Page 10 of Second Chances (Intrepid Heroines #3)

Nine

W rexham stared in consternation at the letter in his hands. He had already read it a second time, and his scowl had only deepened. What the devil could Bingham be thinking to?—

“Good morning, Father.” Max limped into the breakfast room, leaning heavily on a cane, Allegra hovering anxiously at his elbow.

The earl’s expression brightened considerably, though his brows still puckered in concern. “Halloo, Max. Are you sure you should be moving about so much? I should be happy to have a tray brought to your room and have my tea with you.”

“I am heartily sick of a tray in my room,” grumbled Max. “I don’t need to be treated like an invalid anymore.”

Allegra rolled her eyes in mock despair. “Well, Dr. Graham did allow as he could get up if he felt able. Unless, sir, you would like to locate a length of rope….”

Wrexham chuckled. “No, I suppose we needn’t resort to that.” He turned his eyes to his son. “As long as you show some sense and do not tire yourself unduly.”

The lad nodded a vigorous assent as he slid into his chair. A moment later he was digging into a plate heaped high with gammon, shirred eggs, broiled kidney and a slice of pigeon pie that one of the footman had prepared for him. “Heartily sick of porridge, too,” he mumbled between bites.

Allegra and Wrexham exchanged amused looks.

As Max sent his plate back for a second helping of everything, he glanced at the folded sheets of paper lying next to the earl’s cup.

“Who is the letter from? Anything of interest?”

Wrexham had momentarily forgotten the pages he had laid aside. “It’s from Bingham. Naturally he inquires as to how you are coming along. And he—” The earl stopped short. “He hopes you are feeling better,” he finished lamely.

Max put down his fork. “What else does he say?” he demanded.

Wrexham was uncomfortably aware of two sets of eyes boring into him. “Nothing of note,” he muttered. “Sandhill has returned to town, but we knew that.”

Max pulled a face. “There is something you are not telling us.”

His father made a show of taking up the freshly-ironed newspaper and opening it with a snap. Max shot a disgruntled glance at Allegra but remained silent as he began to chew thoughtfully on a piece of sirloin.

* * *

Later that morning, Max made his way into the schoolroom where Allegra sat comparing two different translations of Homer. His expression was cause for concern—she had come to know him well enough to recognize when he was bursting with something to tell her, though at the moment he was taking great pains to appear nonchalant.

She regarded him warily as he flopped onto the comfortable settee by the window.

“Have you read any of E. M. Quicksilver’s novels,” he inquired casually.

“Why Max, I hadn’t imagined that sort of horrid novel would have any interest for you. They are supposed to appeal to frivolous ladies of the ton who have nothing better to do with their afternoons than immerse themselves in outlandish plots with rather silly heroines—and brick-headed heroes who should have more sense than to fall in love with such brainless widgets.”

He grinned. “I’ve read them all.”

“So have I,” she admitted. “He’s better than most, but not quite as evocative as Mrs. Radcliffe.”

“I shall tell him your opinion next time I see him—he’s always interested in what the critics think.”

“Hmmm,” was her noncommittal reply as she kept her head bent over the texts.

“It’s Lord Bingham,” he announced after a dramatic pause. “Quicksilver, that is.”

Her pen stopped its scratching.

“Nobody knows except my father—well, and me, of course,” he continued, a note of triumph creeping into his voice at having finally garnered her complete attention. “He has a vivid imagination, does he not? And he knows all sorts of interesting people in Town. For research, he says.”

“Does he?” Her voice remained noncommittal. Was it her imagination or was the lad playing her like a trout on a line? And where had he learned to be so sly in his machinations. A month ago he would have blurted out what was on his mind without….

She swallowed hard, trying not to feel guilty as she recalled that Lord Wrexham had been worried that Max was too staid. Well, that concern could be tossed out the window!

“That’s very interesting, Max. It appears Lord Bingham is a man of many talents?—”

“Oh, more than you know!” he crowed. “Why, you would be astounded by his latest plot!”

She began to write again. “Then I shall look forward to reading his next volume.”

The lad abandoned his show of nonchalance. “Aren’t you even a bit interested in what I’ve learned?” he demanded.

Allegra opened her mouth, but before she could answer, Max continued on, unable to contain his enthusiasm.

“It’s the most fantastic plan?—”

“What is?” she interrupted.

“Why, the plan Lord Bingham has come up with to ensnare Sandhill and son.”

She put her pen down. “Is that what is in Lord Bingham’s letter?”

“Yes! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“And you convinced your father to share it with you?”

The lad’s eyes dropped to the floor.

“Max?”

“Not exactly” he mumbled. “But don’t be angry with me! We have a right to know what is being discussed. Why, just because you’re a female and I’m a few years shy of a certain age doesn’t mean we should be treated as if we were imbeciles.”

On that she had no argument, which, she knew, was what Max was counting on. The lad was fast bridging the gap between child and adult—too fast in this case!

She heaved a sigh.

“I went to see Father in the library and, well, the letter was lying on his desk,” he explained. “I … I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my side and had to sit down for a moment. Father insisted on fetching my medicine from my bedchamber, and in his absence?—”

“Max! That’s enough!”

He took on an injured expression. “But you haven’t heard the best part!” he protested.

“Nor will I,” she said firmly. “That was an underhanded trick to play on your father, not one worthy of a gentleman.”

Max had the grace to color.

“And furthermore, I promised your father that I would not engage in any more escapades with you. Lord knows, he’s endured more than enough worry over your well-being in the last little while.”

“This doesn’t involve me,” countered Max. “And you agreed not to act on your own here at the Hall. Lord Bingham’s plan is contingent on being in London.” His eye took on a gleam as he added one last point. “And remember, Father has already informed you that when we reach London, you will no longer be in his employ.”

“Good lord, your reasoning would put Machiavelli to blush,” she muttered. Nevertheless, he had a point. And she had to admit she was intrigued.

Max didn’t fail to sense it, and sought to press home his advantage. “At least listen to the plan, Mrs. Proctor. What harm is there in that?”

Her last defenses crumbled in the face of curiosity.

“Oh, very well.”

* * *

Wrexham eyed the clock on the mantel. He had a meeting with his steward out by the south pastures but there was ample time for taking Ulysses out for a good gallop beforehand. Both of them had spent far too much time cooped up inside of late. He was about to rise when a knock came at the door.

“Come in,” he called curtly, adding a curse under his breath. He had been looking forward to the wind in his face.

Allegra entered with Max in tow.

He took one look at their solemn faces and felt a stab of alarm. “What is wrong? Should I summon Dr. Graham?—”

“No, milord,” said Allegra quickly. “There is nothing the matter with Max’s health. However, there is something he would like to tell you.”

The look of concern on the earl’s face changed to one of wariness as he turned to regard his son. “Yes?”

Max fell into a rather prolonged fit of coughing.

“That won’t fadge,” scolded Allegra. “Neither your father nor I were born yesterday so you might as well get on with it.”

The noise stopped and the lad shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Ah, Father, I am to apologize for a most ungentlemanly trick. I contrived to have you fetch my medicine so that I could sneak a look at Lord Bingham’s letter.”

The earl’s dark brows rose.

“I know it was wrong,” continued Max. “But … but you should have shared Lord Bingham’s plan with us! Mrs. Proctor has a right to know all that is being discussed about her problem.”

Wrexham ignored his son’s last outburst and fixed his gaze on Allegra. “I take it Max wasted no time in conveying to you what he had read ?”

She nodded.

He let out his breath in an exasperated sigh. “Well, thank the lord that someone besides me has a modicum of reason in this affair. It is gratifying to see you exhibiting the good sense I have come to expect from you, rather than succumbing to harebrained schemes that?—”

“Actually, I think it’s a brilliant plan.”

Wrexham stared at her, dumfounded.

“I do not approve of Max’s violation of your trust, sir. And as I have told you, I do not intend on doing so myself while under your roof. But once I am in London, I fully intend to inform Lord Bingham that I wish to put his idea into action.”

“The devil you will!” exploded the earl. “Are you mad? Why, Bingham’s plan is no better than something out of one of his horrid novels?—”

“They are very good, you know,” interjected Allegra. “Though as I said to Max, perhaps not quite up to snuff with Mrs. Radcliffe’s writing.”

“This is no laughing matter, Mrs. Proctor. I don’t think you have any notion of the risk involved. It’s far too dangerous.” A pause. “I forbid you to entertain even the thought of it!”

Allegra’s eyes took on a decided gleam. “Forbid me? And under what authority do you propose to do that?”

He was taken aback for a second.

“May I remind you, milord, that seeing as I am not your—not a member of your family, you have no right to do any such thing.” She smiled grimly as she followed up on her advantage. “Have you forgotten that once we reach London, I will not even be in your employment anymore?”

Wrexham’s fist came down on his desk. “Then perhaps I shall leave you here in Yorkshire,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Then I shall take the mail coach. I have the funds,” she replied calmly.

“Oh, bloody hell,” swore the earl under his breath. “Sit down, both of you,” he demanded. “Let us attempt to discuss this in a rational manner.”

“That’s a useful suggestion, sir, especially if you will stop shouting,” murmured Allegra.

“I am not shouting,” retorted the earl. And indeed, his tone did modulate to somewhere in the vicinity of a normal conversational level. He regarded the two figures now seated before him with a steely gaze and his fingers began to drum on the tooled blotter. The tinge on Max’s cheeks betrayed his discomfort under his father’s quelling scrutiny, but Allegra met the earl’s angry eyes without flinching.

He finally broke the uncomfortable silence. “Mrs. Proctor, surely when you take a moment to examine Bingham’s idea more carefully, you will see that it is completely out of the question for any number of reasons.”

Allegra kept her jaw clamped shut, ignoring the plea of reason in his voice.

When the earl saw that she meant not to answer, he gave a heavy sigh and went on. “First of all, the notion that I should bring you to Town masquerading as a distant cousin, recently bereaved and left a fortune by the obliging deceased is outside of enough?—”

“And why is that?” she inquired rather acidly. “I may not be a proper lady, milord, but I was raised with a modicum of manners, and have dined out enough in country society to be fairly certain I wouldn’t disgrace myself in some drawing room or ballroom. Or perhaps you believe that those of us without title or fortune will always reveal ourselves as inferior in the presence of our betters, no matter what the dressing?” For some reason, the idea that the earl found the very thought of her as a fine lady preposterous piqued her more than she could explain.

Wrexham’s brows came together in confusion. “That is not at all what I meant. That is, I….” His words trailed off as he wondered how in the devil he had been put on the defensive so quickly. “Good lord, you know very well that I believe no such thing—why you are much more….” Again he stumbled over his choice of words. “… sensible to be around than most of the ton,” he finished lamely.

Sensible? Hardly mollifying, thought Allegra, but apparently it would have to do.

The earl was beginning to recover his equilibrium. “It has to do with habits and such—things that would be difficult for you to be aware of. There are any number of pitfalls, Mrs. Proctor, that could give you away?—”

“But that’s why Lord Bingham has suggested enlisting Aunt Olivia’s help!” interrupted Max. “You’ve always said she has a good head on her shoulders and can trusted to come through in a pinch. With her help, Mrs. Proctor won’t have any trouble learning what she needs to know to be accepted as who she says she is.”

Wrexham’s eyes closed for a moment, trying to suppress the feeling that, had Bingham been present, he would have cheerfully throttled his friend’s neck. Unfortunately, Max was right. His Aunt Olivia was certainly a perfect choice for aiding them in this endeavor. Not only was she clever and capable but she had an odd, adventurous streak that would no doubt lead her to look upon the whole thing as fun! That her husband was away on a diplomatic mission in St. Petersburg for another few months and had taken their two grown sons with him only made matters worse, for there would be no other voice of male reason to moderate what he was sure would be her enthusiasm for the plan.

Why, he wondered balefully as he stole another look at his son’s eager face, was he the only member of the family who exhibited any common sense and refused to succumb to wild extremes of emotion?

Clearing his throat, he tried a different tack. “That may be so, Max. But Mrs. Proctor, have you truly considered the real dangers? These are ruthless men you mean to toy with, and they are by no means slowtops. One careless slip of the tongue could put your life at risk. Doesn’t that frighten you?”

Allegra’s expression didn’t waver. “I would be a fool not to realize there are risks, my lord. But I feel that the odds are decidedly on my side.”

“And why is that?” His eyes narrowed and his voice took on a touch of sarcasm. “Do you mean to slip that ancient pistol into your reticule and imagine yourself safe?”

She shook her head. “Certainly not. It is you, sir, who tip the balance.”

He was completely taken aback.

“Me!” he exclaimed as he scanned her face for any sign that the words were some sort of jest.

Her expression remained quite serious. “Yes, milord. I think the risk is worth taking for is my opinion that Sandhill and his son are no match for us if you will consent to be a part of the plan .”

Wrexham started to speak when he caught the look in his son’s eyes. He felt a sudden constriction in his chest.

“Of course they aren’t,” said Max with a note of pride. “If anyone can bring them to justice, it’s Father. He is smarter and braver than any of those bast—uh, villains.”

The earl shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I … I suppose Edmund is not entirely out of his head. With certain modifications, it might be possible …”

“I knew you would not let them get away with what they have done” cried Max triumphantly.

Wrexham felt things slipping away from him. “I warn you both that if I agree to go along with this, it is I who will decide exactly how we proceed, is that clear?”

Both of them nodded solemnly.

“And if I feel it is becoming too dangerous, I will put a stop to the whole thing in an instant.”

Neither of them raised a word in argument.

“When do we leave for London?” demanded Max, barely able to contain his exuberance.

“I haven’t made a final decision,” snapped the earl irritably, though he knew quite well what the outcome would be. “And certainly not until you are fit enough to travel,” he added, a touch less sharply. “So, I suggest you take yourself off and lie down. It appears you’ve had more than enough exertion for this morning.”

Max showed eminent good sense by rising and limping from the room without further argument, though he did give Allegra a surreptitious wink as he went by.

She waited until the lad had shut the library door. “I’m sorry, sir. I acted in haste without realizing that I might be putting you in an awkward position with Max. I should have discussed the matter with you in private.” She sighed. “I know there really is no earthy reason for you to expose your family and yourself to further danger. I would only ask that you don’t actively interfere if Lord Bingham agrees to help me put his plan into effect.”

“Bingham lacks a practical turn of mind. He’s liable to forget some detail or another than could lead to serious trouble,” growled the earl.

Allegra regarded him gravely. “He may not be as capable as you, milord, but please understand that I cannot let the matter rest. I will do whatever I must.”

Wrexham cleared his throat. “I have told you before that I’m quite immune to flattery.”

She looked a bit startled, then dropped her lashes. “Flattery? I am well aware of the fact that I have little of the wiles or the charms with which to attempt such a thing with a gentleman.”

He made no answer but began drumming his fingers on the desk once again. “Oh, bloody hell,” he finally muttered. “I should no doubt be hauled off to Bedlam, but if I’m to keep all of you out of the suds, I suppose I shall have to take charge.”

Her eyes came alight with a certain glow. “Thank you, sir.” she said simply.

The earl nodded curtly and dismissed her with a brusque wave.

As he watched her retreating form, the realization dawned on him that his son and his tutor had somehow contrived to have him take on the role of one of those ghastly heroes in Bingham’s novels.

He supposed he should feel ill-used, indeed, but somehow, the thought of it only brought a quirk of a smile to his lips.

* * *

Allegra surveyed the trunks and neatly corded boxes stacked in the corner of the entry hall. The moment was finally here. Tomorrow morning at first light they would be loaded into one of the carriages for the trip to London. During the past two weeks, she had almost wondered if Wrexham’s grudging acquiescence to Lord Bingham’s plan had been conveniently forgotten. He had never brought it up again since the initial discussion and deftly turned aside any of Max’s efforts to broach the subject. Instead, he had immersed himself in estate affairs, spending the days out with his bailiff in the fields and the evenings at his desk in the library, dealing with his ledgers and correspondence.

For her own part, she refrained from raising any further questions on the few occasions she saw him, partly out of guilt for the rather underhanded way in which his promise of help had been secured. But that didn’t dampen her curiosity as to what he was thinking about the matter, for she was quite sure that someone as sharp as the earl did not move into action without a plan of his own.

Drat the man. Surely he knew that he would have to tell her at some point. Why couldn’t he share what?—

“Mrs. Proctor.”

Allegra started at the sound of his deep voice, causing her candle to flicker wildly in the shadows.

“It’s getting late. You should be in your bed. We leave at an early hour.”

“Yes, my lord. I … I just came down to fix some chamomile tea.”

He regarded the steaming cup in her hand, then fixed her with an indecipherable look. “Will you join me in the library?” It was worded more as a command than a request. Indeed, he didn’t wait for a reply but turned on his heel and left her to follow in his wake.

Allegra sat rather stiffly in one of the armchairs while he poured himself a brandy and came to stand in front of the crackling fire. She sipped at her herbal tea while he swirled the amber spirits in his glass. A taut silence reigned before Wrexham cleared his throat and spoke.

“I am well aware that chamomile is used when one is experiencing agitated nerves and having trouble falling asleep. If you are having second thoughts, you needn’t go through with this, you know.”

She put her cup down.

“You would only be showing good sense should you decide to abandon this dangerous scheme.”

“You are quite mistaken if you think I mean to back away now. Indeed, I am more determined than ever to see this out, sir.”

He muttered something incoherent under his breath, of which she caught the words “stubborn,” and “mule.”

Ignoring the interruption, she continued. “If you are regretting your involvement, you certainly may feel free to withdraw.”

His dark brows drew together. “I don’t go back on my promises, Mrs. Proctor.”

“Well, neither do I,” she shot back. She could see that her words took him by surprise. “I promised myself that I wouldn’t let Sandhill get away with his crimes. I have no intention of stopping now.”

The earl muttered something else—this time it sounded suspiciously like an oath—then put his drink down on the mantel and stalked over to his desk.

“Neither, it seems, do any of the other participants in this gothic melodrama!” He gestured to a sheet of paper lying on the blotter. “My sister writes that she is already on her way to take up residence in my townhouse so that she will be there when we arrive.”

Allegra blinked. “I most certainly understand your irritation at having more members of your family involved in this.”

“I am not irritated, Mrs. Proctor. I am furious.”

“Surely you can explain to her that her presence is not at all necessary?—”

“Not necessary! My dear Mrs. Proctor, if you are so blithely unaware of the rules of Society that you think I could take up residence with an unattached, unchaperoned female under my roof, then this proposed charade of yours will not last more than a day,” he exclaimed.

“I am well aware of the rules,” she said defensively. “I just meant, perhaps we could find someone else.”

“Oh? And who might that be?” he inquired, his voiced edged with sarcasm. “I assure you, Bingham will not do.”

Her lips pressed together in a tight line.

“And as for knowledge of the rules—I hope I needn’t remind you that to be caught alone in a room with a gentleman would have the direst of consequences,” he couldn’t help but add.

A flush of color came to her cheeks. “You have made your point, sir. If your wish is to humiliate me, you may, of course, continue.”

He glared at her but left off and went on to other matters.” Olivia has already begun to make arrangements for her modiste to be ready to make up a suitable wardrobe as soon as you arrive.”

“Wardrobe?” repeated Allegra, her brows coming together.

“You can hardly appear in Society in those mousy governess things you insist on wearing here. Not if you wish to be taken for a rich widow.”

“I … I hadn’t thought of that?—”

“I’m sure there is a great deal you haven’t thought of concerning this foolish plan,” he said acidly.

Allegra’s face had gone quite pale, but her chin came up a fraction. “Does your sister mention an amount that she considers sufficient to cover what is necessary. I shall have to inquire of my cousin?—”

Wrexham took in the unflinching dignity in her tone as well as the slight tremor of her jaw. “I have already arranged to take care of it,” he said quietly.

“No!” She shot to her feet and came towards the desk. “On no account will I accept a farthing of your … charity?—”

“Consider it a bonus for the outstanding work you have done with my son. It is a common practice for an employer to reward a job well done.”

Allegra bit her lip. She couldn’t argue with the earl about the need for suitable gowns and such. Her cousin Lucy would no doubt be willing to come to her aid once again, but she had already been obliged to do so much …

“Very well,” she said in a tight voice, blinking back a tear of frustration. “We shall decide on an appropriate sum, but any amount over that I shall pay back to you at a … future date, if that is acceptable to you.”

Wrexham watched the war of emotions on her face and couldn’t help but be reminded that she was alone in the world, with no wealth or position to protect her from harm—nothing but her own courage and determination.

His tone softened considerably. “That is quite acceptable.”

She was standing close, close enough for him to see how the candlelight refracted off the smoky green of her eyes. He drew in an involuntary breath as she lifted her head and spoke again.

“Perhaps you are right sir,” she said in a near whisper. “Perhaps I must give up this plan if it means that I become a burden to others. I—” Her voice caught as a single tear spilled down her cheek. She angrily brushed it away. “Oh, damnation.”

The muttered oath caused Wrexham to smile. He took a step closer to her and gently brushed away another errant drop. “You cannot face every adversity in life alone, Mrs. Proctor. There is no shame in allowing friends to help you. I am only trying to point out to you how many pitfalls—and dangers—there are to this plan.”

Allegra made to speak again but as her mouth opened, the earl’s lips came down upon hers.

The initial shock caused her to go rigid, but as his kiss deepened, she made a soft sound and melted against his chest.

“Allegra,” he murmured against her throat, pressing a string of kisses along the line of her jaw before taken possession of her mouth once again. This time her lips parted for him and he tasted the lingering sweetness of herbs as his tongue touched hers, and its gossamer touch caused the last shreds of the earl’s rigid self-control to unravel.

He cupped her breast, and as she let out a gasp of pleasure the thought that she was responding to his touch fanned the flames of his desire even higher. He pulled her even closer, molding their bodies together.

“Leo,” she cried softly. “Oh, Leo.” Her fingers twisted in his hair.

The logs in the hearth hissed and crackled, echoing the rising heat between them.

All his usual reason crumbling to ashes, Wrexham stumbled forward several steps and seated her on the polished wood of his massive desk. As their mouths met in another deep embrace, he pulled at her skirts, hiking them up above her knees. The feel of her shapely legs in their demure stockings nearly took his breath away.

Allegra’s nails dug into his muscled back. “Leo?” she whispered. “What is happening? I … I have never felt like this before.”

He gave a low groan. “I’m not sure that I have either?—”

“Father?” The sound somehow pierced through the haze of passion. “Father? Are you down there in the library?”

Wrexham wrenched his lids open. “Dear God in Heaven.”

Max’s footsteps sounded on the stairs.

With desperate haste, he set Allegra on her feet and stepped away to straighten his coat and the disarray of his cravat … She shook out her skirts and sought to rearrange the front of her dress … His fingers raked through his disheveled hair … She sought to fix the worst of the slipped hairpins.

As the door swung open, the earl managed to take up a position by the fireplace while Allegra made a show of studying one of the books around on the other side of the desk.

“Father,” said Max. “I was wondering if—oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were here, Mrs. Proctor.” He looked back at his father’s rigid face. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Of course not,” snapped Wrexham. “That is, we were merely discussing … upcoming strategy. “

“Oh.” Max frowned slightly. “It’s rather warm in here, don’t you think? Perhaps you should bank the fire a bit.”

Taking up a poker, the earl jabbed at the logs with a tad more force than necessary.

“Have you decided on any course of action?” demanded Max. “It’s not fair if you keep anything hidden from me.”

“Nothing has been resolved,” said the earl in a tight voice.

Allegra took up a slim leatherbound volume, then cleared her throat. “If you will excuse me, milord, I believe there is nothing further for us to discuss tonight. As you said, we must be off at dawn so I think I shall leave you two and retire.”

Wrexham ventured a quick sidelong glance, but her face was in shadow and he couldn’t discern her expression.

“Good night, Max.” There was the barest of hesitations. “Good night, milord.”

“Good night, Mrs. Proctor.” The earl managed to choke out the words, hoping his voice had some semblance of its normal tone.

The door closed quietly behind her.

“Are you sure the two of you haven’t quarreled?” asked Max with some concern as he approached the fire.

“We have not quarreled.” Wrexham retreated to the sideboard. He poured himself a fresh brandy and was shocked to see the decanter shook ever so slightly in his hand.

Bloody Hell.

“What sort of strategy were you discussing? Maybe I could—what happened to your neck?”

His hand flew to cover a red mark just above the collar of his shirt. “Nothing—I must have scraped myself shaving.” Then he threw back the contents of the glass in one swallow and turned to refill it.

“Damnation, Max.” He was perilously close to shouting. “I simply am in no mood for further questions tonight. Tomorrow is going to be a long and tiring day. If you don’t mind, I’m going to bed as well. I suggest you do the same.”

He took up the decanter along with the glass and stalked from the room, leaving his son looking both puzzled and a bit miffed.

* * *

After the third glass, the brandy at last began to take effect, finally loosening the knot in his stomach—not to speak of his groin. With a ragged sigh, Wrexham sat on the edge of his bed and took his head in his hands.

Hell’s teeth . Never in his entire life had he lost control of his emotions like that.

He hadn’t meant to kiss her. And he certainly hadn’t meant to….

A wave of nausea passed over him as he realized that in another few minutes his breeches might have been down around his knees and Max would have walked in on the sight of his father merrily breaking every code of gentlemanly behavior that he had so rigidly drummed into his son’s head. He couldn’t begin to imagine what Max might have thought.

And what must Allegra—Mrs. Proctor—be thinking? She had been upset, vulnerable. He had only meant to comfort her, but somehow the light of the candle playing off her quixotic eyes, the glitter of the tear on her cheek, the curve of those full, sensuous lips had, in an instant, transformed his warm words into fiery deeds.

Though there was precious little left, he poured another glass of brandy, hoping to banish the memory of her mouth on his.

It was no use. It lingered even when his fingers came up to brush over his lips, still bruised with the passion of their embraces.

With a groan he sank back against the pillows. Sleep would be impossible. The best he could hope for was oblivion.