She moved towards the table.
He feinted to the right to stop her, butAlexandra was quicker. She slid under his arm and took the letter off thetable, darting out of his reach and opening the crisp paper.
“Jeanette has made sure to cast doubton your marriage. She hints that the marriage did not occur and thatAlexandra lives at Gray Covington as your mistress. As your father keptMadeline before they married. While your sister makes light of it,without your presence in London, Miranda’s suitors have been lacking inreputation. Many of her friends decline to call. While I know youdo not care for gossip, have a care for your sisters. Please come to CambourneHouse and attend several events with your wife at your side.”Alexandra’shand shook.
“We must return, Sutton.”
“Gray Covington is close enough toLondon. We do not need to be at Cambourne House. Do you tire of mycompany? Do you wish to go to London?”
She placed the letter gently on thetable.
“I do not care what the gossips say.” Hestroked her cheek. “I wished to ruin you.” He gave her a lustfullook. “I still do. I –“
“Sutton.” She placed a hand on hischest. “We have been selfish in allowing Miranda and the Dowager toweather the storm alone. I am not afraid of Jeanette. Odious Oliverhas likely eaten himself to death by now. And thetondoes notscare me. Not even Agnes Dobson. The woman reminds me of aninsect.”
“Brave little badger.” He kissedher softly and handed the box to her. “Open.”
Alexandra tugged at the red velvet ribbonatop the box and lifted the lid.
Sutton looked at her expectantly.Smug again.
A beautiful gold locket sat on a bed ofred satin. The locket was rectangular and formed so that it looked not somuch like a locket, but a tiny golden book. Alexandra picked the locketup by the fine, slim chain.
“It’s beautiful. However did youfind such a thing?”
“Look inside.” He pressed a kiss to herear.
Alexandra opened the tiny clasp andgasped in delight. The locket held two tiny miniatures. The leftportrait was of a peacock painted in gorgeous blue. The right portraitwas of a small, rodent like creature. She had never seen one, butAlexandra assumed this was a badger. Happiness spurted through her as shefelt her eyes well with tears. What an idiotic, romantic, ridiculousthing for Sutton to do. Love for him suffused her whole being as well asthe fear of losing him.
“Do you like it?”
“You are most creative. However didyou manage to get a badger to sit for a portrait?” She sniffed and triedto sound tart through the emotion choking her throat.
Sutton pulled her around and kissed herpossessively and soundly. He nibbled her ear before clasping the chainaround her neck.
The gold felt warm against herskin. Her heart sang. She wondered how he found someone topaint the tiny portraits, and what the artist thought of Sutton’s strangerequest.
His fingers trailed along the chain, thenoutlined the locket where it lay nestled between her breasts.
Maybe he did love her. Alittle.
TWENTY-SEVEN
“Tell the Marchioness,” Sutton’s voicethundered up the stairs, no doubt in some ridiculous attempt to hurry heralong, “that we are leaving. With or without her.”
