your way?’
‘Both.’
Ewen moved slowly towards her. He saw a young woman with a sculptured face of incredible beauty. She had high, delicately moulded cheekbones, a perfect nose, generous lips and a tiny, intriguing little cleft in the centre of her chin. Beneath her dark brows her eyes continued to blaze with defiance.
‘When you have finished scrutinising my face, sir,’ she clipped out suddenly with a fine, cultured accent like frosted glass, ‘I would appreciate it if you would explain what you are doing in my bedchamber.’
‘I recognised you as the woman I met in the park earlier when I saw you looking out of the window.’
‘You were in the garden?’
He nodded. ‘It was easy enough to hoist myself up to your balcony window. If you wish to discourage intruders, you should instruct your maid to close it when the room is unoccupied.’
‘Never mind that. What do you want?’
Ewen looked down at her face upturned to his, well aware that she was probably scared out of her wits behind her show of bravado. ‘What has the dress done to you to make you treat it so?’
Alice cast her torn gown a sidelong glance. ‘That is my concern, not yours.’
‘When I saw you in the park, you were weeping. Clearly you were upset about something.’
‘I wasn’t crying. It was merely the melted snow on my face.’
He shook his head slowly. ‘Deny it all you like. I know what I saw.’
‘You have yet to tell me what you are doing here. Why now of all times?’ she asked him outright. ‘I know who you are and I sincerely hope you have not come to make trouble.’
‘I have not seen my betrothed for some time. I thought it was about time I did.’
‘In my bedchamber?’
He shrugged. ‘I did not want to alarm Roberta by showing myself too soon. I wish to know how the land lies before I present myself. I assume you are Roberta’s friend. Who better to ask?’
‘Haven’t you caused her enough sorrow and heartache?’ Alice accused irately. She was incensed that this man could come here at this time and work his mischief. ‘Must you mar the eve of Roberta’s betrothal with more pain?’
The silver-grey eyes took on a steely hardness as they settled on her. ‘How can she possibly become betrothed to another while she is still betrothed to me? What would you have me do? Ignore the insult and leave without a fight?’ His low, sardonic laugh belied the possibility. ‘Watch me, lady, and see if I will.’
‘Why, what will you do? Go down to the ballroom and put an end to it? Make a show of Roberta and shame and humiliate her? If you have any heart at all, you will refrain from doing anything so cruel.’
‘Then be so good as to summon the Countess.’
‘I will do no such thing. I think you should leave this minute and come back tomorrow if you wish to speak to her—although she may not wish to speak to you. And please use the front door next time.’ She pointed across the room. ‘There is the window. Please—just go, will you?’ The furious look on the intruder’s face made Alice want to laugh so much that she forgot her fear for the moment. She could almost swear she heard him growl.
His eyes slashed hers like razors. Slowly he leaned forward, his hand reaching out and grasping her chin so that she was forced to look into the eyes that blazed white fire just inches from her own. ‘Lady, let me assure you that it is unwise to cross or disobey me,’ he declared through gritted teeth. ‘I am not here to play games. I’ve already played them all and you wouldn’t enjoy them even if you knew how to play. Now, if you will not go yourself then send one of the servants to summon her ladyship.’
‘You dare to order me about?’
‘I do dare.’ His eyes were two slits of hard, unyielding steel. Alice tried turning her head, but the strength in his fingers held her chin firm. ‘Do as I ask, otherwise the whole house will know you are entertaining a man in your room, which would prove highly embarrassing for you. So if you care for your reputation you will do as I say before I get tired of waiting and go myself.’
Insulted to the core of her being, Alice shot him an angry, indignant glare. She did care. She had no intention of causing another scandal for herself and running the risk of ruining her reputation even further. ‘You seem to forget that this is my bedroom and it was you who insinuated yourself into it.’
Releasing his hold on her chin, he stepped back. ‘Do it.’
Alice’s heart skipped a beat as she gazed up at the powerful, dynamic man looking down at her. Masculine pride and granite determination was sculpted into every angle and plane of his swarthy face and cynicism had etched lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth. Relenting, knowing she would get no peace unless she did, she turned to the door to do his bidding.
They awaited Lady Marchington’s arrival in silence. From beneath dark brows, Lord Tremain observed Alice with close attention, and with quiet patience he waited for Lady Margaret Hislop, like a cat before a mouse hole.
With arms folded, Alice slowly paced the carpet, aware that the brooding Lord Tremain’s gaze was fixed on her, holding her in its silvery depths. Suddenly she was the captive of those fathomless eyes, but she gave his attention the lack of regard it deserved. Yet she found it hard to be at ease with his gaze following her with an intensity and vibrancy to which she was not accustomed. And if his staring were not unsettling enough, he seemed to possess some mysterious power over her traitorous gaze, as now and then she could not prevent it straying in his direction. It was as if his keen appraisal were tangible—she could feel the heat and weight of it, as surely and distractingly as if he were trailing the tips of his fingers over her flesh.
Feeling a flush bloom in her cheeks, she looked away when the door opened and Lady Marchington walked into the room.
Lady Marchington’s eyes honed in on the man who stood by the fire. When he turned his head and she saw his familiar features her face blanched and her hand lifted to her throat. Her mouth tightened itself into a hard, unattractive line. Confusion, then belligerence, clouded her obdurate features and her narrow face became etched with bitter scorn.
The bow he gave her was sufficiently formal to send a chill through her, but at the same time acted as spur to her determination to keep him away from Roberta. Lady Marchington had recently learned of Lord Tremain’s past, a past he had tried to keep secret, of how he had been captured and held as a slave in North Africa. She had been totally ignorant of this dark past a year ago when she had agreed to a betrothal between him and Roberta. Had it been made known to her then, she would never have given her consent.
Since that day he had become a malignant presence in her mind—a man tainted by what had been done to him, frightful, barbarous things she could not begin to imagine and had no wish to, since to do so was utterly repellent to her. No man could emerge from eight years of slavery in North Africa and not be affected by it. From the moment she had learned of his past, even though it was not of his doing, she had decided that should he return and try to resume his betrothal to Roberta, she would not allow it. The thought of someone as naive and gentle as Roberta being joined in matrimony to such a man was inconceivable. Besides, his pedigree was way below that of Viscount Pemberton.
