He searched for and found his striker, ferreting it out of his pocket, offering Alexandra a thin smile, as though to spite her. He struck it once, putting the flame to his cheroot, inhaling deeply as he lit the foul-smelling cigar. The tip glowed bright red against the darkness, lighting his face red, and he drew it away from his sinfully beautiful lips, exhaling a stink that lingered like a frost cloud in the air. Alexandra waved it away before it could venture near, and said, “I hope you won’t be indulging during our travels, or at least in my presence.”
His stark green eyes, so like Claire’s, glittered fiercely. “Ah, yes… your presence… something I intend to suffer as little as possible, I assure you.”
Suffer?
Alexandra had had enough. She tossed away her leaf very indignantly. “Really, Ben, if you didn’t wish to escort me to Meridian, why would you agree to it?”
In answer, he shrugged, taking yet another puff and once again pulling the cheroot from his lips, ever so slowly. There was something not quite civil about the way he blew out the smoke in the shape of an O. “Because Claire asked,” he said, “And, as you must realize by now, I am quite fond of my little sister.”
“Yes, well. So am I,” Alexandra reminded him.
“Naturally. So there you have it. I agreed for the very same reason you agreed, Lexie.” He eyed her coolly. “And yet… this is why you came running to Highbury with apologies… because you care?”
His accusation stung because it was true… she had been so overcome with grief and so self-involved after her father’s arrest that she hadn’t dared go to Claire…
“For Claire,” he said. “I would walk through flames… especially since she did so for me… thanks to your father.”
And there it was.
He blamed her. He blamed her very, very much. But for all his blame, did he ever bother to take any for himself?
Injured by his words, nearly as much as she was by his animosity, Alexandra stamped her foot, and spun on her heels, bolting away before he could spy the angry tears forming in her eyes, even against her will. She hurried into the house, past the parlor, past the laughter, past Claire and her new friends—
“Lexie!” shouted Claire. “There you are! Alexandra!”
Alexandra didn’t stop. She hurried toward the paneled stairwell, but Claire rushed into the hall to catch her before she could flee.
“We’re singing,” she said brightly. “Please, please, please… come join us. You’re the best!”
Alexandra shook her head. “I really shouldn’t…”
“Please,” begged Claire, smiling such an irresistible smile that Alexandra couldn’t possibly say no.
Like Ben, there wasn’t very much in this entire world she wouldn’t do for Claire.
“For me,” she begged, and what could Alexandra do but surrender. Pasting on a brave smile, she cast one last glance toward the door from whence she’d come and then followed Claire into the parlor.
He watched her go, utterly disgusted with himself.
The truth was that he hadn’t the first clue why he was driven to bedevil her.
He knew that none of his travails were Lexie’s fault. But her father was such a shiftless, heartless bastard—a wastrel, a blackguard.
And nevertheless… so was he. He had put himself into a position to be done up by impost takers. He, himself, had given Huntington the means to beggar him, and that was neither Alexandra’s father’s fault, nor was it hers. It was his. The problem was… he couldn’t look at Lexie without remembering that bit of truth.
Nor did he wish to fall back into his old ways, enabling a child, consoling her tears.
He was no longer quite so glib as he one was, no longer so beetle-headed, nor… respectable.
Ash mouth.
He plucked the cheroot from his lips, lifting it to his nostrils for a sniff.
Bloody vixen.
Ash mouth.
As he stood contemplating Alexandra and his sister’s meddling, snow began to fall, and that too was an oddity for these parts.
A cold day in Hell.
That’s what this was.
It was a cold day in Hell and Ben rather suspected he understood why he was so vexed by Alexandra’s company. She made him recall things he didn’t wish to recall… lost youth, lost opportunity, lost repute.
Some part of him desperately longed for simpler days when he could be lost in her sweet laughter, those sweet, amber-flecked eyes. But she wasn’t the same anymore either. In fact, there was something about Alexandra that was distinctly different, something he couldn’t put his finger to…
Counting all the weeks he’d spent in Fleet, it had been nearly a year since he’d last seen her, much less spent any time in her company. And, in truth, he hadn’t seen her much before that terrible night—not since before his father died. As soon as he’d discovered the state of their finances, he’d set himself the task of restoring their good fortunes—a lot of good he’d done. He’d gambled away the last of their legal tender, and then he’d made himself a fool…
He stared a long, hard moment at the doorway through which Alexandra had fled. He had, indeed, spied her out here, in the garden, and damned if he wasn’t drawn to her like a moth to a flame. No matter that his anger was simmering too near the surface, he had longed for her company, and yet he’d approached her with enmity—why?
In fact, he had always suspected there was more to Lexie than what she allowed people to see… a certain something that called to his spirit. And really, there must be some reason she was drawn to Claire.
More to the point, there must be a reason he was drawn to her…
Only now he feared what he saw in the depths of Alexandra’s eyes… sadness—a sadness she generally hid with good humor and frivolity. Only now that he understood its root cause, he wasn’t entirely certain she would ever heal.
And worse, perhaps Ben was a cause for it.
Or perhaps he still feared she was too much like her father—and yet no… that wasn’t it at all.
It was this: He loved her. He still loved her madly; he just didn’t like her anymore—no more than he liked himself. And that was the rub, he supposed. Alexandra was too much like him, and he hadn’t recognized that before because there was no shade put upon his life. His parents had loved both their children deeply, and if their father had left them without funds or options, it wasn’t because he was a bounder. He’d spent every penny caring for his family and tending to their ailing mother. His father had had only noble intentions… but… Ben had not.
For a while, he must confess, here and now… he had enjoyed that life for a moment… smoke curling in the air, bosoms heaving near his face… glasses clinking on the table…
Now… well… he was changed… and not for the better… and all because of Alexandra’s father.
Snow fell harder, leaving white specks on his dark frock coat, and nevertheless, he didn’t stir himself to go back inside… there was nowhere to walk in there without standing within five feet of damnable mistletoe—and if Lexie so happened to be standing anywhere near a sprig, he might be tempted beyond reason to find out if she still tasted the way he remembered…. sweet and fresh, with just a hint of spice.