21. Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
A lice gathered her skirts as she made her way along the exterior path of the hedge maze. Their designated meeting place lay on the far side of the lake, at the boathouse near Violet Cottage. Though her mother had, of course, insisted on accompanying them, Alice had orchestrated her escape with care. Social etiquette was more relaxed in the countryside with regard to walking with gentlemen, but she knew she couldn’t maintain her composure with Mrs. Montrose hovering about. The day was far too important to risk such a distraction.
She’d enlisted Miss Eastridge’s help, sending the maid to occupy her mother while she slipped away. The guilt of such deception pricked at her conscience, but she pushed it aside. This was the only way—at least, that was what the dowager had told her.
As she rounded the path toward the boathouse, she found Victor already waiting. He leaned against the weathered structure with an air of impatience, his eyes sharp as he watched her approach.
“You look rather like a mouse fleeing a cat,” he said.
“Something of the sort,” she replied, reaching up to ensure no wayward curls had escaped her careful arrangement. Victor rolled his eyes at her preening.
“You look perfectly adequate,” Victor said flatly. “His Grace would think you handsome if you arrived wearing the Queen’s jewels or a pauper’s rags.”
Alice shook her head in exasperation.
“You are a fool.”
“Oh? Enlighten me.”
The words seemed to pour forth of their own accord, as though years of her mother’s lessons had taken possession of her very tongue.
“To think that such details are of no consequence. You may claim that appearances count little in matters of the heart, but even if we do not make these assessments purposefully, the smallest details work upon our judgment, like clockwork gears turning in the back of our minds.”
Victor’s brow arched impossibly higher.
“You believe that if a man is truly in love, a hair out of place would sway his affections? Then I say such a man was never in love to begin with.”
“And do you believe His Grace is in love with me?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.
He tilted his head, studying her with an unsettling intensity before his lips curved into an enigmatic smile. Then he raised his hands in surrender.
“I was merely attempting to be agreeable with you. Is that not why we find ourselves here?”
“I suppose so,” Alice said, her face heating as she looked away.
Starting their outing with a lecture hardly boded well for the rest of the day. She scanned the path around the lake for any sign of Elias, but saw nothing. Beside her, Victor pulled out his pocket watch with obvious impatience.
They waited in uncomfortable silence until a figure appeared hurrying along the path—not the duke, but rather a maid from Fairfax Hall. The woman dropped into a quick curtsy before them.
“Miss Montrose? Captain Lacey?” When Alice nodded, the maid continued, “I regret to inform you that His Grace has taken ill with a headache and cannot join you today. He hopes you both might enjoy the walk without him and looks forward to seeing you at supper this evening.”
Alice turned to Victor with concern, but found him looking altogether too amused by this development.
“Do you find something amusing, sir?” asked Alice.
“Surely you do not believe His Grace truly has a headache?”
The realization hit her like a thunderbolt. This was no accident—Elias had orchestrated the entire thing. He wished for them to spend time together, to prove she could tolerate Victor’s presence in her life. She shook her head slowly.
“He deceived us.”
Victor’s smile widened as he gestured toward the tree line where the path began.
“Shall we proceed, then? Ladies first.”
Alice cast a longing glance back at Fairfax Hall, regretting sneaking off without her mother. To be alone with Captain Lacey, even in the relatively permissive countryside, might prove risky to her already precarious reputation.
“Or,” Victor added, his tone deceptively light, “I could inform His Grace that you found my company so objectionable you refused to walk with me at all.”
Alice’s hands tightened on her reticule as she glared at him. He seemed entirely too pleased with himself, wielding the threat like a perfectly aimed pistol. Without deigning to respond, she swept past him onto the path.
“There we are,” he said, smugness dripping from every syllable.
The forest path twisted before them. Dappled sunlight streamed through ancient oaks to paint patterns on the moss-covered ground. The uneven terrain proved challenging in her walking boots, requiring all her concentration to navigate without falling on her face. The physical demands provided an excuse to avoid conversation with her unwanted companion.
Victor followed at a considerate distance, allowing her to set the pace. Though she knew he could easily overtake her with his long, unhurried strides, he made no complaint about their slow progress as she scrabbled along the path, face flushed and breath coming in quick gasps. His very presence seemed to press against her back, driving her to near madness—all the more so because she could practically feel his calm, measured breathing behind her while she struggled forward like a flustered hen. This went on for some time, the sunlight warming during its descent.
“My, but you’re chatty today,” he finally said, breaking the silence.
“Pardon me, sir,” Alice said, out of breath, “but I am only attempting to focus on my footing so as to not fall on my backside.”
“One would think such wide, childbearing hips would make the journey effortless,” Victor said, the sarcasm dripping like venom from his mouth.
Alice let out a scandalized gasp as she sidestepped a treacherous mud puddle. When she reached solid ground, she whirled to face him.
“I must admit, I cannot bear you any longer.”
“And here I thought we were having such a pleasant stroll.”
She ignored him, the words spilling out before she could stop them.
“I wish to have an amicable relationship with you, sir. His Grace considers it important that we speak without constantly snapping at one another. That is why we are here.” Her fingers twisted nervously with her reticule’s strap. “I should be able to walk with you. I should be able to manage this simple task as any other lady would.”
Victor watched her outburst with those sharp eyes, his brows arched in curiosity as she continued.
“I can be the proper lady society expects when I am with His Grace. He makes it easy for me to fall into that role—to be the genteel woman I was trained to become. But that persona vanishes entirely in your presence. Every misstep, every failure seems to occur when you are near or on my mind.” She caught the slight arch of his brow at those last words, a fleeting change in his expression that made her heart stutter. “His Grace expects that perfect lady to win your friendship, but she disappears like morning mist, and I fear it shall cost me everything.”
Victor was quiet for a long moment, as though turning her words over like stones in his mind.
“Why would anyone wish you to be anything other than yourself?”
The question tore through her, though she fought to maintain her composure.
“Because the woman before you makes herself sick upon dukes at parties. She lacks even a modicum of grace or decorum. The woman before you is not a lady, but a fraud. The lady I wish His Grace to know does not make such blunders, does not speak out of turn, does not—” she faltered, “—does not go on woodland outings with men unchaperoned.”
She had expected mockery, but Victor’s expression remained thoughtful as he brought two fingers to his chin.
“And this is ... my fault?”
“Yes … no! Gah!” She kicked at a root in frustration, immediately regretting it as pain shot through her toe. She bit her lip to keep from cursing. “You see? Propriety abandons me in your presence, and I cannot fathom why. I wish I could change it, wish I could maintain my facade for even a moment for His Grace’s sake, at least. If you could cease whatever spell you have cast upon me, I would be eternally grateful.”
A small smile played at the corners of his mouth as he slipped his hands into his pockets.
“Here, follow me. I recall there being a pleasant spot just ahead.”
Alice wished to argue—he had completely dismissed her concerns—but what could he truly say? Even if he somehow curbed his insufferable behavior, his mere presence was enough to unsettle her. Yet she followed anyway, her fingers digging into her reticule as she sped up to match his pace. He moved quickly, rushing ahead, only to pause and wait for her to catch up, like an eager hunting dog on the chase. Though he showed no signs of impatience, that only heightened her agitation.
Finally, they emerged onto a grassy overlook crowned by a giant gnarled oak tree. Victor turned to face her, hands on his hips.
“It seems we have some issues to work through.”
“Indeed,” Alice replied dryly.
Then, to her absolute horror, Victor began loosening his cravat. She spun around as he shrugged off his coat, her cheeks blazing.
“Sir! What in heaven’s name are you doing?”
“I believe you have some unresolved aggression that needs releasing. Now’s your only chance. We end it here and now.”
“And you propose to accomplish this by ... undressing ?”
She heard the soft thump of his coat hitting the grass, followed by the rustle of fabric as he rolled up his sleeves.
“Hit me.”
Alice turned back slowly, certain she had misheard.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Sometimes the best way to resolve an issue is to fight it out. We did it often enough in the regiment. Works wonders with His Grace when he’s in one of his moods—you saw it yourself.”
“Do I look like a common foot soldier to you?” She gestured at herself in exasperation.
“Are you telling me you do not wish to have a go?” When she merely stared at him, he pressed on. “Not even one tiny strike? Just here?” He tapped his cheek with one finger.
“I do not know what sort of woman you take me for, but I am not some common brute.”
His eyes glittered dangerously.
“No? The lady who kicked me over afternoon tea seemed particularly brutal.”
He stepped closer until he was within arm’s reach, his athletic bearing making him seem larger than life. Though not as physically imposing as Elias, there was something wild about him that set her heart racing.
“Come now,” he goaded. “Surely you can do better than standing there like a startled fawn.”
With a cry of frustration, Alice flung her reticule at him, hitting him in the shin. She lunged forward to slap him, but he dodged with infuriating ease.
“I thought you wished for me to strike you,” she snarled.
“I never said I’d make it easy. Show me how much you wish to win His Grace’s heart.”
That insufferable smirk drove her to action. She yanked at the ribbon securing her bonnet, tossing it his way and missing. His bark of laughter only fueled her fury as she began unbuttoning her pelisse, needing freedom of movement. She threw that at him too, causing him to giggle as he snatched it out of the air, tossing it over his shoulder.
“You odious, terrible, insufferable?—”
“Well, well, Lady Rose shows her spirit.”
She charged forward, fists connecting with his chest. He responded with a swift poke to her side that made her yelp—not painful, but startling.
“You cannot touch a lady in such a manner!”
“Oh, can I not?”
Another poke to her ribs sent her into a frenzy. She launched herself at him, raining blows against his chest and arms, carefully avoiding his face despite her rage. All the tension that had built between them, all her frustrations, came pouring out in a torrent. She cried out with each strike, cursing in a manner that would have given her mother apoplexy.
But it wasn’t just her anger at Victor flowing out. It was everything—years of endless practice and correction, her mother’s suffocating expectations, every misstep and failure since arriving at this cursed estate. She let it all go in a storm of fists and fury.
Victor’s initial laughter faded as he seemed to sense the shift in her assault. Though he dodged some blows, he allowed others to land, accepting them as though pelted by the softest feather pillow. He retreated slowly until his back met the oak tree’s trunk. Tears streamed unbidden down Alice’s cheeks, but she barely noticed them as she continued her useless assault against his chest.
Finally, his hands caught her wrists, holding them firmly but gently. His gaze was steady as she struggled against his grip.
“Let me go!” she demanded.
“You’ve proven yourself quite thoroughly.”
She twisted in his grasp.
“How would you like being held thus?”
Something flickered in his eyes before he allowed her to wrench free. She took the opportunity, moving to pin his wrists against the tree trunk.
“See? Not so pleasant, isn’t it?”
Their chests heaved with exertion, and Alice felt as though every nerve in her body was aflame. Though she knew he could easily break free, he allowed her to hold him there, appearing almost helpless despite his strength. His eyes had grown heavy-lidded, lips parted as he drew quick breaths. A healthy flush colored his cheeks.
“Well?” she demanded. “Have you nothing to say for yourself?”
He paused, studying her with that unfocused gaze before the words fell from his lips like honey.
“There’s a good girl.”
The phrase sent shivers cascading through her entire body. She became acutely aware of every detail—their mingled breath, his intoxicating scent, the heat radiating from him. If she leaned forward just slightly, their lips would meet. The very thought terrified her.
This was dangerous beyond measure.
After several tense moments, she released him and spun away, desperate to hide the turmoil on her face and the burning in her cheeks.
“Does that feel better?” he asked, his voice still rougher than usual.
She couldn’t answer immediately, still trying to comprehend what had transpired. Rather than releasing tension, their encounter had created something new and frightening within her—a pressure building like steam in a kettle.
“I am not certain,” she finally managed.
“Did it at least help you release some of that pent-up frustration?” he asked. She could hear the smirk in his voice.
“Perhaps such methods work for settling scores among soldiers,” she said stiffly, still facing away, “but I doubt the fairer sex is made for fighting.”
“Ah, using your sex as an excuse for weakness? And here I thought you had real fire in you.”
The taunt hit its mark. Alice whirled around, intending to strike his cheek, but her aim went awry. The butt of her palm connected solidly with his nose, far harder than she’d intended, channeling all her confused feelings into the blow.
His head snapped back, and they both froze in horror.
Within moments, blood began dripping freely from his nose onto the grass below. But when he looked at her again, his expression wasn’t one of anger—rather, he appeared thoroughly impressed.
“Now that,” he said, touching his bloodied nose gingerly, “is precisely what I was speaking of.”