her on the floor of his bedchamber, his lips bruising and commanding. Her hands would rest on his wide shoulders, and he would kiss her and kiss her and kiss her.
When he was finished, he’d lay her, exhausted and weak, on the bunk. He’d come away with her necklace in his hand. “I will keep this to remember you by, dear lady,” he would say in a low voice. He would give her a look with his dark blue eyes, press a light kiss to her lips, then turn and sweep away.
She drew a long breath, forcing her fantasy aside. “Be that as it may, we have no proof that he was a pirate.” She fanned her hot face. “He is simply a viscount living next door to me. Trying to raise a daughter by himself.” She paused. “At least, I do not believe his wife is still living. The house is certainly that of a bachelor.”
Lady Featherstone gaped. “You were inside his house? When? Why on earth didn’t you tell me?”
Alexandra flushed. “Well—”
“What was it like?” Mrs. Waters asked eagerly.
Alexandra foundered. “Well, he has only just moved in, hasn’t he? Naturally everything is at sixes and sevens. Much of the old viscount’s furniture is still there.”
Mrs. Waters looked disappointed. “I heard he brought home boxes of treasure—jewels and silks and exotic things.”
Alexandra remembered his words, low and sultry: I have opals that would shine like white fire in your hair. Where would he get a handful of loose opals that he wanted totake to the jeweler to set? “Well, of course he must have some mementoes of his travels.”
“Visit him again and find out.”
Mrs. Tetley joined in. “Yes. Consider it your duty , Alexandra, to storm the battlements and find out if he is truly a pirate.” She gave a very unmatronly giggle. “And then tell us everything. ”
Alexandra regarded them in dismay. They had fired her own curiosity, but she certainly did not want to snoop and report to them. Besides, if she made a habit of dashing in and out of the viscount’s house, people would talk. She must avoid scandal if she was to go on the marriage mart again.
Of course, she would have to venture to speak to him about Maggie’s clothes, or rather, her lack of them. Pirate or no, the viscount obviously had no idea how a twelve-year-old girl should be dressed. She could offer her knowledge and assistance in this area. Which meant she would have to take Maggie shopping and help her set up her wardrobe, which would entail any number of visits to the house.
No. Her better self pushed the idea firmly from her mind. She would not poke and pry, and she certainly would not use a little girl as an excuse to do so.
Although Maggie did need clothes. Alexandra knew a dressmaker who did excellent work for younger ladies. And for her governess—of course, Mrs. Fairchild. Her heart leapt. Mrs. Fairchild—the lovely, well-mannered woman who had been Alexandra’s last governess, who had given Alexandra her final polish before her debut—would be perfect for Maggie. Mrs. Fairchild had married an Oxford don just before Alexandra’s wedding, but she was a widow now, and had written Alexandra that she planned to return to tutoring girls.
“Ladies, I—” she began.
She was saved having to explain by a horrible grinding sound of wood on pavement just outside the window. Then came the crash of glass, screams of horses, fervent curses of men, and the frightened cries of passers-by.
Alexandra leapt to her feet. She and her guests hurried to the front window, and Alexandra pulled back the drape. Outside, the summer street scene had changed to chaos. A carriage lay overturned on the stones, its roof inches from the railing that separated the street from her scullery stairs. A delivery wagon lay askew across half the road, and another carriage had spun to collide with it. Horses screamed and struggled in their harnesses, trapped by tethers and chains. A window of the overturned carriage had cracked straight across.
Men scurried toward
When he was finished, he’d lay her, exhausted and weak, on the bunk. He’d come away with her necklace in his hand. “I will keep this to remember you by, dear lady,” he would say in a low voice. He would give her a look with his dark blue eyes, press a light kiss to her lips, then turn and sweep away.
She drew a long breath, forcing her fantasy aside. “Be that as it may, we have no proof that he was a pirate.” She fanned her hot face. “He is simply a viscount living next door to me. Trying to raise a daughter by himself.” She paused. “At least, I do not believe his wife is still living. The house is certainly that of a bachelor.”
Lady Featherstone gaped. “You were inside his house? When? Why on earth didn’t you tell me?”
Alexandra flushed. “Well—”
“What was it like?” Mrs. Waters asked eagerly.
Alexandra foundered. “Well, he has only just moved in, hasn’t he? Naturally everything is at sixes and sevens. Much of the old viscount’s furniture is still there.”
Mrs. Waters looked disappointed. “I heard he brought home boxes of treasure—jewels and silks and exotic things.”
Alexandra remembered his words, low and sultry: I have opals that would shine like white fire in your hair. Where would he get a handful of loose opals that he wanted totake to the jeweler to set? “Well, of course he must have some mementoes of his travels.”
“Visit him again and find out.”
Mrs. Tetley joined in. “Yes. Consider it your duty , Alexandra, to storm the battlements and find out if he is truly a pirate.” She gave a very unmatronly giggle. “And then tell us everything. ”
Alexandra regarded them in dismay. They had fired her own curiosity, but she certainly did not want to snoop and report to them. Besides, if she made a habit of dashing in and out of the viscount’s house, people would talk. She must avoid scandal if she was to go on the marriage mart again.
Of course, she would have to venture to speak to him about Maggie’s clothes, or rather, her lack of them. Pirate or no, the viscount obviously had no idea how a twelve-year-old girl should be dressed. She could offer her knowledge and assistance in this area. Which meant she would have to take Maggie shopping and help her set up her wardrobe, which would entail any number of visits to the house.
No. Her better self pushed the idea firmly from her mind. She would not poke and pry, and she certainly would not use a little girl as an excuse to do so.
Although Maggie did need clothes. Alexandra knew a dressmaker who did excellent work for younger ladies. And for her governess—of course, Mrs. Fairchild. Her heart leapt. Mrs. Fairchild—the lovely, well-mannered woman who had been Alexandra’s last governess, who had given Alexandra her final polish before her debut—would be perfect for Maggie. Mrs. Fairchild had married an Oxford don just before Alexandra’s wedding, but she was a widow now, and had written Alexandra that she planned to return to tutoring girls.
“Ladies, I—” she began.
She was saved having to explain by a horrible grinding sound of wood on pavement just outside the window. Then came the crash of glass, screams of horses, fervent curses of men, and the frightened cries of passers-by.
Alexandra leapt to her feet. She and her guests hurried to the front window, and Alexandra pulled back the drape. Outside, the summer street scene had changed to chaos. A carriage lay overturned on the stones, its roof inches from the railing that separated the street from her scullery stairs. A delivery wagon lay askew across half the road, and another carriage had spun to collide with it. Horses screamed and struggled in their harnesses, trapped by tethers and chains. A window of the overturned carriage had cracked straight across.
Men scurried toward
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