The Complete Regency Bestsellers And One Winters Collection. Rebecca WintersЧитать онлайн книгу.
Haviland took the blade, noting the difference in design. The Spanish rapier had a cup hilt that covered the hand. He tested it, giving a few experimental thrusts. It was lighter and shorter. It would definitely have an advantage in a longer bout where arm stamina might become an issue, but it would also be at a disadvantage against the reach of a longer French blade.
They worked throughout the lesson on the Spanish defences until Haviland was sweat-soaked. Whatever he thought of Julian Anjou, the man knew his fencing. ‘Will I see Leodegrance on Thursday?’ Haviland asked casually as they put their blades away.
‘I do not know. He has not told me if he has time.’ Julian did not look at him. It was impossible to know if he was lying. ‘He is very busy organising the tournament. There is much to be done.’ He gave a shrug. ‘There is plenty you and I can work on in the meanwhile.’ Julian gave him a hard look. ‘Jusque à demain.’
‘No,’ Haviland said with quiet fierceness. ‘We are going to talk about her. We are not going to pretend Leodegrance is too busy to meet with me because of the tournament and we are not going to pretend you didn’t ambush me in the park yesterday because I was kissing her.’
Julian’s face was a study of subdued anger. ‘You misunderstand the situation. We are not talking about her because doing so would validate the absurd idea that you have any claim on her.’
‘And you do?’ Haviland took an unconscious step towards Anjou, his body tensing, fists clenching.
‘I have been with the family for years. I will be with them long after you’ve left,’ Julian said tersely. ‘If you would exit the room, monsieur le vicomte? I have another lesson.’
The situation was deuced odd. Haviland took a chair in the clubroom close to the bookshelves, nodding for the waiter to bring him a drink. It wasn’t that he wanted to fight Leodegrance in a duel, but it did appear strange that there’d been no outrage on the man’s part. If he had a sister, he’d have been furious. The family would have required marriage. Yet Leodegrance was acting as if nothing happened. Had Julian told him?
Ah. Haviland took a swallow of the red wine. It was starting to make sense. Julian hadn’t reported the incident for exactly that reason. Seeing Alyssandra married to an Englishman wasn’t what Julian wanted. He wanted Alyssandra for himself. That’s why there hadn’t been any repercussions. Antoine Leodegrance didn’t know.
‘Monsieur, a message.’ The waiter extended a salver towards him bearing a single folded sheet of heavy white paper.
Haviland took it and thanked him, waiting until the man left before he read it. A little smile played along his mouth, he could feel his lips twitching with it. He was to meet Alyssandra at Madame LaTour’s salon that evening. It was further confirmation Julian hadn’t told Leodegrance. She’d never be allowed out of the house otherwise. A silver lining indeed, although not without an edge of madness to it. Alyssandra Leodegrance had proven to be dangerous to his health. Surely, there were far easier seductions to be had.
* * *
She must be mad to seek him out so boldly. Alyssandra wove a path through the guests crowded into Madam LaTour’s Egyptian-themed drawing room, discreetly searching the room for any sign of him. Dancing had started and the sidelines were a crush of people as room was made for the dancers. It was early yet, far too soon to conclude he hadn’t come. Although, such a conclusion was within the scope of possibility. Why should he come? The last time she’d invited him to come with her, he’d ended up with a bruised jaw and publicly brawling. She doubted the handsome, mannerly Viscount Amersham had ever resorted to public brawling. He’d known how to bloody his knuckles, though. So many gentlemen were useless outside the salle d’armes. But he’d known how to use all that muscle in practical application. He could defend a woman. Not that she needed defending. Still, it was nice to know he could. And, more importantly, that he would. A woman would be safe with him in all ways. Perhaps that was why she’d risked the invitation. She would be safe with him, body and honour both.
Alyssandra slipped outside onto the veranda at the first opportunity. The fresh air was welcome after the heat of the drawing room. It was a chance, too, to escape the gossips. Julian might not tell Antoine about the park, but that didn’t ensure the gossip tonight wouldn’t reach Antoine’s ears if someone saw her with the Englishman. It stood to reason that if she was with him, Antoine must condone him as an escort. Anyone who knew them well knew Antoine to be a socially reclusive but protective brother when it came to her welfare.
Alyssandra unfurled her fan, this time a white one painted with pink roses to match the rose of her gown. She would rest here for a moment and go back inside to dance with friends and to wait. And to see. If he would come.
‘I knew I’d find you out here.’ His voice was low and sensual at her ear, his hands at her shoulders ever so briefly. She could smell the vanilla and spice of his soap. All men should smell this good. She closed her eyes for just a moment to take it all in in her mind before he stepped back.
‘How did you know I’d be outside?’ She turned with a smile, her eyes skimming his face for signs of yesterday’s altercation. It was hard to see any damage in the dark. She had seen Julian, though, and it made her cringe. She didn’t like thinking of Haviland being hurt because of her.
‘I would know you anywhere.’ It was a lie, of course. She fooled him enough times in the practice room. In there, he had no idea who was behind the mesh mask. He grinned and she could make out the remnants of his split lip, but just barely.
She reached out her fingertip to it. ‘Ouch!’ Haviland scolded, jerking his head back.
‘Does it hurt?’
‘Only when people touch it.’ He laughed and then turned serious. ‘Am I to understand your brother remains unaware?’
‘Yes. It doesn’t serve Julian’s purposes to bring yesterday to Antoine’s attention.’
Haviland nodded. ‘I figured as much. Still, I don’t like secrecy or the idea that we have to sneak around. It seems deceptive. Perhaps I could call on him and formally ask permission to take you driving in the park or to escort you to these sorts of gatherings.’
Her stomach clenched. This was hardly deceptive. She could only imagine how he would feel about the deception. If he ever found out. Another thought came to her. ‘I think the sooner you can accept the fact that my brother will not meet with you, the sooner we can move forward.’
‘We’re back to that again?’ Haviland’s eyes darkened, his body stiffening. ‘You insult my honour to imply I am using you for an entrée.’ His mouth came down close to her ear, the harshness of his voice roughly erotic. ‘You know damn well I wanted you before I knew your name.’
‘How do I know that hasn’t changed?’
‘You sent me the invitation.’ He growled, his teeth nipping the lobe of her ear, sending a delicious trill down her spine. ‘Now it’s my turn. There’s a carriage parked at the kerb, pulled by two matched greys. If you believe me, get in. The driver knows where to go. He will wait only fifteen minutes.’
Her throat went dry at the implication. One choice and everything would change.
Get in the carriage. Don’t get in the carriage. It was somewhat amazing how one simple decision could set in motion a series of significant events. But she’d been making ‘simple’ decisions about Haviland North since she met him: going to Madame Aguillard’s musicale, unfurling her fan, taking a walk in the gardens. All were simple decisions and all had led to this moment of choice. Would she make one more simple decision that would move her forward on this path?
Her feet registered the decision before her mind. She was already moving towards the entrance before she fully realised the import of the decision. What she meant to do was