The Untamed Earl(63)

For a moment he wondered if that were true, but then he relaxed. If so much as a hint of a scandal were afoot, his father would already be here, upending the bed. No. Owen could rest assured on that count, and that was a relief.

Alex didn’t deserve a scandal. All she’d ever done was try to help him. She didn’t deserve his dirty reputation to smear off on her. He had to stay away from her. For her sake.

After last night, it was clear he possessed little self-control when it came to her. If he couldn’t keep his hands or mouth off her, he could bloody well keep himself away from her entirely.

“You’re a member of the ton. A male. You have so much power, and you don’t even choose to use it,” she’d said, staring up at him with those big beautiful brown eyes. So full of trust and hope and … something else he didn’t want to contemplate.

Alex was right. He was a male member of the ton, but he could no more affect change than if he were a washerwoman. No one would take him seriously in Parliament. He was a known rakehell, a wastrel. He wasn’t like Claringdon or Swifdon or even Upton or Cavendish. Owen didn’t belong in the sacred halls of Westminster, giving speeches and attempting to sway his countrymen into voting the way he saw fit.

No. After his father died, Owen fully intended to be one of those members of the House of Lords who arrived seasonally for the sessions and missed more votes than not, due to social obligations. That was common enough, wasn’t it? And no one was the less off for it. He’d leave the introduction of difficult bills like the one for the families of the soldiers to men who’d actually fought next to those who’d died. Owen hadn’t stepped foot on foreign soil. He’d been carousing the clubs and taverns of London, not risking his life against Napoleon’s forces.

Owen wished he hadn’t sent the brandy away. He called for his valet again. Yes. His father was right about him. He was good for nothing but shaking off last night’s drinking with today’s drinks. And Alex—pure, sweet, innocent Alex—was wrong about him, too. So wrong. He wasn’t a hero. He was an arse. Someone like him couldn’t make a difference. But he could do one decent selfless thing. And he would. He would stay far away from Alexandra Hobbs.





CHAPTER THIRTY

Cass was hosting a ball this time, one that Alex seriously suspected was being held in honor of her flirtation with Lord Berkeley for Owen’s sake. But Alex didn’t feel like faux-flirting with Berkeley tonight, and she certainly didn’t feel like making Owen jealous.

“You look positively glum, dear. Are you all right?” Cass asked after wrenching the last plate of tea cakes away from Jane Upton and placing them back on the refreshment table.

Jane harrumphed and said, “I’ll just be in the library.”

“Of course you will, dear,” Cass replied, waving at Jane as she left.

“You should smile, Alex,” Lucy said. “Owen has to believe you’re having a wonderful time.”

“I’m having a miserable time.” Alex took a halfhearted sip of champagne from the flute that dangled from her fingers.

“Oh no. Why is that?” Cass asked. “Come and tell us.”

The three women made their way over to the corner to continue their discussion in private. As soon as they were situated, Alex took a deep breath. “Owen kissed me and told me he intends to marry Lavinia.”

“What!” Cass’s face drained of color. “Of all the detestable, wretched, unconscionable—”

“Wait.” Lucy held up a hand. “We need more details, Cass.” She turned to face Alex. “Did he kiss you and then immediately tell you he intends to marry Lavinia? And how was the kiss? Passionate or sisterly?”

“Passionate, definitely passionate,” Alex replied, taking another sip of champagne. “And the truth is that first he told me he intends to marry Lavinia. Well, he told me that earlier in the day, actually, after he followed me to the rookeries, but—”

Cass’s cheeks were bright pink. “Oh goodness, dear. It seems you’ve left out a great deal. What in heaven’s name were you doing in the rookeries?”

“That’s quite a long story. But I went there and Owen followed me and—”

“And he kissed you?” Lucy interjected. “In the rookeries? That doesn’t seem terribly romantic to me.”

“No. Not in the rookeries. In the rookeries he told me he intends to marry Lavinia because I asked what his intentions were. Then I left.”

Cass’s brow was furrowed. “So when did he kiss you?”

“Last night, in the gardens, at my father’s house. I didn’t come down to dinner. Instead, I went out for a bit of fresh air. Owen was there.”