Damn gossip.
Damn his blasted beauty.
Damn Leon, who had contributed to her unusual celibacy-the practical reason, she assured herself, of her too-ardent attraction to the viscount.
She really would have to go and see young Harry, she decided. Considering her ungovernable desires, it was the only sensible course-once she could see her way clear of all these people. Finding a deserted area near the box rail, she pretended to watch the racing horses below. On the other hand, her contrary voice persisted, she could take Ranelagh up on his blunt invitation, join him in bed, and be done with it.
Perhaps his reputation was highly overrated and unjustified, the result of hearsay and tittle-tattle. She drew in a sustaining breath and contemplated the possibility with satisfaction. Wouldn't that be fine. And she'd take great pleasure in telling him so afterward.
Afterward…
Good God… was she actually considering it?
The cheers erupting around her went unattended as she weighed the dramatic consequences. Could she, would she… would he be boorish-or not? What if he actually lived up to his exalted reputation? Where would that leave her? Discarded like all the rest, for he'd not been a pattern card of constancy since his disastrous marriage. Or before it, for that matter.
"Don't be angry with Sam. He's really very nice."
Alex turned to find Lillie Langtry smiling at her.
She grimaced faintly. "Did he send you?"
The tall, beautiful redhead glanced at the group of men around the Prince of Wales, Sam among them. "He doesn't need advocates." Her eyes gleamed with amusement. "Or at least not until now. And he would think me interfering if he knew what I was saying. But the darling boy is smitten with you."
"He said that?"
Lillie smiled again. "Of course not. I doubt the word's in his vocabulary. It's my perception only. I thought you'd like to know."
Alex offered the Prince of Wales's mistress a small smile. "Thank you, but whether Ranelagh is smitten or not, or whether he's nice or not isn't under debate. I find his reputation too daunting."
"You don't mean all that gossip about his wife? She was a hussy through and through in spite of her blue blood. She made his life miserable."
"Some might say he deserved it."
"But then, I know better. He was faithful to her-at first."
"You see."
"You misunderstand, Miss Ionides. He was faithful until he found his wife with one of his gardeners scarce a month after the wedding. And when she died, she was with one of her lovers."
"My Lord."
"Exactly. And I could tell you more. Suffice it to say, he acted the gentleman far longer than most men would have. Do you feel better now?"
"Enlightened certainly. But it isn't only gossip about his marriage. He was notorious both before and after."
"He hasn't found the right woman yet."
"Not from lack of looking…"
"With all the women in pursuit, Miss Ionides, he doesn't have to look. Now, you could prove an antidote to that pattern of sameness."
She didn't pretend not to understand. "Even were I inclined to serve as antidote to the sameness of his life, it wouldn't be for long, I'm sure. The transience of his connections is legend."
"You're interested in permanence? Are you looking for a third husband?"
Alex immediately waved her hand in denial. "No, no. I'm quite content alone. On the other hand, I don't wish to find myself added to the viscount's list of casual conquests."
Lillie's brows rose. "But then, there's no guarantees in amour, Miss Ionides. Who of us know how long we'll be amused? When you ended your affair with Mr. Baring, you broke his heart, he said."
A pink flush rose on Alex's cheeks. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"Surely you must have known. Harold isn't a Lothario by nature."
"I'm embarrassed to say, you've made your point, Miss Langtry."
"While I didn't in the least wish to embarrass you." She patted Alex's arm. "I'm just asking you to keep an open mind about Sam. You'd enjoy him immensely."
Alex's gaze held a new directness. "Do you speak from personal experience?"
"Does it matter?"
"Perhaps."
"The answer is no. Is that better?"
Alex grinned. "It shouldn't be, but it is."
"Good. Then I wish you much pleasure."
After Miss Langtry left, Alex smiled to herself. Ranelagh had actually been faithful to his wife. A charming quality she'd not thought possible in a man of his stamp. Perhaps she'd misjudged him. Or perhaps she was simply looking for a reason to have misjudged him…
"I'm sorry."
The voice at her ear was without guile and soft with apology, and when she looked up, she saw Ranelagh as penitent, his expression so wholly innocent, she wondered for a moment if she should give him high marks for acting.
"I could send you my card tomorrow and flowers-something small and not too personal. A book perhaps… do you like Ruskin?"
"You don't look the type, Ranelagh, to observe the conventions."
"I could if you wish."
"Why?"
He shrugged infinitesimally. "Reparation-a peace offering for having offended you?"
"Are you and Miss Langtry accomplices this afternoon?"
"What did she say?"
"She extolled your virtues."
He grinned. "I didn't know I had any."
"So I told her."
"And she disagreed? Perhaps she's trying to repay me for my help in placing her winning bets. But she needn't have. I can speak for myself."
"I don't doubt you can."
"From that tone of voice I perceive you still have reservations."
"I do."
"About?"
"Your reputation for dalliance."
"You have one as well and I'm not taking offense."
"We hardly compare, Ranelagh."
"I'd be happy to discuss that matter of degree in any locale you choose."
"What if I said my parents' drawing room tomorrow morning?"
He swallowed before he spoke, but his tone was unruffled when he said, "That would be fine."
"You don't mind meeting my parents?"
"If you wish me to, I will. Don't, however, expect a reciprocal meeting with my parents. We don't get along."
Alex grinned. "Oh, dear, when I was so hoping to meet your mother."
A hint of amusement gleamed in his eye. "I can see you're going to be a great deal of trouble."
"If I allow it."
"Yes, ma'am," he agreed with such deference, she surveyed him with a measuring glance.
"Are you always so amiable?"
"Always."
And she felt a flutter where she didn't wish to feel such a flutter. "I should turn you off."
"Don't." His voice was husky and low, his dark gaze half-lidded.
She felt a mild heat begin to warm her blood, a familiar, tantalizing, insistent heat too long ignored. But her dilemma was compounded by their audience, the viscount's disquieting assurance, and her disinclination to join the large company of women discarded by the man towering above her. "Would you like to take me to the Academy exhibition?" she abruptly asked, her invitation a means of pleasing herself without plunging in completely-a compromise, as it were, between principle and irrepressible feeling.
"Now?"
"Do you have something else to do?"
Several something-elses-most having to do with beds and the naked Miss Ionides-but sensible of the delicacy of the moment, he smiled and said, "I've nothing I'd rather do. I'll make our excuses to Bertie."
"I'll come with you."
"You're sure?"
"I see you're anticipating some vulgar male response from Bertie. We're going to the exhibition, my lord, that's all. And if either you or Bertie think otherwise, I'll be there to clarify my position."
"He's not always… shall we say, well mannered."
"I know Bertie very well. And if he's not courteous with me, I'll point out his deficiency."