The Promise

“You do not know William at all.” He stared, his face hard.

She knew this was dangerous territory, but she couldn’t help herself. Their gazes locked, she said, “And I suppose you think that you know Louisa Cochrane well? And I am certain it is Louisa, not Mrs. Cochrane!”

“Do not bring Mrs. Cochrane into this.”

“Why not? She is obviously a fortune hunter,” Elysse cried, her gaze unwavering on his. “She is desperate to marry above herself, and soon! Why can’t you see that? Why do you even bother with her?”

He glanced aside. “I have made it very clear that I am not marrying anyone anytime soon.”

She felt her cheeks flame. She did not need him to remind her that they were lovers. She turned aside. Why did his affair bother her so much? When had she become so jealous? But all she could think of was Alexi and Louisa in a passionate embrace. It hurt so much. “She is undoubtedly planning on trapping you into marriage, even if it is a year from now.”

He caught her arm. “I am not discussing Louisa with you.”

“I knew it!” His familiar way of speaking of his mistress added to her hurt.

He didn’t release her. “Montgomery is besotted with you. But there is more. He is calculating his chances for a legitimate courtship. He is the one who is the fortune hunter here.”

She was taken aback. “That is absurd!”

“Is it? Have you told him that you could never fall in love with him? He knows that your father wants a love match for you. And men like Montgomery marry up all of the time!” His blue eyes sparked with anger now. “You are lucky he did not seduce you in the stables—then you would have been forced to marry him.”

She gasped. “What is wrong with you? William would never seduce me! He is a gentleman, Alexi. He is kind and sincere and, in fact, he thinks very highly of me!”

“Why won’t you listen to a single word I have said?”

“Because you aren’t making any sense!” Why did she feel like crying? “Why are you doing this? You have done nothing but ignore me since you have come home, while chasing after that hussy, and you would deny me a serious suitor.”

“Aha! So now you admit that he is seriously pursuing you?” he demanded.

She crossed her arms tightly and he looked at her cleavage. She flushed and managed, “Have you finished nagging at me? My dance card is full tonight.”

He dragged his gaze upward. “I thought you wanted a dance with me.”

“That was before you decided to be a boor.” She turned to rush away.

He took her arm, restraining her, and turned her back to face him. “I am not finished, Elysse.” His gaze hardened. “I want you to end this tonight, before you find yourself in jeopardy—the kind you cannot smile and laugh and flirt your way out of.”

She tried to jerk her arm free and failed. “You cannot order me about, as if I am one of your crew—or your sister.”

“You are making a mistake. Sometimes, Elysse, I feel like taking you over my lap and giving you the kind of spanking reserved for small children. You are truly the most stubborn woman I have ever met. You are playing my pilot and it is selfish and dangerous.”

She shot back, “You are playing Louisa, are you not? I wonder why you are so set against William but not my other suitors like James Ogilvy? Could it be that you are jealous?”

His eyes widened. “I am not jealous of you. I think of you as family. Not as anything else. We have known one another for thirteen years!”

She stepped back, stricken. “We aren’t family. We aren’t related at all!”

“Oh, ho! Wait a moment—are you jealous? Do you want my attentions?” He was incredulous.

“No, I do not!” she cried with panic.

His stare was skeptical, piercing. “I know you as well—no, better—than I know my own sisters! I know how you think and what you want—I know who you are. Sometimes I think I know you too well! When I walk into a room and I see you, I think, why, there is Elysse, the pretty, spoiled little princess I have known for most of my life!”

She was trembling. Tears were arising, and she didn’t want him to see. “Are you saying that you think of me as a sister? That you don’t even notice that I am an attractive and entirely grown-up woman?”

His mouth hardened. “Obviously you are good-looking, but I don’t think about it.”

She stared, terribly hurt.

His gaze slammed down to her lavender ball gown. “I hate that dress,” he said tersely. He strode away.

She did not move, in shock. When Alexi saw her in a room, he saw a spoiled little princess. He didn’t see a beautiful woman, he saw the girl he’d known his entire life, someone similar to a sister.

“I like the gown,” Montgomery said softly. “I think you are lovelier than ever. Elysse, don’t cry.”

She turned and found his concerned gray gaze upon her. Vaguely, she realized he had been eavesdropping. She couldn’t care. It was her heart that was broken.

Somehow, she smiled at him.

He reached for and held her hand.

SHE DIDN’T KNOW WHY she had ever yearned to be in Alexi de Warenne’s arms. She didn’t even know why she had ever considered him a friend. He was hateful. He thought to control her life, treat her as a sister, and all while he ran after hussies like the widow Cochrane. Who cared? She had never suffered a rejection before. She did not know of another debutante in Ireland who had had five marriage proposals in two years. His rejection did not matter—not at all!

And if William decided to press a suit, she might even encourage him. He was kind and sincere, and he did not judge her or accuse her of being a harlot. He did not think her spoiled and selfish. When he called her a princess, he meant it as the highest compliment. When Alexi did so, he meant it as a slur—as an indictment of her character!

Elysse danced her eighth dance of the evening, a smile pasted on her face. The handsome squire, Sir Robert Haywood, was a widower of thirty-five, and considered an excellent catch. He had called on her a few times, but she hadn’t ever had any real interest in him until that night. As they danced, she kept smiling at him, refusing to look about the ballroom. She did not want to set eyes upon Alexi, not ever again.

Their friendship was now over. She no longer found him fascinating, much less attractive—oh no. The dashing boy she had once loved as a child had turned into an awful, mean-spirited man. She hoped he stayed away five years this time! And she hoped Louisa trapped him into marriage. It would serve him right.

Tears burned behind her eyelids. She could not understand why she felt so hurt. To be hurt, one had to care, and she most definitely did not care about Alexi de Warenne. She batted her lashes rapidly and beamed at her dance partner as they finished the country waltz.

“You have never been as lovely, Miss O’Neill,” Haywood said, bowing. “I had no idea you were such a superb dancer.”

She took a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, trying to banish Alexi de Warenne from her mind and her life, all the while hoping he had noticed how many admirers she had. Not that she meant to make him jealous, as she did not. She couldn’t care less if he was jealous or not, but other men found her beautiful—other men did not think her character defective!

The champagne was delicious. “Thank you, Sir Robert. And thank you for such a wonderful dance. I do hope you won’t neglect me as you have done these past few months, sir.” She sipped from the champagne, aware that she had drunk more than her usual two glasses. She didn’t care. Without the champagne, she might not be able to hold back her ludicrous, inexplicable tears.

“I hadn’t realized you wanted me to call again,” Haywood said, flushing. “But I will gladly do so.”

Elysse encouraged him to call another time. When he had left her side, she quickly finished the champagne before rushing off to the dance floor with Jonathon Sinclair, one of the men who had offered for her. He was very tense and flushed, and she instantly knew he still desired her. He said, whirling her about in a German waltz, “I didn’t think you’d give me a single dance, Miss O’Neill.”

“Of course I would give you a dance.” She smiled at him. “I have been looking forward to it all evening long!”

He started. “Why are you being so kind?”

“Do you think me unkind, sir?” She feigned hurt, slipping her hand across his shoulder.

“Of course not,” he said harshly, missing a step. “I think you are as kind as you are beautiful!”