Compelled by Love (Kendawyn Paranormal Regency) Page 6

He finally turned, giving her his arm, and led her out of the park and onto a lovely little promenade of shops. He lead her past a dress shop that looked familiar. A jewelry store that had a locket she coveted, a little millinery that she never wanted to see again, and into a tiny closet of a shop, hidden away, and almost unfindable.

  “Mr. Hackins?” Hugh called, pulling Alice closer simply because there wasn’t room for them both if they didn’t press together. They were surrounded by a bounty of books.

  “Oh, Mr. Hugh,” the proprietor said familiarly. The men clearly knew each other well and did not let rank destroy their friendship. “One moment.” The little man with huge glasses disappeared behind a door that you could barely see because it was so buried in books.

  Hugh grinned at Alice, and she could see how he loved that the bookshop owner didn’t care about titles.

  “I’ve got a stack for you,” the little man said. He came bustling out, and despite his stringy build, he carried the stack with him, and it went from his waist to past his shoulder.

  Alice’s breath caught.

  The proprietor moved like a man who was used to carrying many books, but Hugh hurried to help him all the same.

  Alice’s eyes widened. Before she could stop herself, she snatched one book, three from the bottom almost sending the entire stack flying.

  “This one is mine,” she declared, tucking it close to her chest.

  “That one…” Hugh’s eyes narrowed. “Is that the new Briory Mitchell?”

  She grinned at him, refusing to let it go when he held out his hand.

  “We’ll take two of that one, Hackins.”

  “Oh, Mr. Hugh,” Hackins said, “I sold the last one a week ago. I’ve been saving that one for you.”

  “Hand it over, minx,” Hugh said. “You heard the man. He’s been saving it for me.”

  She shook her head and turned from them both to slip between the shelves. She took every single book that caught her eye. She was in fact going to stick Hugh with a huge bill. And not be without novels again.

  Not ever again.

  Her boxes had been sent to Hugh’s house. They’d routed her books away from her without even consulting her. She’d been lucky to get her clothes and the bedding.

  What had she been thinking that she hadn’t made sure she’d have them? She was going to use one of those superfluous servants, she thought, and send them after her books. Even with the books she kept handing to Hugh, she wanted her own. She wanted the picture books from her childhood. She wanted her favorite mortal realm stories that Papa had collected. She wanted Mama’s favorite book of poetry. She missed her books.

  The afternoon was utterly delightful. For the first time since he’d woken brown-eyed and focused, she felt as if her wolf were back.

  But this was the man.

  He walked with her in the gardens. They bought so many books that Hackins sent them on (except for the disputed Briory Mitchell novel). They read it in a nursery park that didn’t have the ton milling about. They ate cheese and fruit and lemon ices. And when the sun was setting, he returned Alice to his mother and aunt at the duke’s house.

  His mother scolded them, but he ignored her after kissing her forehead and walked away, pulling Alice behind him. This house was smaller than the massive estate house, but it was still far larger than any home Alice had ever visited. It had room after room, and you could get turned around in it easily. She’d been found by a kind housemaid twice already.

  Hugh, however, didn’t have that problem. He took her to a lovely sitting room with yellow walls that was entirely new to her, but before she could glance around, he took her face between his palms and gave her a kiss that curled her toes, flushed her cheeks, and made her forget to breathe.

  “Did you do as we said?” His mother watched her son leave later that evening.

  Alice shook her head.

  “Well, whatever you did was the thing to do,” Jane said. “Keep it up. He’s entranced.”

  Alice wasn’t sure that Lady Jane was correct, but Alice knew one things for sure.

  She was entranced.

  Utterly, completely, compelled to need him. It was his gaze. His touch. And most of all…

  His laugh.

  So far in Lyndone, she’d gotten bored with shopping. She’d met many of Jane and Henrietta’s friends and, to Alice’s surprise, she liked at least half of them. They’d gone to a musicale that was put on by a family with a half-dozen daughters, all of whom performed. They were very, very bad at music. It made Alice embarrassed for them, but only one had seemed aware that they were awful, and she seemed to be amused.

  That was, Alice thought, a mercy.

  Tonight, Hugh had brought her to the opera. She’d expected to hate it, but she was in love. The talent was astounding, and her fingers itched to play what she was hearing. She needed her violin-cello. She’d have to send another servant for that. But surely the duke had a piano-forte?

  She considered as she sat alone in the tiny box that had only two seats. She sipped from a flute of chilled champagne. He’d left her for refreshments, but she saw him a few boxes down speaking with Rhys.

  Duke, she rolled her eyes at the thought, of Wolfemuir. She had decided to never let the man forget he’d packed her things. A man who packed your things was not a man who got to order you about.

  Her eyes narrowed as she watched their whispered conversation. Rhys’s companion was lovely as the dawn and her dress was far too low cut. She must be a widow. Or perhaps some fast matron who ignored her marriage vows.

  Somehow, she couldn’t see Rhys having a relationship with a married woman. Not even one who was happy in cheating on her spouse.

  What were they talking about? It didn’t look like the woman could hear either. Were they discussing Maxwell and Hugh? How had they handled it? Every time that Alice asked, Hugh had side-stepped answering.

  She watched the stage and wondered if she should be offended that he’d left her alone in the tiny, private theater box he’d secured for them. Their little box had been intended by the designers to allow a man such as himself to hold her hand or touch her curls without offending society. And he had done much of that throughout the first act.

  But after giving her champagne, he’d disappeared, and she was lonely.

  And curious.

  She was lonely for Mariah and Algernon and people who knew her thoroughly. She liked Hugh. She didn’t feel alone when he was with her.

  She thought she could love him.

  His mother and his aunt were delightful. She’d become fond of all the cousins she’d met and was shocked daily by how much Henry and Rhys enchanted her. They were becoming more and more of a family to her. And that was even though Henry called her lass far too often, and Rhys had never called her anything but kitten.

  His aunt and mother promised that she’d love the rest of the women of the family, but Alice wanted Mariah.

  They had been daily companions for so long, and Alice wanted to curl into her cousin’s lap and ask Mariah if the course that Alice was sailing was the right one.

  “Have you heard how she trapped him into engagement?” The whisper had been intended to be overheard, and it shot right to Alice’s heart.

  The titter that followed it had also been intended to be overheard. “I wouldn’t have thought any of the Wolfemuir could be caught that way.”

  The snide voice was a dagger to Alice, who had been feeling blue all day. His mother and aunt had taken her shopping again, despite Alice’s protests. They’d sworn she needed some spectacular gown for a masquerade. The dress shop had been overwhelmed with women, including the lovely blonde who had caught Hugh’s attention. Her eyes were red-rimmed as if she’d been crying.

  And there had been a pretty little female named Catherine Maxwell who’d been waiting so quietly, shifting uncomfortably. She seemed terribly young and lonely. Alice had been staring at her until another woman arrived who’d been entitled and loud and horrible. Alice had gotten distracte
d and then the two women who’d unknowingly dueled for Alice’s attention had disappeared.

  “She must have gotten lucky and acted immediately. With the right audience, even a Wolfemuir could be trapped. She must have thrown herself on the opportunity. He’s taking it well. Squiring her about as if he cares about her, but I saw him yesterday afternoon with Leah St. Claire, and poor Leah looked devastated. He didn’t, I must say, look much happier.”

  Alice froze.

  Was Leah the blonde from the park and the dress shop? If so, perhaps that would explain those red-rimmed eyes. Surely Jane would have said. Or Henrietta. But no.

  Of course they wouldn’t.

  Had Alice stolen him from someone he loved? Her eyes filled and then she refused to give into the need to cry.

  She hadn’t.

  She’d been the one whose life had been stolen from her.

  She shifted and let the tuning of the music draw her in. She paused, confused that anything could distract her from the idea that he loved another.

  But she couldn’t. She couldn’t live with it if he loved another.

  The mean giggle cut off abruptly as he returned to their box. He held a plate of delicacies and said, “I thought chocolate was just the thing.”

  She smiled up at him and knew it was somewhat watery.

  “Are you all right?” He sat next to her, holding out the treats, eyes concerned.

  She nodded and took a random napkin and a sweet. But she couldn’t eat it. She held it in her lap and looked over the side of the balcony. She felt exhausted—her mind shutting down on her as if she’d been working too hard.

  But, of course, she hadn’t been.

  He was smiling at her, the corners of his eyes crinkled. His thick hair begged to have her fingers run through it, and she realized that she couldn’t. She didn’t feel comfortable with that—even if they were alone.

  How could she possibly marry him?

  How could she possibly entwine her long life with his when she wasn’t confident that he loved her?

  She’d felt… Perhaps since breakfast? Since the dress shop? Since her afternoon nap? Regardless of when, she felt as if her breath had been stolen from her. And, maybe, she was starting to understand why.

  She needed to believe that he loved her.

  That he wanted her.

  Even if she just thought that he’d rather have her than not.

  She couldn’t be sure even of that. And how lonely was that idea?

  She needed Mariah. She needed Mariah’s counsel and comfort. Alice needed to know that if she decided to run, her cousins would still love her.

  Perhaps they’d let her alone for fifty years, she’d buy that cottage early, and then they’d have sneaky little trips together. Later. As lonely and horrible as that sounded, Alice thought it would probably be a better fate than being bound to a man who wanted Leah St. Claire.

  “Darling,” Jane said as they talked through the conservatory, “have you decided what you want to wear to the masquerade at the St. Claire’s?”

  Jane and Henrietta hadn’t been able to choose between two gowns when they’d gone shopping and that had been when Alice had seen the sad blonde. She’d been distracted then and distracted ever since. She hadn’t cared then and didn’t care now. The two women had solved the problem then by buying both gowns.

  Which meant the problem existed for today, and it seemed to be the wrong thing to worry over when Hugh loved another. She needed her cousin to help her know whether she should not go to the ball or anywhere else with him.

  Helplessly, Alice had shook her head. She hadn’t been able to sleep well since the theater. How many days had it been? She wasn’t sure.

  Her worries had only intensified until she felt as though they were needles prickling her skin, her scalp. She wasn’t sure she’d ever felt so awful.

  “I hope that it is all right with you, my dear, but I purchased a mask for you. I just saw it and fell in love with it.

  “Oh,” Alice said and then nodded. She didn’t care. She tried to smile her excitement, but she thought that Jane realized that something was wrong. The problem was that Alice needed to talk to Mariah. Alice needed to catch her breath, to slow down on the changes that were overtaking her life.

  She’d written to her cousin, and Mariah’s promise to love Alice no matter what didn’t fade the fear that Mariah would change her mind later, once the pressure of society made it far more awkward to love Alice.

  Would they keep the children from Alice?

  Would she be unable to be part of little Gerald and baby Cecilia’s life? Would Algie no longer be able to come with her on their adventures in the woods?

  She found that the idea of running was so much easier than staying. Even when Hugh took her for walks or to the museum.

  She needed to believe that he wanted her and loved her.

  Anything less. Anything less would be untenable.

  Because she had discovered something since she’d heard that horrible name, Leah St. Claire.

  She loved Hugh Darcy.

  Alice did not accept the help of a maid on the evening of the masquerade. She closeted herself into her room and realized several things as she dressed.

  First, she couldn’t keep on like this. She was falling deeper and deeper in love with Hugh. She had to drag the thoughts from her mind. They filled her with an almost buzzing—like a swarm of bees were just a room over.

  Second, she didn’t fit here. That must be why she felt so off-kilter. It was not being able to stand having a servant’s hands in her hair. She could barely tolerate them tightening her corset or helping her lift her over-sized gown over her head.

  And third, she couldn’t go back to Miller’s Crossings. She looked over her shoulder at her beloved Geographia of Kendawyn and the places where she’d put a ribbon. They were all places her parents had visited and loved. What better place to heal a broken heart than on the shores of the sea where the sun rose high and the wind was gentle and warm?

  Alice wasn’t going to see Cecilia reach adulthood. She wasn’t going to watch Algie or Gerald graduate from Neton. She wasn’t going to curl into Mariah’s lap or walk with Algernon near the oaks. Not for a long while.

  She placed the pearl hair pins in her hair, twisting her dark locks into an approximation of a traditional knot. She didn’t want it to be like everyone else. She didn’t want it to be like perfect Leah St. Claire. Alice needed Hugh to remember her as she was—not some glossed-over version. Not when she was freeing him for the St. Claire girl.

  Alice would not pretend to be something other than she was during her last evening with Hugh Darcy. She wanted it to be whimsical and spritely. She dabbed the smallest amount of rouge on her lips and darkened her lashes and let her magic glow just a bit. She could hardly use it, but the feel of it, when it coursed freely through her veins, brightened her complexion and eyes.

  And in between doing her hair and smoothing her nails and taking hold of her magic, she put a few books into a trunk. And separated the clothes she’d brought with her from the clothes that Jane and Henrietta had bestowed.

  Finally, Alice placed the mask on her face—the one that said she wasn’t dying inside--and then covered that mask with the piece of art and imagination that Jane had bought for her. Between the two, perhaps Hugh would think she was enjoying herself instead of wanting to weep and plead with him to love her.

  The music started like angels were playing it instead of hidden minstrels. It came from the gallery above, and Hugh whirled Alice into a dance.

  “Are you all right?” His voice was gentle, and Alice was well aware that he knew she was not. It was too evident in the way that he treated her as if she were on the edge of breaking.

  “Of course,” she lied, looking past him at the pale, golden vampire goddess who was dancing with Henry.

  Leah St. Claire was tall, willowy, full-lipped, and everything that Alice was not. Alice was of average height with dark hair, light eyes, pale skin and—
maybe—rosy lips. She supposed she was pretty enough, but Leah St. Claire was shockingly lovely. Alice wasn’t sure that she’d ever felt more unattractive than she did at this moment.

  “You do know that I am not an idiot, don’t you?”

  Alice lied with a smile at Hugh, who scowled down at her with only his eyes. His face told the entire ton he was happy. Everyone except Alice.

  She supposed hers did the same.

  She hated that she was lying to him and he to her. That they pretended for the spoiled ton that surrounded them. She hated that this was her proffered life.

  Perhaps if they were able to be honest and blunt rather than careful and proper, the two of them wouldn’t be in this mess. She wanted to escape to her old home, to play with the children in the woods and arrange flowers in the rectory and walk among the paths she’d known since she was a child.

  Thinking of her childhood made her remember her father and the way he’d loved her mother. The way that Alice needed to be loved.

  The thought of her parents cemented within Alice what she had to do. Hugh loved that blonde goddess. And Alice deserved to be loved.

  Just as her mother had been.

  She deserved to be loved by a man who wanted her. Who felt for her more than gratitude for his life. She needed and wanted so much more than this mess.

  She smiled a goodbye up at Hugh, watery and weak, and his eyes flared yellow as he stared down at her. His fingers pressed into her spine, and she felt as if he were trying to somehow force her to his side, to keep her there.

  But that was, of course, wrong. All of this was so wrong.

  “You’re all wearing the same masks,” she said, trying to distract him from her. So far she’d seen Rhys, Oliver, Liam, and of course, Hugh wearing identical masks and coats.

  “Hmm? Oh, yes, George sent them.”

  She didn’t care why George had decided all the Wolfemuir would wear the same masks. Hugh didn’t either.

  But she pretended to care as she frowned a question at him.

  “It’s little enough to give,” he said, looking past her at George. She followed Hugh’s gaze and saw a delicate little redhead arguing with the gentle, elegant George. “He seems to be having no more luck than I this evening.”