August Sunrise (The Silver Foxes of Westminster Book 2) Page 3

  “I should go as well,” Miss Bellowes said dutifully. “But it was an absolute pleasure to meet you, Mr. Croydon.” The warmth in her eyes echoed her words.

  “Likewise, Miss Bellowes.” Alex bowed to her, wanting desperately to take her hand and kiss it, which was as silly as it was appealing. “I do hope we meet again soon.”

  “As do I.”

  Miss Bellowes smiled, then turned as though being dragged reluctantly and started after her friend, who had been shuffled off double-time by her mother. Alex watched her go, laughing at himself for the burst of warmth that filled his gut…and lower.

  “Thank you,” he said, turning to Lady Stanhope. “I owe you for that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got an engagement to keep. I hope we’ll see you at Armand’s house later.” He nodded and turned to go.

  “Not so fast.” Lady Stanhope caught his arm, tugging him back to face her. “You and I have a few things to discuss before you scurry off to whatever it is you men do when left to your own devices.”

  “Do we?” Alex grinned. He liked spending time with Katya, for whatever reason. They all did. She was undeniably good fun.

  “It’s time, Alex,” she said, her expression filling with seriousness.

  Alex felt the same quiver of nerves he had felt as a child when his nanny caught him misbehaving. Katya had that effect on men. Which was probably why so many of them were clamoring to get into her bed. “Time for what?”

  Her mouth twitched to the side and she planted her hands on her slender hips. “I just introduced you to the woman you’re going to marry.”

  An electric chill shot down Alex’s spine, bristling out to his skin as if he’d been struck by lightning. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me.” Katya’s grin turned triumphant. “The two of you were born for each other.”

  Heat flooded Alex’s face. “Forgive me if I don’t share your romantic notion of people being born for each other.”

  “You can believe it or not, but it’s true,” she went on. “Marigold Bellowes is bright, quick, and rich. She’s turned down scores of marriage proposals, proving that she has enough of a backbone not to let herself be backed into a situation that goes against her best interests.”

  “Then why would she entertain any sort of proposal from me?”

  Katya chuckled, shaking her head. “You share goals. She wants to be a woman of power and influence, which any woman who marries you is destined to be, and you need a fiery beauty to keep you on your toes.”

  Alex crossed his arms, studying Katya in an attempt to determine how best to disappoint her ambitions. “My toes are just fine,” he said.

  “I don’t think they are,” she fired back.

  “I’ve gone almost fifty years without a wife—”

  “And the time has come to correct that.”

  He pressed his lips together and breathed out through his nose. “Miss Bellowes is too young to be wasted on a man of my age.”

  “She’s mature beyond her years, and you need a woman still in her child-bearing years.” Katya arched a brow, daring him to come up with another argument.

  The trouble was, she’d skated too close to the heart of why he’d shelved the idea of marrying at all.

  “I have James to consider,” he said, lowering his eyes as guilt and regret wrapped around his heart. “Violetta has only been gone for—”

  “Almost three years,” Katya finished for him, a note of compassion in her voice. She stepped closer, resting a hand on his cheek. “I know you loved her, Alex, though heaven only knows why. She was never your equal.”

  Alex’s eyes flashed to hers with a sting of anger. “Violetta was a sweet, beautiful woman. She didn’t deserve….” He swallowed suddenly, jerking away from Katya’s hand, sick with the memory of their last, wasted years together. “She deserves more than your pity.”

  “She does,” Katya agreed solemnly. “I’m sorry if it sounded as though I was disparaging her. But she went straight from the stage to your bed. Miss Bellowes has had the finest education money can buy for a woman. She would complement your ambitions perfectly. And don’t pretend you didn’t find her attractive.”

  Alex sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “There’s no point denying that I found Miss Bellowes to be charming and engaging.”

  “Engaging being the operative word in this situation,” Katya said with a grin.

  “Why would she want me?” he asked, far more serious than he wanted to be. “I’m not some dashing young buck with a heart just waiting to be filled.”

  “No.” Katya folded her arms in front of her, studying him with her sharp eyes. “You’re a lonely man with a heart crushed by guilt who needs to shake off the dust of the past to embrace the possibility of happiness before it’s too late.”

  Alex huffed a laugh in spite of himself. “Now there’s a frightening assessment.”

  “Frightening, but true.” Katya shifted her weight and studied him more deeply, which was as terrifying as everything she said. “You’re ready, Alex. It’s time.”

  He wasn’t brave enough or dense enough to ask what she thought he was ready for. Katya wasn’t the only one of his friends to pester him about marrying lately. “I have work to do here,” he argued.

  “And Marigold could help you with that.”

  “Is she planning to stand for office?” he asked with a wry twist to his mouth.

  “She doesn’t need to. Every powerful man needs a woman standing behind him, cheering him on.”

  “And you think Miss Bellowes is that woman for me.” He crossed his arms, but behind his cool façade, his resistance was crumbling.

  “I know she is.”

  “Well, if you know it, it must be true.” Sarcasm was heavy in his tone, but they both knew his statement was genuine.

  “It’s time, Alex,” she repeated. “You’ve been ready to move on for months now. I hereby give you permission.”

  He considered arguing that he didn’t need anyone’s permission, but something soft whispered through him, easing the tension he’d held close for three years now. That something felt distinctly like relief.

  “I’ll arrange for the two of you to casually bump into each other at a few social events in the next week,” Katya went on, her eyes bright with cheer. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to arrange. I can think of half a dozen hostesses planning events within the next few weeks who would be overjoyed to have both of you attend.”

  “By Jove, Katya, you have a wider, stickier web than even Malcolm has.”

  At the mention of Malcolm Campbell’s name, heat and challenge flashed in Katya’s eyes. “Malcolm doesn’t know half of what I do, or with whom I do it.”

  Alex bit his tongue over the comments he wanted to make. Perhaps it was a good thing that whatever had been between Malcolm and Katya had fallen apart years ago. The two of them would likely burn London to the ground if they were ever under the same roof for too long.

  “Very well,” he sighed, knowing not a thing could change Katya’s mind once she grabbed hold of an idea. “I’ll extend my social acquaintance with Miss Bellowes, but I can’t promise marriage.”

  “That’s what you think,” she murmured, reaching up to pat his cheek. “I predict it will be a month before you see that I’m right and take steps to prove it.”

  “A month?” Alex arched one brow. “You think I’ll propose to the woman in a month?”

  “I don’t think it, I know it.”

  Chapter 3

  As it turned out, Katya was wrong. Three weeks was all it took.

  Alex had never been one to gad about London, attending every social event imaginable, when Parliament was in session. But the day after his conversation in St. Stephen’s Hall, no fewer than six invitations arrived on his doorstep. He attended a private concert which featured a renowned soprano at the home of Lady Millicent St. George, and Miss Bellowes happened to be there as well. She was also at the lecture hosted by the Philosophical Society of London.
It was no surprise to find her at both the ball hosted by the Duchess of Devon and Mrs. Conrad Firestone, and after the fortnight he’d experienced, he couldn’t bring himself to be shocked that she was seated next to him at supper at Lord Farnsworth’s house.

  So by the time he discovered Miss Bellowes and Lady Lavinia seated in the box immediately next to his at the theater three weeks after Katya made her matrimonial prediction, Alex was ready to give in.

  “Mr. Croydon, we simply must stop meeting like this,” Miss Bellowes laughed as she took her seat on the other side of the boxes’ partition from him.

  She wore an emerald green dress cut in the latest style that showed off the creamy flesh of her shoulders. The fact that Alex could imagine himself stroking, and even kissing, that flesh only furthered his suspicion that Katya was right in every way.

  “Come now, Miss Bellowes,” he answered her, not bothering to hide the fondness, or the mischief, in his gaze. “I think we both know that the two of us are being thrust together deliberately by a mutual friend.”

  Miss Bellowes blushed a tantalizing shade of pink, her expressive eyes bright with interest. She must have been an innocent where relations between men and women were concerned, otherwise he would have heard gossip about her from the indiscreet members of his club. But the way she tilted her head just so and wet her lips ever so subtly hinted that she was a peach ripe for the picking. His trousers were suddenly too tight, but the pressure was tantalizing instead of embarrassing. Which was probably helped by the house lights dimming.

  “I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks,” Miss Bellowes confided in him as the orchestra struck the opening chords of the overture.

  “Are you a fan of Gilbert and Sullivan, then?” Alex asked.

  “Absolutely,” she answered, turning to him with a smile. “H.M.S. Pinafore has been sold out for weeks. I was shocked when these seats became available for us at the last minute.”

  “Were you really?” he asked, his mouth twitching into a knowing grin.

  She laughed. “No, not really.”

  There wasn’t time for more conversation. The overture reached a jaunty pitch, and the curtains were raised on a chorus of sailors singing about sailing the ocean blue. Alex couldn’t have cared less about them, though. In the glowing darkness, Miss Bellowes’s features were outlined with what seemed like threads of gold. She leaned forward enough to show that she was genuinely interested in the show, as opposed to merely in attendance to see and be seen. Her lips were open in a soft smile of enjoyment.

  Alex wondered what it would be like to kiss her. Surely, she would fit perfectly in his arms. Her mouth was such a pleasant shape, and her lips full and plump. He leaned back in his chair, imagining how they would feel pressed to his skin. And vice versa. He was certain she would taste sweet and sigh wantonly as he introduced her to the beauties of passion.

  Only when the first female chorus burst onto the stage in a flurry of color and ridiculousness did Alex blink himself out of his increasingly heated fantasies to realize what was going on. He hadn’t indulged in imaginings about a woman for years. There’d been no need to fantasize with Violetta. She’d left nothing to his imagination, and had given him whatever he wanted in bed. He’d remained steadfastly faithful to her, even when the fire of their romance had dulled to a sense of responsibility. He’d been tempted into a handful of intimate situations in the nearly three years since Violetta’s death, but none had blossomed into anything more than a temporary release from natural urges.

  Watching Miss Bellowes as she laughed and sighed her way through the first act of the play, however, awoke something in him that he’d thought was long gone. He wanted to do more than relieve his tension with her. He wanted to test the extent of her cleverness with conversation. He wanted to learn her deepest desires and wheedle out her darkest secrets. She was simply too intriguing to pass by.

  Damn Katya for being one step ahead of him.

  When the lights rose for intermission, Alex had made his decision. He stood, turning to Miss Bellowes.

  “Would you care for a breath of fresh air?” he asked, hoping that his expression conveyed his true question, whether she’d consent to a private word with him.

  She rose slowly, almost as if inviting him to contemplate her shapely and appealing form. “That sounds delightful,” she said, snapping open her fan and fanning herself. The slight sheen of perspiration on her face and shoulders from the heat of the gaslights brought to mind other ways Alex could make her sweat.

  “We’ll rendezvous in the hall.” He paused, glancing to Lady Lavinia. “If your friend doesn’t mind.”

  “Oh, not at all,” Lady Lavinia said, her smile a little too excited.

  Alex nodded to the ladies, then made his way through the other patrons sharing his box to the hallway. The hall was crowded with those who could afford box seats chatting and cooling themselves between acts. Alex pushed through them so that he was waiting by the door when Miss Bellowes emerged. He immediately offered his arm.

  “I believe there are several locations just off the lobby or in upper hallways where we might catch the breeze from outside,” he said, leaning closer to her.

  She slid her arm into his. “I think you’re right. Lady Stanhope was just telling me yesterday how marvelously modern this new theater is.”

  “Was she?” Alex grinned, once again feeling as though he owed Katya a gift of gratitude. Perhaps a castle.

  “Although it isn’t half as impressive as the theater Mr. D’Oyly Carte has promised to build for his company soon,” Miss Bellowes went on. “They say that theater will be entirely lit by electricity. Can you imagine?”

  “We live in exciting times, without a doubt.” A fact which inspired an idea Alex couldn’t pass up. He glanced farther down the hall, past the grand staircase dozens of patrons were descending. “Have you ever ridden an elevator, Miss Bellowes?”

  Her face lit up. “Only once before. Does this theater have one?” She glanced around expectantly.

  “It most certainly does.” Alex nodded to the far end of the curving hall, to a lonely grate that stood in front of a narrow door. He picked up his pace, leading Miss Bellowes straight to it.

  “There doesn’t seem to be an attendant,” Miss Bellowes said as Alex pulled open the door and gestured for her to step inside. “Should we leave it for another day?”

  “Certainly not,” he replied, mischief and other, far more intriguing emotions thrumming through his veins. “As it happens, I know how to operate an elevator.”

  “Do you?” She stepped into the tiny elevator car, then turned to face him as he entered. “You’re a man of many talents, Mr. Croydon. Rising parliamentary star and elevator operator.”

  He chuckled, shutting the grate and the door behind him, then pivoted toward the hydraulic controls. “And a few other skills besides those.”

  “I wonder what they could be.”

  He left her implied question unanswered as he flipped the elevator switch to up and pulled the lever to send it into motion.

  Marigold gasped and pressed a hand to her stomach as the elevator swooped up. “Are we not going to the ground floor to get a bit of fresh air?” she asked, sounding more breathless than she wanted to.

  She wanted to seem as cool and casual as Lady Stanhope was, but in truth, her stomach was a jumble of butterflies and her heart thundered against her ribs. It was arguably scandalous for her to allow Mr. Croydon to sweep her off on her own. Sensible young women did not step into elevators with older, single men. But she was well past the age of being a fainting debutante, and being found out in an intimate situation with Mr. Croydon might actually help her ambitions rather than thwarting them.

  And yet, the elevator was so close, he was such an imposing presence, and the wickedness in his eyes as he brought the elevator to an abrupt halt between floors, where only the faintest reflection of light reached them, and where the scent of machinery and his cologne filled her nose, had her trembling ever s
o slightly.

  Anything could happen in an elevator. She could be ravished at any moment. The thought left her skin tingling with expectation and inner parts of her throbbing.

  “I think you and I need to have a bit of a talk, Miss Bellowes,” he began in a low, almost wolfish voice, swaying closer to her.

  This was it. He was going to tear open her bodice, lift up her skirts, and do all of the unspeakable things that she wished beyond wishing that people actually would speak about so that she would know. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she anticipated the feel of his hands on her.

  “What would you like to talk about, Mr. Croydon?” she asked, attempting to channel every bit of Lady Stanhope’s mannerisms.

  To her surprise, instead of capturing her in his arms and ravishing her with his lips, he crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the elevator, studying her with a smile as beautiful as it was devilish.

  “My friends have been pushing me to marry,” he said.

  Marigold blinked, her stomach feeling as though the elevator had burst into motion again. “They have?”

  “Yes. Evidently, I’ve long since exceeded the proper amount of mourning for….”

  His words faded and he lowered his eyes with a sudden switch in mood.

  Marigold’s heart began to twist and pulse along with the lower parts of her. “I didn’t know you had a…love,” she said softly, not knowing how else she could both express sympathy and coax information out of him.

  He raised his eyes to her, his smile wry, but also sad. “I should pretend I’ve been a saint,” he said. “But I suspect you’re far too clever to believe that.”

  “Well,” she shrugged, wringing her closed fan in her hands. “You’re a man of a certain age. It would be unlikely for you to have remained unattached for so long, even if you weren’t married.”

  “She was unsuitable, you see,” he said, faster, his words clipped, as though he had to tell her instead of wanting to tell her. “She was an actress, so of course marriage was out of the question. But all that is in the past. My friends are growing impatient, and here we are.”