36
Nina was waiting for her when she returned to her hotel room, and one look at Alexandra’s expression made Nina say, “He wasn’t there, was he?”
Alexandra removed her coat and sat down carefully on the bed. “Oh, he was there,” she replied dryly. “And we had quite an interesting conversation. Apparently lechers aren’t exclusive to Cardinia.”
“I never thought they were.” Then Nina’s eyes flared in understanding. “You mean the Honorable Christopher Leighton isn’t so honorable?”
Alexandra nodded and, as briefly as she could manage it, related what had happened. When she had finished, Nina was furious.
“That rotten bastard! That miserable deceiver, to give you no indication of his true motives, to deliberately let you think—”
“He said he assumed I understood.”
“That’s a lie and you know it, Alex—and don’t you even think about trying to defend him.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Good, because—” Nina broke off when she finally realized that she was doing all the yelling and Alexandra wasn’t doing any. “Why aren’t you angry?”
“I suppose I am.”
The lackluster answer had Nina rolling her eyes. “You don’t sound it. You don’t even sound upset. In fact, you sound no different from when you left here.”
“I’m still adjusting to the fact that Christopher isn’t the man I thought he was.” And then Alexandra frowned thoughtfully. “But you’re right, I should be more upset about this than I am, shouldn’t I? After all, I’ve loved him for so long—”
Nina’s snort announced her opinion on that, yet she responded, “You say that from habit only.”
“Nina—” Alexandra began defensively, but that, too, was out of habit, and her friend wasn’t going to let her trot out the same old, lame excuses this time.
“I’m telling you, you didn’t love him!” Nina interrupted hotly.
“Not then and not now. I’ve always said it, but now you’re going to believe it.
” Then she said, less severely, “You wanted him when you met him, but you were young and romantic then, and you needed a name for what you were feeling, so you called it love.”
“And all these years—”
“All these years you simply haven’t cared one way or the other, Alex, or you would have done something about it. Think about it. If you had really loved him, would you have been content to sit at home and wait?”
Put that way, the question demanded an obvious answer.
Alexandra didn’t have the temperament to be that patient, not if her emotions were involved.
So why had she been deceiving herself? From habit, as Nina had said?
Or because she had mistaken infatuation for love and was too stubborn to admit she’d made a mistake?
But Nina wasn’t finished. “Even if you didn’t love him, you still ought to be angry about what he’s done to you. If it weren’t for him, you would have been more favorably disposed to Count Petroff and would be married to him by now.”
Would she? No, what she would have been was angrier at Vasili for not giving them a chance, because his sentiments wouldn’t have been any different. He would have turned on his contempt no matter how she’d felt about him.
“My being more agreeable to him, Nina, would only have led to hurt.” And hadn’t she been hurt? Hadn’t she been sick with regret? In a tone of annoyance she said, “I’m going to bed. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be angry. Now I’m just tired.”
But the next day didn’t bring anything except a return of her melancholy—with the addition of knowing that she had to make a difficult decision.
She was still pregnant, and she still needed a husband, quickly.
And with Christopher no longer a candidate for the position, she was going to have to settle for a stranger.
That actually wasn’t as daunting as it sounded.
Alexandra had been quite happy with her life these past few years, with only one exception—her desire for children.
But she had her baby now, and she still had her horses, and she could be content with that.
And there was even the possibility that she might like whomever she chose to marry, might even one day come to love her husband.
It wasn’t that unlikely. But it didn’t really matter to her if love happened or not.
She wished she didn’t need a husband just because she was pregnant.
It would be so much easier if she could settle somewhere and raise her child by herself.
Her horses would support her quite adequately, would even make her rich if she decided to race them.
But her child would suffer for that, would be branded illegitimate, and that was not an option she cared to exercise.
She didn’t even consider going home, since she hadn’t forgiven her father and doubted that she ever would. It still hurt even to think about him and what he’d done to her—what she was now suffering because of it.
Her only other option was Vasili. If the distance weren’t so great, she’d return to Cardinia and insist that he marry her.
But she was already seven weeks along in her pregnancy.
It would take another month just to get back to Cardinia; then more time would be wasted arguing with Vasili in order to get him to agree, which wouldn’t be easy after he’d been reprieved from the “hated state of matrimony.” She would probably be showing her condition by then.
Of course, a baby being on its way before marriage would be no more than anyone would expect from him.
The stirring of excitement she felt from merely considering the idea infuriated her.
She still didn’t want the kind of marriage he would give her.
If she hadn’t found out how wonderful those marital rights could be with him—which he intended to deny her—her decision might have been different.
But she did know, and she would come to hate him after a while, might even toss her pride away and… no!
A stranger was much better. No emotional involvement and something in common, because the man would have to be an avid horseman, and from conversations she had overheard, she knew that many Englishmen were.
He would also have to have a strong penchant for horse racing, since that was probably the only thing that was going to get her a husband quickly.
Although she had enough money to keep her comfortable for some time to come, even if she didn’t sell another horse, she could in no way be classified as a rich catch.
And she wasn’t going to count on her minor title of baroness to aid her either.
Her thoroughbreds were the temptation she was counting on. Whomever she proposed to wouldn’t just get a ready-made family; in all likelihood he’d get some wins at the racetracks as well. He’d have to want those wins, desperately, to accept her pregnancy, and her terms.
Deciding on a course of action was one thing, but implementing it was another.
In that, Lady Beatrice helped immensely, obtaining invitations for her, spreading the word about her horses and that she was in the market for a husband.
After only a few days, everyone was wondering about the Russian baroness who had come to London to find a husband.
As it turned out, her title was a bigger draw than she had supposed it would be, especially since she came with a guaranteed income from her breeding stock.
But then, her looks alone turned out to be an equal enticement.
She was attracting too many men who weren’t horse fanciers, and although she would have discouraged them in her frank way, Lady Beatrice recommended that she not do so.
“Gossip, my dear,” Beatrice explained. “Right now it is in your favor, but rejected suitors can turn it against you overnight.”
“But won’t too many suitors discourage the ones I’m interested in?”
Beatrice laughed. “Not at all. The ones you want will be even more intrigued by your popularity. If a girl has three men bussing about her, she’ll soon have ten. It’s human nature to see what all the fuss is about, and men always want what other men want.”
That conversation took place, incredibly, on Alexandra’s first evening out in London society, her acceptance by the ton was that quick.
By the second evening she had met at least three gentlemen who fit her purposes exactly, and since she was in no position to waste time tiptoeing around the subject, she told each what her requirements were.
The first she took aside to speak with privately was apparently too shocked by her directness in doing the proposing to stick around to hear the rest of what she was offering, which was just as well.
If he couldn’t handle a simple thing like her proposal, he probably would have fainted when she got around to telling him about the baby.
After that experience, she was a little more careful with the second man, leading into the subject a bit more slowly, making sure that he was aware that she was seeking marriage before she asked if he was interested.
He wouldn’t give her an immediate answer, needed time to consider her proposal, though he hadn’t counted on raising children so soon—he was only twenty-six.
The third man held the highest standing as a viscount, though he was the least attractive, a bit on the portly side.
However, he fairly drooled when she mentioned how many horses she owned, and hardly batted an eye over the fact that she was pregnant.
He did, in fact, give her a resounding yes, saying he would be delighted to marry her.
It was Alexandra’s turn to be shocked. She really hadn’t thought it would be this easy, or this quick, and she put him off, suggesting they spend a few days getting to know each other before they completely committed and set a wedding date.
But at least the pressure was off. She’d solved her problem.
Only now that she no longer had to worry about a father for her baby, her melancholy returned.
She spent a good portion of the next day with her viscount, Gordon Whately, which included riding through one of London’s many parks.
He brought one of his own thoroughbreds for her to ride—she had the impression it was a test of sorts, since the mare was high-spirited, which condition she had no difficulty controlling—and they ended up talking horses and nothing else.
At least they would never lack for conversation as a married couple.
He was having no second thoughts—which had been a possibility—and believed everything she claimed about her animals. She couldn’t afford to have second thoughts herself.
Since it looked as if she would be staying in England, she would soon have to visit a dressmaker for clothing other than the completed, unclaimed dresses she had been able to buy with a minimum of alterations.
That was how she had been surviving so far with her evening apparel, but she would soon run out of dressmakers who could accommodate her so quickly.
And with all the invitations that Beatrice had lined up for her—which the older woman insisted Alexandra must still attend to broaden her acquaintances, even though she’d already accomplished her goal—she was going to need a much larger wardrobe.
That night there was a ball for which Beatrice was picking her up. Gordon wouldn’t be attending, since he had a previous engagement he was unable to cancel, but Alexandra wasn’t disappointed. Too much of his company gave her a headache.
She’d found a gown suitable for a ball late that afternoon, a fancy concoction in deep burgundy and black lace that showed off more of her bosom than she was used to, though she knew it to be the fashion.
Still, she would have preferred not to go, having no more desire to socialize now than she’d had these past seven years.
But she went, and she even made an effort to enjoy herself.
She wasn’t succeeding very well, though, with visions of her future dampening her mood.
Having spent so much time with Gordon today, she really couldn’t imagine spending the rest of her life with him.
And she certainly couldn’t imagine making love with him. Yet what choice did she have?
She was dancing when the buzzing started, conversations everywhere picking up in volume, as if everyone were suddenly talking at once.
Her partner was trying to look around to see what was happening, but he was no taller than she was, and he could find nothing amiss.
She wasn’t curious herself, although she couldn’t help hearing some of the talk going on around her as they continued to twirl past the other couples on the dance floor.
“Is it the queen?”
“Over there by the…”
“…never seen anyone so…”
“Good God, who is…”
“…so handsome…”
“…so handsome…”
“…so handsome…”
Her partner had actually stopped dancing, even though the music continued to play. He didn’t remember to apologize, he was so curious. But everyone else around them was doing the same thing, and the buzzing was getting even louder.
Alexandra sighed and excused herself to leave the floor. Whoever had so impressed these people was of no interest to her. So handsome? They’d have to go to Russia, to Cardinia to be exact, to see really handsome.
And then the crowd was suddenly parting before her, clearing a path for the man slowly walking across the room. And in the opened space she couldn’t miss him, couldn’t believe her eyes either, and couldn’t take another step.
Vasili in London? Impossible. Yet there he was, coming straight toward her, his honey-gold eyes, as bright as she’d ever seen them, locked on hers.
Everyone else saw an inscrutable expression, but she knew what that golden brightness indicated, that he was angry enough to throttle her, and she couldn’t decide whether she ought to run, faint, cry—or laugh for the sheer joy that was overwhelming her senses at the very sight of him.