The Untamed Earl(60)

Owen glanced over at Lady Lavinia, who rolled her eyes at the conversation. Clearly, she was as uninterested in tolls as she was in the rights of women. He focused again on the duke. “I haven’t given it much thought, Your Grace.”

Lavinia sneered at him and Owen recoiled. What the blazes did she want him to say? He considered pushing back his chair and leaving the room. In fact—he decided right then and there—that’s exactly what he would do. Temporarily, at least. He pushed his chair away from the dining table.

“Will you excuse me, Your Graces, Lady Lavinia?” He stood, grabbed his conveniently refilled wineglass, bowed, and dropped his napkin to his seat. “I find I need some air for a moment.”

Lavinia’s jaw dropped as if she couldn’t possibly comprehend that anyone was leaving her esteemed presence, but the duke and the duchess nodded to him as he made his way out of the dining room. He turned down the corridor and headed toward the back of the house, where he knew the exit to the terrace was.

Using his free hand, Owen pushed open the doors to the balcony and stepped outside. He kicked the door closed behind him and downed the entire contents of his glass in one gulp. He balanced the glass haphazardly on the balustrade and strolled into the garden, scrubbing his hands into his hair. This was one of the longest, most disagreeable nights of his life. Made worse by the fact that Alex wasn’t here.

Alex. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about Alex? Blast it. He rubbed his hand over his scalp harder, as if he could wipe away the memory of her.

“What are you doing here?”

Alex’s voice? Had he conjured her from his thoughts? He blinked and narrowed his eyes to squint into the darkness of a nearby hedge.

Alex materialized from the shadows. She was wearing a dressing gown and slippers and was twirling a violet between her fingers. Her hair was down, and the surge of lust that hit Owen squarely in the groin when he saw her nearly sent him to his knees.

“Alex?” he whispered, afraid she was only a figment of his imagination and would disappear if he spoke too loudly.

“You shouldn’t be here. Or I shouldn’t be here. Either way, you shouldn’t see me like this.”

“I like seeing you like this.” He gestured to her dressing gown.

She pulled it more tightly around her neck with one hand and blushed beautifully.

“How is your headache?” he asked, leaning against a nearby tree and contemplating her. The familiar scent of strawberries filled his nostrils and he wanted to reach out and pull her into his arms.

“How is your dinner?” She nodded toward the house.

“Excruciatingly boring,” he replied with a grin.

The hint of a smile touched her lips. “That bad?”

“Worse.”

She made to walk past him. “I should get inside before anyone sees us—”

“Wait.” He reached out and grabbed her soft arm. “Earlier at the poorhouse, you said I had the same opportunity you have but I choose to squander it. What did you mean?”

She pulled her arm away and turned to face him, still clutching at the throat of her gown. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters very much … to me.”

She sighed. “I only meant that you’re a future earl. You’re a member of the ton. A male. You have so much power and you don’t even choose to use it. You could take a seat in the House of Commons now, and someday you’ll be in the House of Lords. You could campaign for the rights of the poor, ask Parliament for money for the poorhouses. With your connections and your fame, Owen, you could do so much more than I do, giving them my bits of embroidery from time to time.” Her eyes flashed dark fire at him.

He spoke slowly, deliberately. “Do you respect me, Alex?”

She swallowed and glanced away. “What do you mean?”

“You heard me. Do you respect me?”

“I don’t know why you’re asking or why you would care what I think.”

“I’m asking for the same reason I care. Because it matters to me what you think of me.”

She sucked in her breath. “Why?”

“I’ve been trying to discern that myself for days, but I do. What do you think of me, Alex? Do you think I’m a fop, or someone pretending to be someone I’m not so that I can line my pockets with your sister’s dowry? Or a scoundrel? Out only to seek my own pleasure?”

Her eyes met his. Hers had tears swimming in their dark depths. “Is that what you think of yourself?”

“That’s what I am.”

“Not to me. Never to me. I know what happened at Eton, Owen. Cass told me.”

“She had no right to—”