The Untamed Earl(67)
Because you’re the only person who understands me. Because I miss you when you’re not with me.
He cleared his throat and glanced around at the disapproving faces of the others. “I have something to say to you.”
Actually, he had no idea what he would say to her, but if he could get her alone, away from Cass and her friends and Berkeley, damn him, Owen would say … something. Blast. He was an ass. A drunken ass. Perhaps he’d just say that.
“You didn’t have much to say to me last night,” Alex continued. “What’s changed?”
Nothing.
Everything.
“Owen, if you have something to say to Alexandra, I think it’s best said here,” Cass informed him. His sister was merely concerned for Alex, but he didn’t happen to appreciate it at the moment.
He took a step toward Alex. “Dance with me or come out to the gardens for a walk with me. Hear me out, at least.”
“Owen, I—” Cass made to move in front of Alex, but Alex stepped forward more quickly.
“I’ll go with you,” Alex said simply. She turned on her heel and strode toward the French doors that led to the terrace. She turned back to her friends. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, please come look for me.”
“Done,” Berkeley said, eyeing Owen up and down with distaste.
* * *
The doors shut behind Alex and she marched across the terrace, down the stone steps, and onto the garden path. She didn’t stop to look behind her to see if Owen had followed, and she certainly didn’t give a fig if the entire assembly of the Haverfords’ ball saw her stalk off into the gardens with the town’s biggest rake on her heels.
She was angry, incensed at Owen for bursting into the ball, causing a scene, and acting like a demanding jackass. But she was even angrier at herself for being so overwhelmed by curiosity at what he wanted to say to her that she couldn’t even tell him to go to hell. It would have been so satisfying to tell him to go to hell. But after she’d spent the first half of last night crying into her pillow, thinking about him spending the night with the widow Mrs. Clare and the second half of the night punching her pillow and pretending it was his treacherously handsome face, she still couldn’t find it in herself to not wonder what he possibly had left to say to her.
She took three steps onto the gravel path before she twirled so fast that her skirts swished against her ankles and the fat curl Hannah had left to dangle out the back of her coiffure flew over her shoulder to bounce along her décolletage.
Owen was there, only a few steps behind her, looking both handsome and appropriately chagrined, a lethal combination for her heart. She summoned the memory of crying into her pillow, crossed her arms over her chest, and glared at him.
“Well?” She tapped her slipper against the gravel.
“Walk with me,” he said in a domineering voice as he came to stand next to her. He offered her his arm, and Alex had to struggle to remember herself punching the pillow as she slid her hand over his muscled forearm. He smelled like soap and leather and—oh, this wasn’t helpful. As soon as her hand was settled, he turned down the more secluded of the two garden paths that was lit with candles and pulled her along beside him. Alex struggled to keep her breathing straight.
“Berkeley’s coming for me in ten minutes,” she reminded him.
“How could I forget?” He gave her a tight smile.
“What do you want to say?”
He stopped abruptly and turned to face her. “I wanted to begin with an apology … for last night.”
“What you did last night is absolutely none of my concern.” She turned her head away sharply.
“I didn’t do anything last night,” he said softly. “I left Mrs. Clare at her home. Alone.”
Alex clenched her jaw. “Is that supposed to matter to me?”
He stepped away from her, and her hand dropped from his sleeve. He moved toward the hedge and then turned back to face her. “Damn it, Alex. I don’t know what you want from me. All I know is that I cannot stop thinking about you.”
“No, Owen. I don’t know what you want from me. I’ve always thought so much of you, but not anymore.”
He stepped toward her and searched her face. “Always thought so much of me? What do you mean?”
“You don’t even remember, do you?” Tears streamed down both Alex’s cheeks.
Owen ripped a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his coat and offered it to her. “Remember what?”
“That night. The ball at Father’s country house. Three years ago. You came outside. Some young men were making sport of Will the stable boy, and Thomas was there,” she sobbed.