Regency Affairs Part 2: Books 7-12 Of 12. Ann Lethbridge

Somehow he forced a smile. ‘Possibly. Look, it’s getting cold, you’re shivering. Don’t you think it’s time to go inside?’

      Ajax nudged at her hand and she fondled him abstractedly. She picked up her shawl. ‘Alec—’

      ‘Hmmm?’

      ‘Alec, I’ve been thinking. Up till now, my one aim has been to find this man and confront him. But now I’m starting to think that perhaps I don’t want Katy’s father to know about Katy.’ She looked up at him anxiously. ‘Do I sound very foolish? You see, I don’t want him to have anything at all to do with her.’

      His hard-boned face was grave. ‘Then what do you want, Rosalie?’

      ‘Oh, I was thinking that I’d find him and get an apology from him, perhaps. Above all I wanted to make him realise just what he’d done to Linette. But now?’ She gave a little sigh. ‘Sometimes, I wish I’d never even begun this.’

      Then she realised that his hand was over hers, his strong, long-fingered hand that had wrought such wicked magic on her at his father’s house. He meant it as a gesture of friendship, she knew, of reassurance, but it felt so wonderful that she hardly dared to breathe. Suddenly all she wanted was to lean into him, and lift her face to his, and perhaps he would kiss her again …

      No. He is not for you. The moths were still fluttering helplessly round the lantern, scorching themselves. It was time to pull herself away from a similar fate.

      Alec was saying, steadily, ‘You know the story of Pandora’s box, don’t you, Rosalie? I’m afraid you’ve opened it and there’s no going back. The threat is still there—my men hear the word on the streets. You still need guarding, as does Katy.’

      ‘Yes. Yes, I’m sorry; you’re more patient with me than I deserve.’ She dragged herself away from him and pulled her old shawl around her with resolution. ‘You’re right, I really must go in now, it’s getting chilly. Tomorrow, I thought perhaps we could find out if anyone remembered Linette from that place off the Ratcliffe Highway, where she died. Your men might be able to help.’

      ‘What a good idea,’ he said, heartily despising himself for his duplicity. ‘I’ll speak to Garrett in the morning and get him to send someone out there.’

      She hesitated. ‘Alec, I don’t know why you’re helping me like this, but I just want you to know that I’m truly grateful to you for offering us shelter here. I don’t know why you became estranged from your father, but I think it is his loss, not yours!’

      ‘Please don’t make me out to be anything that I’m not.’ His eyes, she saw, looked bleak. ‘I must warn you again that I have nothing, I am nothing beyond the man you see before you. I’ve been living a hard life, with hard men, for years, which alters a person and not necessarily for the better.’

      She lifted her head, her eyes bright with—what? Defiance? Obstinacy? ‘I don’t believe you have nothing, Alec Stewart!’ she said steadily. ‘I don’t believe this—this façade you put up, of being of no worth to society! You have this house, for a start.’

      ‘A wreck,’ he said, shrugging bitterly as he looked around. ‘A ruin.’

      ‘No!’ she persisted. ‘It’s of enormous value to many poor ex-soldiers! And you have your reputation as a hero of the war. Your superlative skill as a fencer. You have friends like Lord Conistone, Mary told me.’

      His face softened at last. ‘Lucas is one in a million.’

      ‘And some might say that you are also,’ she breathed, so quietly that she wasn’t sure he heard her at all.

      But unless her whole world was totally awry, Alec Stewart was good and brave and true. And she’d discovered it too late. ‘Now, I really must go in,’ she went on lightly. ‘I’ve already taken too much of your time. But, Captain Stewart, I’m so very glad to have your help. Goodnight.’ She turned to walk steadily into the house, leaving a faint trail of the scent of her skin and hair.

      Alec watched her go. A flower—honeysuckle—lay close to where she’d been sitting. He picked it up, then let it drop again as the stars twinkled in the dark sky overhead. Her sweet face had brightened with such hope just now when he’d told her he might have found more news of her sister.

      The dog had come to nudge sympathetically at his hand. ‘Well, Ajax,’ Alec said softly, ‘I’ve landed myself in one hell of a mess, haven’t I, boy?’

      How was he going to tell her that the villain they were looking for was his own damned brother?

      Family loyalty. Oh, God.

Chapter Eighteen

      Whenever Alec came across Rosalie over the next few days, she was busy organising her small but eager band of soldiers in the garden, or helping Mary with the sewing, or playing with the children. Always she was cheerful and kind to his men, who were coming perilously close to adoring her.

      Yet always now she kept her distance from him and jumped if he so much as touched her hand by accident. As well, thought Alec bleakly. He couldn’t forget how she’d melted to his shockingly intimate caresses at his father’s house. And he’d resolved that such a thing must never happen again.

      She’d entrusted him utterly with her quest and with the safety of her tragic sister’s child, and Alec was determined not to break that trust.

      There were no more direct threats, though his men reported that the underworld reward was still out for her and the child. Alec didn’t tell her this. He just doubled the guard on the house by night as well as day and made his men swear never to let her know that her little team of gardeners had actually been hand-chosen, by him, to protect her.

      Nor did he tell her that next on his agenda was a meeting with his brother.

      Stephen rose abruptly from his seat when he saw Alec entering the Pall Mall club. Though he hadn’t seen his younger brother since the night of the poetry reading, he still fumed every time he remembered the way Alec had taken the girl from him. Then there was the humiliation of the party he’d planned at his father’s house. And the business of the paintings.

      He’d received the message this morning, to meet Alec here tonight. Alec, as he came in, looked tall. Imposing. Well dressed, for once. The doorman bowed as he let him in.

      ‘Good day to you, Stephen,’ said Alec softly. ‘I thought it was time that you and I got together.’

      Stephen had deliberately chosen a quiet corner; now he gestured Alec tensely to a seat. ‘Indeed.’ His voice was already shaky with suppressed anger. ‘But first—damn you, Alec, last week I had a party arranged!’

      Alec ordered brandy from a hovering waiter. ‘Ah, you’re talking about my visit to our father’s house. I realised that our father, being absent, must have forgotten to cancel a rather large order for party food. So I took it away.’ His hard eyes fastened on Stephen. ‘To a place where it wouldn’t be wasted.’

      Stephen’s face was tense with rage. ‘You interfering ruffian—’

      ‘And as for those paintings,’ continued Alec as if his brother hadn’t spoken, ‘it was exceedingly kind of you to arrange substitutes, while the real ones were away for cleaning. I take it you’ve got the originals back in time? Our father will be returning any day, I believe.’

      Stephen was pale. Yes, and it had cost him a fortune to buy back those paintings.

      ‘Are they all back?’ repeated Alec softly.

      ‘Yes. Damn it, yes, they are!’

      ‘Good. Then I’ll