“You do surprise me,” Charlotte replied dryly.
“Not like that,” Chelsea said on a giggle, though it clearly was very muchlike that. “But I do think you’ll like him. I’ll introduce you as soon as they arrive.”
***
Alexander groaned as he lowered himself into the dining chair. “It really is quite amazing how sitting down all day can truly exhaust one.”
“Traveling is not mere sitting though, is it?” Stewart said.
He pulled out the chair opposite Alexander and sat down while tired maids worked around them, providing them with glasses of wine and plates of leftover food—meats and cheese and jam.
They had finally arrived in Hampshire, and they were to stay at the country seat of Stewart’s uncle, Lord Hurtle. But it was almost midnight. The household had retired for the night, meaning they had been greeted by the butler and swiftly offered a quick meal.
“The carriage always feels luxurious when you first step into it,” Alexander agreed. “But after several hours of being forced into a single position, it begins to feel like torture. My poor, weary muscles have been crying out for some movement since this morning!”
Stewart reached forward and selected the tastiest looking bits of meat for his own plate, but Alexander merely nibbled on a chunk of bread. His exhaustion had killed his appetite along with his energy.
“But we’re here now,” Steward continued. “And we can rest and recuperate for a few weeks. The wedding is in six weeks, meaning we have at least four before the rest of the guests start arriving. It’ll be fun.”
Alexander nodded, though he was unconvinced. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d hadfun. It felt somehow like an alien concept to him now, something from a past life. He would try, if only for Stewart’s sake, but he wasn’t sure he would be able to let himself go completely. Not with the weight of worry on his mind.
“And in the meantime,” Stewart said, “we can try to come up with an answer to your woes. I’m sure that together we’ll think of something. We’re an intelligent pair.”
Alexander drank back his wine in a single gulp, then held his glass out to be refilled by the silent footman behind him. That was the only sustenance he currently needed. “Either way,” he said, “I am pleased to be out of London. It’s so peaceful here. It allows one to think. Or at least it will, when I’m not so blasted tired.”
“And your every desire shall be attended to here,” Stewart said. “The Hurtle staff are renowned across London.”
“I have heard that, yes.”
Stewart picked up a thin slice of beef with his fingertips and fed it into his mouth. Alexander watched as he ate slice after slice after slice, stopping only for a little cheese or a gulp of wine, and he wondered how the man managed to keep such a slim build given the amount he ate. But then, Stewart had always been the same. At Eton, he’d eaten his share of dinner plus that of many of the other boys.
“It is a lovely house,” Alexander agreed, looking around at the decor. “I can’t believe I haven’t been here before.”
The dining room was everything he imagined for his own estate, if only he had the money to repair it. It was a long, thin room. One wall was lined with large windows, the iron frames a pristine white and the damask drapes in a deep, rich blue.
The opposite wall was lined with equally large and imposing portraits. Hurtles from years past, Alexander assumed, each looking down at the diners with expressions varying from stern to curious. At the far end, a fire burned low in the grate, the last of the day’s flames flickering to nothing.
He picked up his cut-crystal wine glass. It scattered the candlelight across the table, little squares of light dancing over the food. There was something opulent about it, something unashamedly grand. The person who had designed this house knew exactly what they wanted, and they intended to show it off.
I only hope one day my own home will be the same.
“My aunt sends the workmen around at least once a year, updating every single room. My uncle always says she replaced looking after her body in favor of looking after the house.”
Alexander almost choked on his wine as he laughed. “And he says that in earshot, does he? It’s quite amazing the man is still standing.”
Stewart smiled fondly, memories dancing past his eyes. “They bicker incessantly, but there’s something endearing about the way they talk about one another. They pretend they don’t like each other, but that flame of love burns brightly in both of them. I don’t suspect one would survive without the other.”
Alexander nodded and took another sip of wine. He remembered the feeling of love. Or at least, he had thought it was love. Perhaps now, he could see it for what it was: lust, pure and simple. His body had craved the touch of another so fully, so succinctly, that he’d fooled himself into thinking it was love.
But she did touch my heart, and how could she if it wasn’t love?
It was true that Lady Lucille had broken his heart so completely that now he wondered whether it could ever be repaired. Whether it was love or lust, Alexander simply couldn’t imagine putting himself in that situation ever again. Even seeing Lucille in passing now set a rage alight within him.
There had been a time when he thought Lucille would become his wife. He’d taken her physically more than once—or rather, she had taken him, always in the lead, always pushing for more. She was no innocent any longer, for he had driven his sword into her more times than he cared to remember.
He thought of the curve of her neck, the way he had kissed her down over the mounds of her breasts and the flatnessof her stomach. The way he had parted her womanhood with his tongue, tasting the very core of her. He licked his lips now, remembering the sweet nectar, but quite ignoring what a cruel and manipulative woman she was.
It was in part that he had ruined her honor that he had begun to consider options for an engagement, but when she had discovered his debt, she deserted him, preferring instead his wealthy best friend, Earl Harold Carmeyer.
