The Complete Regency Bestsellers And One Winters Collection. Rebecca Winters
She wrenched her arm free. It was the only defiance she could afford and he knew it. ‘There is nothing you can say that would frighten me.’
‘I hope so.’ Julian softened his tone. He didn’t want her angry, he wanted her confused, wanted her to doubt her attraction to the Englishman. ‘It’s not my intention to hurt you, Alyssandra. We are family, the three of us, we’re all each other has. We all guard the same secret for the same reasons. The truth is, the Englishman is just using you. I’m not telling you anything you don’t already suspect. He wants to get to your brother and you’re his best chance.’ He reached for her chin, trapping it between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to meet his eyes. ‘In your heart, you know this is true. He tried to follow you out of the salon today, thinking to speak to your brother. He was waiting in the alley for your brother today, not you. You were a surprise.’
‘How did you know he was out there?’ Alyssandra jerked her chin away, the answer coming to her before he could supply one. ‘You followed me.’ Her eyes flashed with accusation.
‘I followed him,’ Julian corrected. ‘He left his lesson early, walked out on me, in fact. I suspected what he was up to and I was worried.’ They were standing toe to toe now. The world had narrowed to just the two of them. He was conscious of the rise and fall of her breasts, of the scent of her. He had not been this close to her in ages. It was arousing even to fight with her. But he had to be careful. He didn’t want to engender danger or she would never come to him.
‘And you kept following us. You spied on us the entire afternoon! It’s the only way you could have known where we were at.’
She was making him look obsessed. That was not the image he was going for. ‘I was protecting you,’ Julian answered swiftly. He dropped his gaze to the floor as if to appear humble, perhaps momentarily vulnerable before he dissembled. ‘Your brother is not the only one who cares for you.’ It had the desired effect. She closed her eyes and gave a tired sigh.
‘Julian, we’ve been through this—’ she began.
He held up a hand to stall her words. ‘Don’t say it, Alyssandra. I cannot stand by and let you throw yourself away on an Englishman who will offer you nothing. You are too fine, you deserve better than that and I know it. I doubt your Englishman does.’ He left her then by the windows to ponder his warning, his offer, and strode off down the hall.
It was time to make his next move. He needed to speak with Antoine and start laying his groundwork. He just needed Antoine to take up his suit with Alyssandra once more—perhaps this time it would succeed. When he’d approached her before, it had been three years ago, during the early stages of Antoine’s accident. In hindsight he could see it had been too soon. She hadn’t been nearly desperate enough. She was full of hope that Antoine would recover. Frankly, so was he. But those hopeful days were long past. He wondered if Alyssandra had admitted her brother would never walk again. There would be no miracle. She needed to start planning the rest of her life. He needed to convince her he was part of that plan. Together, they could keep the charade up, the salon running until a son of their own could take over.
Who better to leave the salle to than Alyssandra’s husband, his very own brother-in-law? If that happened, Julian needn’t wait for a son to establish his claims. He could claim it outright. Truly, how long would Antoine last? Cripples didn’t live long healthy lives and he’d already put in three years.
He knocked on the door to Antoine’s study and stepped inside. ‘I need to speak with you. It’s about Alyssandra.’
Marriage to Alyssandra would solidify his dreams. He was so close and one damn Englishman wasn’t going to get in his way.
‘Alyssandra needs a husband.’ Julian had meant the words to shock and they had. Antoine looked up from the papers spread before him, worry and confusion on his face. ‘What? Why? Is she all right?’ His instant concern almost made Julian laugh. Antoine was such an easy puppet to manipulate. Mention his beloved twin and he melted. It even took him a moment to notice. ‘Mon Dieu, Julian, what happened to your face?’
Julian took the chair on the near side of the desk, shrugging off the reference to his purpling eye. ‘Just a small accident after you left the salle today. It is nothing. It looks worse than it is.’ He reached for the decanter on the desk’s edge. Sometimes Antoine took a little brandy for the pain. He helped himself to a glass. They’d become equals, partners, over the past three years. Older than Antoine by seven years, Julian had painstakingly cultivated the complex role of mentor, friend, uncle-cum-older brother when the case demanded it. Antoine had bought into it wholeheartedly first during his grief over his father’s death and then in the throes of despair after his accident. Today, he was claiming that role to the hilt: taking a chair without permission, helping himself to the brandy—an equal interacting with another peer.
‘It’s time she marries,’ Julian repeated. ‘A husband, a family, is what she needs. She’s twenty-eight. Most of her friends have long since wed.’
‘I know.’ Antoine’s eyes were thoughtful. ‘I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. Perhaps it’s time to give up the ruse and accept the fact that I will never walk again. We could sell and Alyssandra could go on with her life.’
Julian interrupted abruptly. This was not where he’d imagined the conversation heading. If Antoine were to sell, it would be devastating to him. ‘Why not have the best of both worlds?’ he prompted in silken tones. The salle d’armes was Antoine’s other weakness. It meant the world to him. He must be worried indeed about Alyssandra if he was willing to consider giving it up. ‘Keep the salle, you can “retire” if you like, but let Alyssandra and I run it as husband and wife. I am offering myself as a husband for her.’ He said it quietly, humbly, watching Antoine’s eyes lose some of their softness and become shrewdly assessing.
‘You?’ Antoine said.
‘Yes. Who better? I have been with your father and with you. All total, I’ve spent twelve years in the service of your family. I have known Alyssandra since she was sixteen. I have been with you through death and through despair. What better than to have your sister marry your friend and keep your father’s fencing legacy, your fencing legacy, alive? Some day, there may even be a nephew to look after that legacy.’
Antoine smiled at that, as Julian had known he would. Family was important to Antoine. ‘What does Alyssandra think?’
Julian shrugged. He chose his words carefully. This answer had to be handled delicately. ‘She’s a wild creature. I don’t know that her opinion is the one that matters most here. She may not know what is best for her over the long term.’
Something affirmative moved in Antoine’s brown eyes, and he gave the most imperceptible of nods. Julian pushed his advantage. ‘I fear her head may be turned by the Englishman. He is a fine figure of a man,’ Julian offered. ‘But I think it is nothing more than a sign of how lonely she is, how ready she is to move on with her life. It is too bad Etienne DeFarge has wed.’ The reference to Alyssandra’s old fiancé would make Antoine feel guilty.
‘I like the Englishman, although I’m not sure of his motives. So many of them are just passing through,’ Antoine said tentatively but it was enough to ring alarms.
‘I’m sure North is a fine man. He’s a real man’s man. The other men at the salle seem to enjoy him,’ Julian put in blandly, wondering what Antoine was thinking. He took a swallow from his snifter, hoping Antoine would elaborate.
‘He has desirable qualities; a title in England, wealth, good manners,’ Antoine mused out loud. Julian wanted to argue the last. Those manners had his hands on Alyssandra and his tongue in her mouth. ‘Alyssandra is not without recommendations of her own. He would be a good match for her, and the salle could use him.’
Julian felt his insides freeze.