Alexandra rose very slowly. He stepped back, still beaming at her, obviously eager for her to throw herself on his manly chest and weep her relief, to bless him for his wondrous nobility, to kiss his hands and vow eternal devotion and servitude.
She turned, very slowly, picked up the spindle-legged marquetry table beside the chair, raised it over her head and brought it down. He stared at her in disbelief, jerked out of the way, and the table crashed down on his shoulder, not his head. The key dropped from his hand and fell to the floor.
She picked it up and raced to the door. Douglas was shaking his head, furious, bewildered, a bit disoriented. He was fast, but not fast enough. She was out of the door in a trice, had slammed it in his face in the very next instant, and even as his hand closed over the doorknob, he heard the key grate in the lock. She’d locked him in.
He stared at the door.
The damned woman had locked him in the Gold Salon. The door was old and beautiful and stout and thick. It would take five men, at least, to knock it open.
Douglas had been a soldier. He was strong, he was wily, he’d lost few fights. Damnation, he even spoke French and Spanish fluently. And yet this female kept catching him off guard. It was beyond too much.
He gave it up and yelled, “Open this damned
door! Alexandra, open the door!”
There was pounding on the outside of the door, and a babble of voices, but no sound of a key in the lock.
“Open the door!”
He finally heard Hollis’s voice raised above the din, saying firmly, “Just a moment, my lord. Her, ah, Ladyship, has flung the key away, somewhere under the stairs we think, and we are currently searching it out.”
“Stop her, Hollis! Don’t let her get away!”
“There is no need for you to fret, my lord. Lady Sinjun has, ah, detained her as we speak.”
It was simply too much. Douglas stood there like a fool, saying nothing more, simply standing there, helpless, unable to do anything at all. The door opened. He walked out into a press of servants and family. From somewhere Uncle Albert and Aunt Mildred had appeared. Everyone was yelling and jabbering in a cacophony that made his ears ring.
He stared over at his sister, who was sitting astride Alexandra, holding her down, stretching her arms flung over her head on the Italian black and white marble floor.
He shook his head. Northcliffe Hall had gone to seed faster than any army could lose a battle. He threw back his head and laughed.
“My goodness,” came a familiar drawling voice from the open front door, “I say, Douglas, what the devil is going on here? Whatever is Sinjun doing sitting on Alex? Where did all these people come from? I believe it is nearly every Sherbrooke from London to Cornwall.”
Tony and Melissande stepped into the entrance hall and quickly joined the bedlam.
CHAPTER
13
GIVEN THE EARLIER ruckus, it was an amazingly sedate group of people who were seated around the formal dining table that early afternoon for luncheon. Hollis was at his post, looking as unflappable as a bishop, unobtrusively directing two footmen to serve. Neither Harry nor Barnaby said a word. They appeared to be treading on eggs. Douglas sat at the head of the long mahogany table, and Alexandra, still as a statue, sat on his right, placed there by a gently insistent Hollis. The Dowager Countess of Northcliffe sat at the foot of the table.
Ah, Douglas thought, what a damnable mess.
He took a bit of thin-sliced ham and chewed thoughtfully. His mother had established herself quickly, before Alexandra had come lagging into the dining room. As for Douglas, he hadn’t noticed until it was too late. He said nothing. No more upsets, no more scenes, at least for this afternoon. He couldn’t begin to imagine what his mother would say when informed she was no longer the mistress of Northcliffe and that chair down the expanse of long table was no longer hers. She was, at the moment, looking rather pleased with herself, and that bothered him. Did she enjoy the immense embarrassment his wife had caused? Did she believe that he would remove Alexandra from Northcliffe? Did she believe she could still remain the mistress here even if Alexandra remained?
Of course, Alexandra seemed oblivious of her duty as mistress, the damned little twit, oblivious of the fact that the dowager was sitting in her, Alexandra’s, rightful place. What to do?
He gave her lowered head a look of acute dislike. He’d offered her the earth and the moon and himself as a husband, and she’d flown at him like a damned bat, coshed him with a marquetry table, and locked him in the Gold Salon. She should have been grateful, happy as a grig, she should have thanked him for his generosity of spirit, for his forgiveness, for she’d been as duplicitous as Tony and her father. It really made no sense, particularly given her own behavior. Hadn’t she stripped off her clothes and offered herself to him to make him forget about an annulment? On the other hand, perhaps he hadn’t treated her all that well. He had rejected her, firmly and rather coldly. But no, that wasn’t important any more. He’d saved her, taking excellent care of her when she’d been ill. He shook his head. All that was in the past, both the well done and the miserably done. What was important now was that he’d finally decided to accept her.
His humor at seeing his sister sitting on top of Alexandra, holding both her arms over her head in the entrance hall had faded quickly. Alexandra had looked furious, her face flushed, but Sinjun was the stronger and she hadn’t been able to move. He’d looked at her when the laughter had burst out of him, really looked. Now he didn’t think there could be a funny nerve left in his body.
There was only grimness. His wife was still recovering from her illness, yet she wasn’t eating enough to keep her left leg alive. He wanted to tell her to eat more because she needed her strength, when in his mind’s eye, he saw her wielding that damned table at his head. She’d certainly been strong enough to bring him low. He sighed as he looked over at Melissande, so beautiful she made the room and everyone in it pale into insignificance. He chewed thoughtfully, growing more depressed by the minute.
Finally, Sinjun broke the silence, saying cheerfully, “Well, isn’t this pleasant! All of us together, and so many of us. It is very nice to meet you, Melissande. Since we are related, I hope you don’t mind me being informal?”
Melissande raised her beautiful face, glanced with little interest at the eager young girl opposite her, and gave her a slight nod, saying, “No, not at all.”
Tony said, “Call her Mellie, Sinjun. My dear, Sinjun is my favorite female cousin.”