Bath was always a good idea. Or so Lucy said more than a dozen times on their way there. Alex had agreed to accompany Jane, Garrett, Lucy, and Cass on a trip to the hill town where Garrett owned a house. Lucy, Cass, and Alex rode in one coach. Jane and Garrett rode in a second. The servants and trunks came along in a third.
At first it had sounded like a splendid idea. The chance to get out of London and her mother’s prying eyes held a special appeal. The chance to distance herself from Owen held even more. She might be traveling with his sister, but he wouldn’t be there. But with every turn of the carriage wheel, Alex couldn’t help but wonder if she’d return to find him engaged to Lavinia. And the prospect twisted her heart.
She shook her head. No. She refused to think such thoughts. She’d foolishly believed she fell in love with the man as a starry-eyed fifteen-year-old, and once she’d gotten to know the real person behind his debonair façade, she saw him for what he truly was.
“Did you hear that Lady Sarah Highgate is betrothed to the Marquess of Branford?” Lucy asked, interrupting Alex’s thoughts.
“That was to be expected,” Cass chimed in. “She was the belle of the Season and he the most sought-after bachelor. Well, Owen’s sought after, of course, but not quite a marquess,” she said, giving Alex a sympathetic smile.
“I wish Lady Sarah well,” Alex said simply. “And I’d much prefer not to speak about Owen, if it’s quite all right with you, Lady Swifdon.”
Lucy and Cass exchanged uneasy glances.
Lucy was the first to speak again. “Yes, well, Garrett and Jane are having a ball tomorrow night.” She clapped her hands. “And you’ll get to meet Aunt Mary.”
“Garrett’s mother,” Cass interjected.
“Oh, a ball? I didn’t realize there would be a ball.” Alex struggled to keep a smile pinned to her face, but a ball sounded positively awful at the moment. She’d wanted a holiday, not more of the endless social rounds. “I look forward to meeting Mr. Upton’s mother.” At least that much was true.
Late that afternoon, their carriage pulled up to the lovely stone town house on the crescent, and the friends alighted. Aunt Mary came hurrying down the stairs, distributing kisses to all and exclaiming first over Alex’s beauty, then how tired she must be, and finally how famished.
Their small party partook of bread, cheese, and fruit while the trunks were unloaded from the coaches. They shared news from London with Aunt Mary, including Lady Sarah Highgate’s engagement.
How is your brother, Lord Owen?” Aunt Mary finally asked after no one had mentioned him. Perhaps it was a bit conspicuous.
“Oh, he’s … well,” Cass replied, reaching over and patting Alex’s hand.
Aunt Mary glanced back and forth between the two of them.
Alex looked away, out the window. She refused to think about Owen, let alone speak of him again. She’d told him she loved him, and he’d punched her friend. The man was an ass.
“I hate to be a bother, Mrs. Upton,” she said to Garrett’s mother, “but I’m exceedingly tired and—”
Aunt Mary held up a hand. “Say no more, my dear.”
In short order, Alex was escorted to a bedchamber and instructed by the solicitous Aunt Mary to take a nap. “We’ll have a quiet evening at home tonight to rest from your trip,” Aunt Mary said as she left Alex at her bedchamber door. “The ball will be tomorrow evening.”
Alex forced a smile to her lips.
* * *
There she was in a gown of royal blue, looking heartbreakingly beautiful, her face a mask of ice. He’d taught her too well. She was laughing, dancing, and flirting with her string of admirers, touching one man lightly on the shoulder with her fan, hiding her gorgeous smile behind her gloved hand, her tinkling laughter filling the space, clutching at his heart. Her eyes were sparkling and full of intrigue and promise. Owen’s gut clenched. He had made her into this, this dazzling young lady, this sought-after prize every man wanted to win. He’d made her into this, and he’d also made her hate him.
They’d planned this, he and Upton. Upton would dance with her and bring her to the far half of the room on the other side of a trellis that had been set up just for the occasion. Owen would be waiting there, and Upton would hand her off to him. She couldn’t possibly object in the midst of a dance in the middle of a crowded ballroom, could she? He would soon find out.
As Owen waited, he realized he was holding his breath. His foot was tapping, too. He was—by God, he was nervous. He’d never been nervous a day in his life. Upton came around the trellis just then and twirled Alex in his direction. When Upton stopped and spun her out of his arms, Owen caught her. The look on her face when she glanced up and realized he was there was a mixture of both surprise and anger. But dare he hope—was it only wishful thinking?—that for a split second between those two other emotions was a flash of … happiness? Relief?
Alex didn’t take up dancing with him, however. Instead, she stopped, gasped, and stepped back. “What are you doing here?” She glared at Upton for his betrayal.
Upton cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ll just leave you two to talk.” He rushed off before Alex had a chance to object.
Alex lifted her skirts and turned away from Owen. “I’m going back to the—”
“Wait,” he called, his nerves making his voice harsher than he’d meant it to be.
She stopped, her face in profile. “Why?”
“Alex, I—”
She turned and advanced on him. “What are you doing here?”
“I have a confession to make. I asked Upton to get you here.”
“Pardon?”
“I wanted to see you, away from London.”
“Garrett planned this?”
“With help from his wife and her friends.”
Anger blurred Alex’s vision. “Those awful sneaks!”
“Please don’t blame them. Upton owed me a favor. I called it in.”
She stalked away from him, under the trellis, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Very well. You’ve got me here. What do you want to say to me?”
“I want to ask you to give me another chance. I want to apologize for my behavior that night—with Mrs. Clare. I want to—”
“Give you another chance for what? We didn’t have a first chance. There’s nothing to try again.”
“I don’t think you believe that any more than I do.”
Alex flourished a hand in the air. “I was fifteen when I fancied myself in love with you. I’d been shut up in my bedchamber most of my life, listening to strains of waltzes and dreaming about my life when I turned eighteen. I was a fool. Things don’t work out the way they do in fairy tales, and the first handsome gentleman to arrive under your windowsill is not meant to be your future husband.”
“But he could be.”
Alex stopped. Swallowed. Clenched her teeth. “I gave you my heart, Owen. But I no longer believe I can trust you. Please do as I say when I ask you to leave me be.”