“No, it wouldn’t be pleasant for either of us. Let me think about it. Since I now know you won’t be bagging it out of here, why then, I can set my brain to solving this particular problem. All right?”
She nodded numbly.
“You won’t try to leave again, will you?”
“No. I doubt I could outsmart your sister.”
“Will you prove it by giving me your thirty pounds?”
“No, never.”
“So you don’t trust me. All right, it seems that I’ll just have to trust you first. Are you still hungry? You didn’t eat much. Would you rather lie down and rest? I can ensure that you aren’t disturbed.”
“Yes,” she said, desperation clear in her voice. “Yes, I should like that.”
He gave her a long look, but said nothing.
CHAPTER
14
IT WAS ELEVEN o’clock at night. Alexandra was sitting up in her bed, bolstered up by three thick pillows, staring at the dying embers in the fireplace. The room was in shadow, the only light coming from a branch of five candles at her right elbow.
Would he come to her tonight?
Molière’s play The Misanthrope lay facedown on her lap. She had just read the line “Women like me are not for such as you.” And now she couldn’t get it out of her mind. It read itself over and over. Poor Douglas, not only had he lost the first diamond, but the second diamond as well. She wondered what gem she could aspire to be. Perhaps a topaz, she thought, aye, a topaz, only semiprecious, not worth much, but still pleasant to look at. A solid sort of stone, surely, steady and to be counted upon. She picked up the play and turned a page, trying to force herself to read.
Would he come to her tonight?
A shadow fell across the white page of the book and Alexandra started. Douglas stood next to her bed and he was wearing a dressing gown of thick brocade, a rich blue with gold thread interwoven. His feet were bare. She looked up the length of him, met his dark night eyes, and said, “What are you doing here?”
He just smiled down at her and took the book from her hands. “Ah, The Misanthrope. And in English, unfortunately. You don’t read French? It is much more amusing in French, you know.”
“Perhaps,” she said, “but I know the play well and like it more than well, even in English.”
He flipped over several pages, then read, “ ‘Nothing but trickery prospers nowadays . . .’ What think you of that, Alexandra?”
Ah, yes, her trickery, Tony’s trickery. Douglas would never let it go, never. Her voice was dull as she said, “I think it is unkind of you to select that particular passage when there are so many other lines from which to choose.”
“I was thinking of my sister, actually, and all her machinations. I was hearing her yowling at the top of her lungs about that huge hairy rat climbing up your skirt. I was seeing her laughing as she held you down on the floor. I missed you at the dinner table.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“It was rather boring, truth be told. Since you—the target—were no longer in their midst, all my relatives ate more than they should have and spoke of the weather. However, I did have to partner Aunt Mildred in whist. Do you play?”
“Yes.”
“Then you will partner me next time. You cannot continue to hide in here, you know. Do you play as well as your sister?”
“Yes.”
Douglas looked thoughtful. “I don’t think now that it is that her play is so subtle. It is that she is so beautiful that one forgets the cards one holds and the strategies one has concocted.”
“Your strategies will remain intact with me.”
“Possibly. I really must insist, Alexandra. As mistress of Northcliffe Hall, it is your responsibility to see to my family and to my guests.”
She looked up at him, her expression giving nothing away, and said, “I’m clever, handsome, gracefully polite; My waist is small, my teeth are strong and white.’ ”