For Your Arms Only by Linden, Caroline (best fiction books to read .TXT) 📗

her pistol at him. He might not have trouble speaking his mind, but he also had no trouble holding his tongue. In fact, he seemed almost nothing like the man Julia described, and she wondered who was mistaken. “Nor do I,” she said instead. “And I say this is a lovely party, and I thank you for inviting us.”

“Yes, indeed! Thank you very much, Julia.” Callie had come up beside them, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks flushed. Julia’s expression brightened, and they talked of other things.

Alec never thought he would miss the French sharpshooters, but as he strolled through the drawing room with his mother, he would far rather have faced a field of Bonaparte’s finest than the thinly veiled curiosity of their guests.

His mother was intent on telling him all about everyone. “Mr. Edwards, the new curate,” she would murmur. “Perfectly acceptable, but his wife is a little too full of Christian piety. I do believe she beats her children, they are so quiet and still.” And the curate’s wife would curtsey to him with her mouth primly pursed, condescending tolerance writ large on her face. Alec knew this party was really for his mother, to reassert her own pride in him to the world at large, so he simply smiled and bowed until his mother reached the only interesting guests in attendance.

“Mrs. Phillips and Miss Turner.” Mother clucked her tongue softly. “Very sad.”

“Oh?” said Alec, his attention caught at last. “How so?”

“I believe they have been living above their means and are about to suffer a fall. I don’t think it’s been entirely their fault. Their father is quite a spendthrift, and now he’s gone and abandoned them. Julia is well-acquainted with Miss Turner, and she fears the family might lose their home soon.”

Now that she had given him the excuse, Alec took a long look at Miss Turner. She looked lovely tonight in a shimmering gown of sea green, a golden locket gleaming right above the swells of her breasts. The soft light from the chandelier darkened her hair to the color of chestnuts, but when she turned her head it shone like fresh honey. She was with Julia, listening to his sister with a mischievous little smile that made his stomach tighten. “How unfortunate,” he murmured.

“Indeed. Still, they are both very amiable ladies.” Mother paused. “Mrs. Phillips in particular.”

Alec shifted his gaze to look at Mrs. Phillips. She was beautiful in a deep rose gown, but his eyes strayed back to Miss Turner. Not a beauty, that one, but something more. “Yes. I had the pleasure of meeting them both the other day.”

“Did you?” Her voice rose with interest. “Is that where you go off to? I wondered why you are never about. I should have known, an attractive lady in the neighborhood—”

“Don’t start matchmaking, Mother,” he said evenly. “I called to offer my assistance in locating Sergeant Turner.”

She stopped and looked at him in amazement. “Good heavens, I never knew that. Are you acquainted with Sergeant Turner?”

“No.” She waited expectantly, her wide blue eyes fixed on him. Reluctantly, Alec added, “As a favor for someone in London.”

“Oh!” She looked delighted, as though she’d been anticipating this moment since he came home. To be fair, she probably had been. “Then you have been in London? Alexander…” She touched his arm. “I have wondered, dear, what to tell people. Everyone has been so…so curious, you see, how you have been and what adventures you might have had…”

Alec felt a pang of shame and unease. His mother had been waiting so patiently for him to explain everything to her, and he hadn’t said a word. Of course people were talking about him; he certainly knew it. The convenient response would be to make up something out of whole cloth, to tell a story of injury, hard luck, perhaps a bit of secret romance or memory loss, anything to answer the question of where he had been for the last five years. Twice already he’d had to stop himself from inventing details of his recent past, as had become his habit. Say anything, Stafford had always instructed him, except the truth. Never the truth. Somehow, at some time, the truth had become dangerous.

But that was to strangers. Alec didn’t want to lie to his mother unless he absolutely must. “I’ve been to London,” he answered vaguely. “It was a favor for someone from the army. Miss Turner wrote to him asking for assistance, and he asked me to look into things.”

“Oh.” Mother looked nonplussed. “The army. I see.”

He hoped not. “I want to be discreet about it, for the family’s sake. They do seem like amiable ladies, and I would hate to bring any more distress to them.” Too late he remembered Miss Turner had not yet given him her blessing, and that he might end up making his inquiries on his own. But she was here tonight—surely a sign that she was considering giving her approval—and he wasn’t waiting on her blessing in any event. He realized he had been watching her for several minutes, and turned away.

“Of course.” A shadow had fallen over her face. “And that is why you’ve come home, isn’t it. Because the army sent you.”

The faint sadness in her statement pierced him. Never the truth. Alec bowed his head. “No,” he said quietly. “I came home because of Frederick.”

Chapter 10

Cressida found herself having a lovely time as the evening wore on. Most of the guests were pleasant, undemanding people, all polite enough not to comment on the main purpose of the gathering and willing to enjoy the evening. By the time Julia excused herself to go check on the refreshments, Cressida was surprised to realize almost two hours had passed.

“I’m so glad we came,” Callie said softly beside her.

“I am, too,” she admitted.

“And not just to feel pretty again, although that is wonderful.” She