Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“It is getting late. Are you sure she knew to meet us here?” Giovanni asked, frowning as he looked at his pocket watch.
“Yes, it was in my letter, and the Dowager Duchess confirmed,” Marco said with a frown, staring around the gallery.
He had expected Alice to be here more than a quarter-hour ago, yet there was still no sign of her.
He had been eagerly anticipating their meeting.
The factory had kept him so busy lately that he had not spent nearly enough time in her company.
The days since their last encounter seemed to have stretched and lengthened unbearably.
“I have never known her to be tardy. Could you have possibly done something to offend her?” Beatrice asked, holding onto her husband’s arm.
“Of course it is possible,” Giovanni said glibly, grinning at his cousin. “What did you do, cousin?”
“I do not think I have done anything,” Marco said evenly, though even as he spoke the words, his mind drifted to the lustful kisses they shared the last time they were alone.
She seemed eager during their interlude in his library, but could it be possible that Alice now regretted it?
She had been without remorse at the time and had said nothing since.
Indeed, she seemed to anticipate their being alone together as much as he did.
He couldn’t imagine that she was suddenly offended by his advances.
“Could she have discovered your vendetta against her father?” Beatrice quietly asked, looking around to ensure they were not overheard.
“I do not think it would matter if she had,” Marco said reasonably. “She clearly told me how she felt about him. She thought little of him in life and did not even know he was her sire until he was on his deathbed.”
“Goodness,” Giovanni muttered. “That must not have been an easy thing to learn.”
Marco knew Giovanni spoke from experience.
He had discovered the truth about his natural father only a few years ago.
Even though the father in question was loving and kind, the process had still been difficult.
The benefit had also been found in the blossoming relationship between Marco and Giovanni, cousins found in unexpected circumstances.
For Alice, the negatives of her inheritance wildly outweighed the positives.
“Then what could you have done?” Beatrice prompted.
“I have no idea,” Marco hesitated, thinking through his every interaction with her.
“Well, I suggest you go find out,” Giovanni said brazenly.
“Do you think that is wise?” Marco frowned. He would not want to push himself on her if she truly did not wish to see him. “To barge into her home unannounced?”
“You are to be married on Sunday,” Giovanni said earnestly. “If there is a problem, you must find out what it is. Or you may find yourself standing alone at the altar, cousin.”
It was a bleak prospect.
“Very well,” Marco said, nodding firmly. “I shall leave you to the exhibit.”
Marco left the gallery and took his carriage to the Fitzroy townhouse, impatient for answers.
He knocked on the door, his body thrumming with unease.
He was surprised at the cold reception from the butler, who had always been quite correct in his demeanor.
He was even more astonished at the contempt he felt coming from Alice's maid as she directed him to the drawing room to await her mistress.
He did as she bid and waited. Then he waited some more.
He couldn't understand what was taking so long.
Marco looked over the gardens and saw a flash of auburn hair moving beneath a flowering tree.
He stopped and peered closer, opening the French door to look at the figure reclining in the grass. It was indeed Alice.
“What on earth is going on?” Marco muttered, stepping out onto the terrace.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Alegria,” a voice said behind him. He turned to face the Dowager Duchess, and the scowling lady’s maid, whom he remembered was Beth.
“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” Marco said, giving her a brief bow before staring at Alice’s prone figure in the distant grass of the garden. “I expected Alice at the gallery and came to enquire if anything was amiss."
“My lady is not receiving visitors today,” Beth said quietly. She looked at him with barely suppressed rage, and Marco wondered what he could have done to earn her ire. He turned to look at the Dowager, eyebrows raised.
“Not even her fiancé?” Marco asked significantly. Beth looked as if she was ready to deny him access again, opening her mouth to speak, but the Dowager Duchess held up her hand.
“You may go and speak with her,” the Dowager said evenly. “But if you still intend to marry my daughter on Sunday, if you love her, I implore you to speak to her honestly, Mr. Alegria. Otherwise, I fear you will have lost her trust forever.”
Marco stared at her for a moment, dread rising from his toes to his head.
The Dowager's words implied that Alice did not trust him. Marco thought desperately. He sincerely hoped she hadn’t told her mother about the things they had done to each other in his library.
He did not know if he could bear the mortification of anyone else knowing their intimacies.
And if the Dowager Duchess thought he had taken advantage of her daughter, she would never think well of him again.
“I shall,” Marco said, bowing sincerely and then stepping out into the sunshine. As he walked across the lawn, he went over the Dowager's words, looking for clues to why he might have lost Alice’s trust. Yet as his mind rifled through the comments, four jumped out at him: if you love her.
He paused in his steps, the truth of those words flowing through his body like wine.
He had been considering just that for some time.
Thinking in the back of his mind that he might be falling in love.
But had not come to an answer. Seeing her lying in the grass changed that.
Her red hair spread across the emerald grass like a fiery halo.
Her yellow checked gown clung to her curves, and he could see the rise and fall of her chest in her lace-edged bodice.
Her eyes were closed, and the look on her face was ethereal.
She looked like a princess in a renaissance painting, lounging among the flowers. He paused when he realized the truth.
He was in love with Alice Fitzroy. The knowledge bolstering him, he strode forward, standing above her.
Alice blinked as she felt his shadow upon her and opened her eyes.
They rested on him, and the serene look on her face was erased.
Her golden-brown eyes flared with lethal fire.
Still, all Marco could think of was that she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.
The moment was shattered when she hissed, “You lied to me."
Alice glared up at him, waiting for him to speak. She expected outrage or a bluster of denial. She didn’t expect Marco to carefully lower himself onto the grass beside her and sigh in resignation.
“How have I lied to you?” he asked, impossibly gently, but it only infuriated her more.
She sat up sharply, scowling at him, not caring that her hair was undone, and her old yellow gown was a simple house dress and not fit for company.
She had changed into it when she came home, needing comfort more than fashion.
At that moment, she did not care if he thought her untidy or still desired her. She wanted the truth.
“You wagered for me, but you didn’t even win me, did you? It is even worse than that,” she spat out, the words painful as they left her lips. “You lost, and I am the horrid consequence you must now endure!”
Marco looked at her, no expression on his face. She had expected outright denial of it. She had expected rage and harsh words, but he simply stared, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet and measured.
“Who told you this?” he asked.
“One of your accomplices!” Alice shouted, her voice carrying over the tall grass. "Lord Hackman. A man I thought you despised as much as I did."
“I see,” Marco nodded slowly. Alice found his calmness absolutely infuriating. “What exactly did he say?”
“Have you forgotten the abominable nature of that game already?” Alice laughed harshly, shaking her head.
“Very well, I shall indulge you. He told me of the game played at my expense.
He said the loser would be forced to marry me.
Oh, and I mustn't forget that after the sacrificial lamb gained access to my money, he would divide the spoils amongst the other players! "
“I see,” Marco said softly, looking out over the garden. “It seems Hackman had much to say.”
“You resent him for revealing your part in that vile wager?” Alice protested, her throat closing up with emotion in the face of his poise. “For telling me the truth when you would not?”
“He, no doubt, had his own reasons for speaking of it,” Marco said, eyes flashing with anger that his voice didn’t reveal.
“You scorn him after what you have done?” Alice shouted, her emotions overtaking her. “He may be a cruel brute...”
“Why did you say that? What has he done? Did he touch you?” Marco asked quickly, and Alice saw anger flashing on his face that had nothing to do with the wager. But that made no sense to her. If he only wanted her money, Marco wouldn't care if she was upset.
“How could that possibly matter to you?” Alice asked bitterly, shaking her head. “His cutting remarks were mere raindrops on my skin compared to what you have done to me. You lied to me and made me believe you wanted me for myself, not my money. When I think about how I let you touch me..."
Alice found she could say no more without crying and pressed a hand over her mouth to contain her sobs. Marco looked at her steadily, saying nothing, but his eyes were full of anguish. Alice would not let herself question it, not now. She would not be drawn into his manipulations a second time.