Chapter 12
One Week Later
Standing outside a lady’s house in the dark, longing to see her, was a new circumstance for Deimos. He’d never really had to pine. Or try to figure out how to woo a woman he wanted.
He’d always been successful at it. But Alice? Alice was different. She’d taught him that all his old tactics, while smooth, weren’t particularly interesting.
He winced.
Deimos had said the wrong thing, which was something he was not accustomed to. Generally speaking, he was always good with speech. And with ladies.
He had a tendency to win anyone over to his side, such was his way with words. He could convince anyone to do just about anything. This was not always a positive thing, but in his case, it certainly was. But apparently, when it came to the woman of his desire, he was a fumbling bumble head.
His tongue was engaged in the most ridiculous of sayings. Usually, his tongue was most persuasive.
Why had he said he wanted to protect her?
He should have said he wanted to laud her, to praise her, to worship her form… To love her. Love might be a strong word at present, but perhaps it was the right one. The last thing that she needed to hear was that he was there to protect her from the ton.
Oh, he was. He would always be there to protect her from the ton.
But she needed to understand that he wanted her for more than his own estimation, for his own self-worth, for his own need to be seen as good.
So many men did not want ladies for themselves.
He understood that. He’d spent a great deal of time with gentlemen.
As far as he could see, most gentlemen saw women as little more than prize racehorses or collectors’ items.
Many of the men he knew collected ladies like men collected artwork and sculptures on their grand tours of Europe. They had no real actual interest in the things they collected. They were merely objects that they could brag about and put on display.
It was appalling.
And most men didn’t wish to protect a lady for herself. Most men wanted to protect ladies for their own reputation or status.
He was extremely grateful that he had been raised by a family of men who valued women for who they were.
But it might take time to show Alice that was exactly how he felt.
So, during the last week, he had spent every day at her side.
They had gone to card parties, to readings, to scientific exhibits.
He had taken her to see one of the great telescopes out in Kew.
They had looked at the stars together. They had discussed Percy Bysshe Shelley’s writing.
They had discussed Lord Byron’s writing.
They had discussed mathematics, and they had discussed where the country might go in terms of reformation.
But each day had proved to him only that he wanted her beyond all things. He wanted her more with each day than he had the last.
He saw the way that she drank in knowledge, information, and experience.
Alice was a creature that he treasured. If he had thought that he wanted her before when he knew so little, how silly he was!
Because now he understood that she was like a glittering diamond.
With so many facets that he could never count them all.
He saw the rainbows dancing within the diamond, and he wanted to see her shine in a way that no one had ever seen her before.
He also desired her, which was why he was standing outside her house at about one o’clock in the morning after he had dropped her home after a particularly dreary salon.
The salon had not been a success. One of his few mistakes.
It had been a discussion about the legalities of estates, borders, and acreage, and not just any land management, but the rather intense land management of the Puritan period.
She had been quite polite about it, and he supposed he couldn’t always get it right. He had told her that he would help her discover who she was and what she liked, which meant that sometimes he had to show her what she did not like. And apparently treatises on land management were not it.
He gazed up at her townhome and wondered how the devil he was going to manage this. He’d been on his way home, but he’d been unable to face another night alone. Without her. He needed to see her. To tell her how much he hungered for her. To make her his and stop all this nonsense.
He was not one to be Romeo, and he was certainly not one for climbing trees, which was a good thing because there were no trees outside the house. And he didn’t exactly fancy trying to break open a window and find a way in.
Cassius was out. He had made certain of that. He had no wish to be called out at dawn. He might accidentally kill her brother and that would be an end of it. Her brother might accidentally kill him and that would be an end of it too.
Either way, it would be a terrible business. Duels were idiotic, in his personal opinion. Of course, he could fight them. He had the skills. But at the end of the day, anyone who called another person out over their honor really had very little value for life.
Too many young people had died over a misspoken word or a misjudgment or some perceived slight that really was no slight at all.
Even so, he was in a damn difficult predicament.
He shouldn’t stay standing on the street staring up at her window like a lovesick fellow.
If he did, he was going to gain notice. He might have already gained notice.
Sometimes older ladies took great delight in peering out their windows and jotting down passersby, taking note of whatever was happening outside. For they had so little going on within.
He eyed the side of the house. He could try to scale the drainpipe. That seemed particularly dangerous. He didn’t fancy dying.
And he’d still have to face a window.
He couldn’t call at the front door.
Logic told him he had to wait until morning. But the truth was he was beyond logic with Alice.
He wanted to see her. He needed to see. He was going mad with his need for her.
He eyed the servants’ entrance. Was it worth the risk? Perhaps it was. He slipped down the back stairs, knocked on the door, and prayed that someone was still up. Someone was.
And that someone was the lady of his desire.
He spotted her face in the window, staring out at him, aghast. That visage was a pale oval that mirrored the moon floating up in the night sky.
“What are you doing here?” she mouthed.
“I’ve come to see you,” he mouthed back.
Her eyes widened, and her brows shot up. She quickly turned the bolts and pulled open the door. “Get in here,” she said, “before you’re murdered out in the street.”
He slipped into the small kitchen where a fire crackled, giving the place a ruby hue. “Do you really think people get murdered in this part of town at night?”
“Well, I don’t know,” she said, scowling. “I’ve never been out at this time of night without a footman. I have been led to believe that London is a very dangerous place indeed.”
He gave her an indulgent look. “For ladies.”
“It’s very annoying,” she said. “That it’s only dangerous for ladies and you can go about and do whatever you want.”
He shut the door behind him and said, “I can’t do exactly whatever I want and certainly not in all parts of London.
But this one? I could probably skip up and down the street at night.
No one would say a thing. Someone might say, ‘Oh, there goes that eccentric Deimos Briarwood again,’ and that would be about it.
Unless, of course, they caught me staring up at your window. Then they might get ideas.”
Her lips parted and then she looked away. “How lucky men are.”
“I don’t know,” he mused, longing to cross to her and pull her into his arms since they were alone. “Perhaps it keeps us fools, since we can get away with so much and have so few expectations of us.”
She eyed him. “That is a most odd thing to say, but I do like it. It seems quite wise.”
“Good.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to apologize again about our particularly boring outing tonight.”
She laughed, folding her arms under her bosom, which was when he realized she was in her dressing gown, a pale affair that swept about her like a caress.
Heat spiraled through him and an ache so intense that he ground his teeth.
“It wasn’t exactly exciting,” she allowed. “But nor was it terrible. After all, I now know that I have no desire to study the importance of cows and milk production on estates of certain sizes in the times of Cromwell. So, now you may go with a clear conscience.”
She eyed him carefully. “You truly came to apologize?”
He couldn’t answer her directly and so he prevaricated. “Why are you awake?” he asked. “I thought you’d go to bed.”
She tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear and whispered, “I can’t sleep.”
She turned to the table and pointed to a pot of hot milk. “I was just about to have a cup.”
“So stimulated by the lecture?” he asked, grinning.
“No, not exactly.”
“Then what keeps you up?”
“I was thinking of something else,” she said, looking away, as if she could not meet his gaze. Her cheeks blazed a rosy pink.
He gaped at her. “Me,” he exclaimed. “You were thinking about me. Admit it.”
She huffed out a breath and headed to the table, pouring out a cup of milk. “Fine. Yes, I was. You’re very difficult to get out of one’s brain.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said, pleased beyond words.
“I do.” She snorted and picked up her cup, cradling it in her hands. “I’m sure most of the ladies in the ton are in their beds this very night dreaming about you.”
He gave a hearty laugh. “Do you genuinely think so?” he asked.
“You are a rake, aren’t you?”
She was jealous!
“Well, I suppose I’ve had a bit of luck with the ladies,” he said. “But nothing like you imagine. And I find myself thrilled that I am in your brain, for you are most certainly in mine.”
She eyed him up and down, then ventured, “You didn’t come here to apologize, did you?”