‘No, I-’ Jane knew instinctively that she had hurt him, although Alex’s dark face was carefully expressionless.
‘I am sorry,’ she said wretchedly. ‘I need to think. If you could allow me a little time…’
‘Of course,’ Alex said with a scrupulous courtesy that was somehow chilling.
They rode back to Portman Square in silence.
‘I have business to attend to,’ Alex said, still with the same cool civility, after he had helped Jane down and the groom had set off back to the stables, ‘but I shall hope to see you tomorrow night, Miss Verey. Perhaps you will be able to give me an indication of how long you need to consider my offer.’
Jane’s face crumpled as she tried to hold back the tears that threatened to ambush her. Somehow this had all gone wrong and she felt dreadful, as though she had casually inflicted some great hurt on Alex and had damaged for ever the relationship between them. She could not understand how it had happened.
She put an instinctive hand on his sleeve. ‘Wait!’
‘Yes, Miss Verey?’ Alex said, with the same distant politeness.
‘I…that is…please be careful,’ Jane said, her words coming out in a rush. ‘If your business is part of what has gone before, you could be in danger and-’ She knew she was making a wretched mess of this and felt even more desolate.
Surprisingly, Alex’s grim expression had lightened considerably. One gloved hand covered Jane’s briefly as it rested on his sleeve.
‘Thank you for giving me hope, Miss Verey,’ he said very softly. Before Jane could even guess his intention, his arms had gone around her and he had kissed her hard on the mouth.
She was released, breathless and ruffled. ‘Oh! For shame! In the street!’
Jane had seen the stealthy movement behind at least half a dozen curtains, including the ones of Lady Verey’s drawing-room.
‘Yes,’ Alex said, his good humour apparently restored, ‘you will have to marry me now, Miss Verey! Think about it! I will see you tomorrow!’
And with a deplorably cheerful wave of the hand he turned and strolled away.
Simon Verey, crossing London Bridge, saw a slender, fair girl hurrying along in front of him, a covered marketing basket over her arm. He started forward. It had happened so many times in the last two weeks-he would see a fair girl and hurry to accost her, only to find that he was confronting a total stranger. But this time…
‘Therese!’
She turned and he was looking into the cornflower blue eyes that he remembered. His heart started to race.
‘Therese,’ he said again. He put out a hand but she flinched back. Her eyes were bright and angry.
‘Leave me alone! Why must you be forever pestering me? Coming to the house…upsetting
Simon was stung by the injustice of this. ‘That’s not fair! I only wanted to see you, to talk to you.’
She shrugged carelessly. ‘We have nothing to say to each other,
She turned to go, but Simon caught her arm, beyond caution. ‘It cannot be true that you do not care! I cannot be alone in feeling thus!’
For a frozen minute they stared into each other’s eyes and he saw the doubt and the hesitation and, behind it all, a flash of emotion so vivid that he almost pulled her into his arms there and then. He knew that he had not misread her. Therese did care, but-
‘It is immaterial how I feel,’ Therese said, so fiercely that Simon almost stepped back, yet so softly he could barely hear. ‘There are reasons why I cannot have anything to do with you, my lord-’
‘Is the gennelman bothering you, miss?’ asked a burly carter, and Simon dropped Therese’s arm, suddenly conscious of the attention their raised voices had attracted.
‘No, I thank you.’ Her composure was flawless. The moment of intimacy, when he had seen into her soul, might never have been. Simon felt triumph and despair in equal measure. ‘The gentleman is about to go. Good day, sir,’ and she walked away across the bridge, without a backward glance.
Henry Marchnight called late at Haye House that night and was met by Tredpole the butler, wearing his most lugubrious expression.
‘I regret that his Grace is unwell, my lord,’ Tredpole said, his face completely blank. ‘He is not receiving visitors.’
Since Alex had never had a day’s illness in all the time Henry had known him, he treated this with polite incredulity.
‘Come now, Tredpole, you can tell me the truth. Where is he?’
‘His Grace is in the study, my lord, but-’ Tredpole shook his head ‘-I would counsel against disturbing him!’
Light dawned. ‘You mean that he is foxed, Tredpole?’ Henry hesitated, suddenly aware that he might never have seen Alex ill, but he certainly had never seen him drunk.
The butler cleared his throat delicately. ‘A little cast away, my lord, and I have seldom seen him in a blacker temper-’
The door of the study crashed open making the hall chandelier vibrate. Alex, his hair ruffled, his clothes dishevelled, was leaning against the door jamb.
‘Tredpole? Where the devil are you, man? I’ll have died of thirst before I get that second bottle! Who the hell are you chattering to?’
Henry thought that he saw the butler wince. It was impossible to imagine the stately Tredpole chattering to anyone.
‘Lord Henry Marchnight is here, your Grace,’ the butler said austerely. ‘I was informing him that your Grace was not receiving.’
‘And I was telling him not to be such a damned fool!’ Henry said cheerfully. ‘How are you, Alex? Think I’ll share that second bottle with you!’
Tredpole moved noiselessly away to fetch a second glass. Alex stood aside with exaggerated courtesy to allow Henry to precede him into the room and gestured him to a chair.
‘Well, Henry?’
Henry raised his eyebrows. ‘My apologies for interrupting you! Seems you wish to go to the devil on your own!’
That won him a brief smile. Alex pushed the brandy bottle towards his friend.
‘I hear you were riding in the Park with Miss Verey this morning,’ Henry continued.
The smile vanished. Alex frowned. ‘You take a keen interest in Miss Verey’s concerns, Harry!’
Henry, his unspoken question resolved, relaxed and sat back in his chair. ‘Don’t be an arrant fool, Alex! I love Jane like a sister, but that’s all!’ He paused, then added, ‘Unlike you!’
Alex did not deny it. ‘How the hell did this happen?’ he said morosely.
Henry poured himself a generous measure. ‘No one is immune, Alex,’ he said. ‘Your mistake was probably to think that you were.’
Alex ran a hand through his hair, still frowning darkly. ‘I told her that I had decided it was a mistake to force Philip to marry her. Do you think Philip genuinely cares for Miss Marchment, Harry?’
‘Yes, I am sure that he does. Everyone has observed it. What did Jane say to that?’
‘She was very happy. Not so happy when I put forward my alternative, which was that she should marry me.’ Alex drank deeply. ‘What should I do, Harry?’
‘Don’t ask me, old fellow. You know I’m the last person to ask for advice!’ Despite the joking tone there was a deeper bitterness in Henry’s voice.
‘I collect you refer to Lady Polly Seagrave? You could put that to rights if you chose!’
Henry shrugged. ‘Maybe so, but we are talking of your romantic difficulties, not mine! I do not immediately perceive the problem, however. You proposed to Miss Verey and-what happened? Did she refuse you?’
‘Not outright,’ Alex acknowledged, ‘but who wants an unwilling bride? Not I! I am to wait until tomorrow to know my fate!’
‘Jane is scarcely indifferent to you,’ Henry said with a grin, savouring his brandy. ‘And she is very young. Give
