The Legend of the Earl (Heirs of High Society) (A Regency Romance Book)(13)

His eyes returned to her and she went on. “And since you are neither my employer nor my God, I think I’ll stand. Good day, Lord Chantenny.” Then she spun and started for the door.



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5





CHAPTER

FIVE



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It took Justin two seconds to understand that Alex was getting away and then another two for him to realize what a mistake that would be… and not entirely for the reason he’d come.



She’d moved first, but he still managed to reach the door before she did.

This had been accomplished by all but jumping the table and sprinting across the room to cut in front of her path.

She stilled just inches from colliding with him, and Justin found himself wishing she’d not caught herself before she did.

That acknowledgment hit him just as much as the fact that he’d almost been tempted to touch the hand she’d offered—a first for him.

He didn’t touch women. Only Mrs. Shaw. Only ever Mrs. Shaw. Everyone else…

That was the reason he didn’t dance and had stopped attending balls. Too many introductions. Too many hands and bodies to avoid. The ton thought him cold, but truly that wasn’t it. They could never know the things that went on in his mind, the thoughts that had been embedded in him since he was a boy.

He was dirty. His mother had told him so.

Not even Lady Chantenny had touched him again after he’d been born. He’d heard the servants whisper it in the house. His nursemaid had been the only woman to touch him, feed him, and even then she’d been forbidden.

Only after years of isolation had he found Mrs. Shaw, and he’d only ever given in to her because his body had urges that he couldn’t control. Mrs. Shaw had been his first and only lover, and never before had Justin been tempted to touch another woman.

Until now.

He looked at the creature before him.

Alexandra’s beauty was the sort that men fell on their swords for, the kind that started and ended wars. She had a face that belonged on canvas in the British Museum or carved from bronze into one of those foreign deities. Surely, she couldn’t be real.

And yet, just by looking at her, there was no denying she was Lord Upton’s daughter. Her father, with his gray eyes and black hair, had also been called a pretty fellow.

Alex was his spitting image, only feminine and something else.

It was the mark of playfulness in her features and in her words that drew Justin in. He was used to people becoming irritated with him. He’d learned to ignore it unless the anger was coming from the duke.

Still, Alex had an energy that he found he liked very much.

Too much.

There was no other way to describe how he felt around her except to say that he felt alive, as though his blood had been running slow until she'd come along. She had a strong mind and played with words like no one else he knew. And what was more, there was none of the classic disinterest in her eyes as they’d spoken—a look that many of the ladies of Society wore just as faithfully as they wore their gloves.

The disinterest was a look his mother had mastered. That and horror whenever he’d reached out to her.

Justin couldn’t touch her. His hands were always dirty, no matter how much he scrubbed at them, causing them to bleed at times. He was never good enough. The filth would never go away.

It was still there, and though Justin had wanted to take Alex’s hand, he’d known better. He couldn’t get her dirty.

Especially her.

In the few minutes that Justin had come to know Alex, he could feel the brightness that shined from her, as though a million spirits were ready to burst from the seams of her ghostly eyes.

She was fascinating, and it wasn’t because she wasn’t a lady; he knew plenty of women who had neither wealth nor fame. No, it was simply her. Alexandra.

He wanted to be around her, to watch her experience life and see it reflected on her face.

He almost craved it.

But she obviously didn’t want anything from him, and he didn’t understand that.

Every woman, no matter their station, wanted something from him. Even the men, except for Gerard.

She might not get on her knees to do more than pray, but Justin was willing to beg for her assistance. He needed her. She was the key to everything.

“Let me help you,” he implored.

“No. Move.” She waved at him as though he were a gnat, and he stilled himself against running from it. Her nose creased slightly, and he was amazed at how tempted he was to touch that nose, to slide his finger down its dainty curve and unwrinkle it.

“I must help you,” he said. “I owe your father.” It was fortunate he was able to remember why he’d come. Her eyes arrested his mind and made him lose his focus.

In a blink, he watched her eyes flash cold and nearly felt the very life drain from his own bones. “If you feel you owe my father something then place flowers at his grave, but don’t involve me.”

When warmth returned to him, it came in the form of anger. Justin was offended by her attitude but knew she had a right to be upset. She’d never known her father and didn’t know the sort of man he was. She’d never know if she didn’t let him tell her.