died five years previously and ever since then Alex had deliberately taken postings that had been as extreme, as reckless and as dangerous as he could find. He wanted nothing else. Even sitting here now with Dev he could feel the urge to escape, the desire to turn his back on all these tedious responsibilities and family burdens. It jarred him into guilt even as he wanted simply to take ship and set sail for wherever the wind blew him. But for now he was trapped in London anyway, hog-tied by the Admiralty whilst they decided what to do with him.
“One of these days,” he said, venting some of his frustrations by glaring at his cousin, “someone is going to put a bullet through you, Devlin, and it might well be me.”
Dev relaxed. “I don’t doubt it,” he said cheerfully. “Now, about the favor I’m asking …”
“You have a damned nerve.”
“Always, but.” Dev cocked a brow. “It’s easy and it won’t cost you a penny of your own money and after all, you owe it to me as the big brother I never had.”
Alex sighed. Even as he could feel himself softening toward his cousin he wondered how Dev managed to get round him so easily. But then, Dev could charm anything that moved.
“Your logic is faulty,” he snapped, “but do go ahead.”
“I need you to attend Mrs. Cummings’s rout this evening in Grosvenor Square,” Dev said.
Alex looked at him. “You’re joking.”
“I am not.”
“Then you do not know me very well even after twenty-three years,” Alex said. “I detest balls, routs, breakfasts and parties of all kinds.”
“You will love this one,” Dev said, grinning. “It is in your honor.”
“What?” Alex gave his young relative a withering look. “Now you have taken leave of your senses.”
“And you are turning into a curmudgeon,” Dev said. “You need to get out more and enjoy yourself. What did you have planned for tonight-an evening alone, reading a book in your hotel?”
That, Alex thought, was dangerously close to the mark and did make him sound like a superannuated older relative rather than a cousin with only nine years seniority.
“Nothing wrong in that,” he said.
Dev laughed. “But a rout will be much more fun. And Mr. Cummings is frightfully rich and I need to persuade him to sponsor my voyage to Mexico. So I thought …”
“I see,” Alex said, seeing exactly where this was going.
“Both Mr. and Mrs. Cummings are desperately keen on explorers,” Dev said in a rush, suddenly sounding very young. “They think you are most dashing. So when they discovered that I was your cousin, well. They promised to help me if I could persuade you to attend the rout …”
Alex rolled his eyes. “Devlin,” he said warningly.
“I know,” Dev said, “but I thought you would be attending anyway, since Lady Joanna Ware will be there and she is your mistress—”
“What?” Alex brought his coffee cup down with a crack that made the table shudder.
“It’s the on dit,” Dev said. “I heard it from Lady O’Hara just before we met up. You’re the talk of the town.”
“Ah,” Alex said. “Yes.” By his calculations it had been all of an hour since John Hagan had left Half Moon Street. Evidently the man had lost no time in spreading the scandal of Lady Joanna Ware’s supposed liaison. Perhaps it served to smooth over his rejection to broadcast that Joanna Ware had another lover. Contempt for Hagan seared him.
“I admire your taste,” Dev was saying. He gave Alex a frank look. “I’d always heard Lady Joanna was cold as the grave-would have tried my luck if I’d thought otherwise.”
“You can give that idea up, infant,” Alex said very dryly. The sensation of masculine possession that gripped him when he thought about Joanna Ware was sharp and shocking. He realized that he had reacted entirely on instinct. It was an alien sensation. “And don’t speak disrespectfully of Lady Joanna either,” he added, wondering as he did so why on earth he felt the need to defend her.
Dev raised his brows. “Very vehement, Alex.”
“And she is not my mistress,” Alex finished testily.
“Then why the bad temper?” Dev grinned. “Or are you frustrated because she is not your mistress?”
“Enough,” Alex snapped.
Dev shrugged elegantly. “But you will be there tonight?” He did not quite manage to erase the note of pleading from his voice.
“You should have asked Purchase,” Alex said grimly. “He likes that sort of thing.”
“Purchase is dining with the Prince Regent,” Dev said. “An invitation which I understand you declined, Alex.”
“I hate all the celebrity nonsense.”
Dev laughed. “But this is different. This is for me.”
Alex thought about it. He did not approve of Dev’s decision to turn in his commission, but the damage was done now. He could try to dissuade his cousin from his harebrained Mexican scheme, but he doubted he would be successful; Dev had his own share of the family obstinacy. And Alex knew he ran the risk of looking a complete hypocrite if he played the role of heavy-handed older brother. It was true that he had pursued his own adventures with the approval and support of the King’s Royal Navy, but what real difference was there between a man seeking adventure under his country’s flag and one setting out to prove himself in a different way? Dev was motivated by courage and a quest for adventure and independence. And he was not running away from the ghosts of the past, a charge that Alex had to plead guilty to, in part at least.
Alex tapped his fingers impatiently on the table edge. As he had told Dev, he detested social events with a deep and abiding hatred. Yet if he attended the rout he could assuage a little of the guilt he felt over neglecting his family by helping Devlin.
And he would see Lady Joanna Ware again.
For a moment he felt as green as he had done as a teenager at Eton, hoping to catch sight of the housemaster’s daughter. The desire to see Joanna was very strong even as he acknowledged it was the single most foolish thing that he could do. If he wanted a woman he should buy a courtesan for a night, or two nights or however many nights it took to slake his lust. That would be straightforward, uncomplicated. Desiring David Ware’s tempting widow was neither of those things. The difficulty was that it was Joanna Ware he wanted, not some Covent Garden light skirt. He doubted that bedding a Cyprian would even take the edge off his hunger, for he did not want a whore. He could pretend that this lust was no more than the natural consequence of being away from female company for months on end, but if he told himself that he would know that he was a liar.
Joanna Ware. She was temptation incarnate. She was infuriating. She was forbidden to him. He disliked her.
He would go to the rout and see if she had the temerity to dismiss him as her lover to his face, in full public view.
