Chapter 35
Thirty-Five
Alec was grateful the water in the pitcher still held some of its brisk morning coolness. He had shrugged off his jacket, untied his neckcloth, and plunged his head into the basin. Damnation! What had happened? Or, more pointedly, what had almost happened?
Miss Hardcastle. Aurora. He repeated her name out loud, softly to himself.
He let the sounds roll around in his mouth.
“Aurora,” he whispered. What was she doing to him?
He was the older one, the mature one. He was to keep his head in this whole business.
Yet, here he was, ready to take her for a tumble out in the meadow!
“Good God, man!” and he plunged his head into the basin yet again, staying under as long as he could. This time, he blindly reached for the towel next to him and scrubbed at his head and his face. “Good God.”
He crossed to the window and looked out, but his eyes did not see the day in front of him.
Rather, he saw a pair of blue eyes which seemed to be swallowing him, and a decided heat which would keep him from heading back downstairs for a while.
He brought his hand up and ran it across his lips.
The feel of her mouth on his—he could still feel it.
The warmth of her in his arms—he could still feel the weight, the pressure of her.
The direct gaze Aurora had bestowed on him out on their ride had done unsettling things to Alec’s thinking.
And to his breathing. He had found himself actually wanting—and then he had stopped himself.
The memory of their waltz, which he had been trying to suppress, returned.
And that wouldn’t do. Not now. He needed to keep his head.
Which he proceeded to lose. Well, nearly. He had stepped back on the brink.
This was not like Mary, which had been the quick flame of a first love. No, this was something deeper, like sitting in front of an open fire which became hotter the longer he sat there.
The other part that was different was laughter.
Their shared laughter. He remembered her protest about his comparison to Briseis, and he could feel that emotion returning.
What was it? God above, was that happiness?
Was he feeling happy? What a sad species of humanity he was, hiding out in his bedchamber lost in erotic thoughts and wondering whether he was happy.
“Tintern Abbey.” He had not recollected that poem in years. Yet here it came, stumbling out, well, rushing out.
“I am losing my head,” he said out loud. “I am become a complete and utter fool: wildly kissing in the meadow, nearly taking advantage of a very young woman, reciting poetry. Where will this end?” In marriage, you oaf, was the immediate reply.
But you are not there yet, Alec. You are not there yet. This is Miss Hardcastle. There is still the marriage business, the business negotiations to be steered through. You have not yet entered the harbor. See! Marjorie’s blasted naval infatuation is affecting my own thinking.
Miss Hardcastle. Aurora. He realized he needed to remain in his chamber for a while as yet. Finn could not find him wandering about in a daze—his cousin would call him a fool.
Business, Alec. Business. Keep your head, man. Business. For Marjorie.
These breeches were deucedly tight. Damn the fashion, he would have a tailor make up a looser pair for him in the future. When he could afford it.