Page 56 of Indecently Daring

“That sounds unlikely. No doubt he found the entire thing amusing,” Montagu muttered acidly as he poured the drinks.

Movement caught Harry’s eye, and he glanced up to see Alana pinch Cat, hard, just as she opened her mouth to say something. Cat squeaked, saw the look on Alana’s face, and subsided.

Montagu returned with two crystal glasses, a generous measure of brandy glinting in each. Harry tore his eyes away, staring at his boots as longing rose inside him. His boots were badly scuffed and dirty. He must clean them when he got home, he thought, trying his best to concentrate on boot polish. Had he got any left, or had he used it? Oh, no, Jeb had used it last, had he not?

“Apologies, Reverend, I ought to have offered you too. You’ve had a trying evening, it seems. Would you care for a drink?”

Harry looked up. Montagu was standing before him, holding out a glass of brandy. It glinted warm amber in the lamplight. Harry swallowed hard.

“No! I mean… er… Might I have one?”

Montagu turned with astonishment to stare at Alana. “You want a brandy?” he asked sceptically. “I think you’d best ask your uncle. If you really want one?”

“No, actually. Not really,” Alana admitted, glancing at Harry with concern as he realised she’d done it to give him a chance to gather himself.

“Jasper will murder you if you don’t hand his drink over, Lucian,” Lady St Clair said brightly. She clearly understood, as Alana had, that they were putting temptation in his way.

“I don’t want a drink, thank you, my lord,” Harry said, his voice firm.

Montagu nodded and turned away, and Harry let out a breath of laughter. Alana. She smiled at him, such pride and encouragement in her eyes that he discovered he really didn’t want the brandy. He wanted her. He wanted to be alone with Alana and tell her what a bloody fool he’d been, and how much he regretted it. He wanted to kiss her so badly, the desire for it outweighed everything else. Even the pain that seemed to be in every part of his body faded in the light of wanting her.

Once Lady St Clair had provided everyone else with tea and plates generously loaded with sandwiches and cakes, everyone looked at Harry. Weariness swept over him at the idea of reciting the entire evening’s events.

“Go on then, Harry, dear. What happened?” Aunt Cora demanded.

“It started at the auction,” Alana said, saving him again.

He sighed with relief as she plunged into the story, telling it with such relish and drama that even Harry got caught up in it. He smiled, suddenly certain that she would make the perfect wife for him, assuming she had the slightest interest in taking on the role. He could see her dealing with obstreperous parishioners, keeping the peace, organising him, his life, everything. It was a wonderful idea… if she’d give him a chance. She had seemed rather furious with the idea he might let her go without a fight, though. His smile widened. Alana glanced at him, and must have seen something in his eyes, for she blushed scarlet.

“Well,” St Clair said as Alana came to the end of their little adventure. “You’ve had quite a night of it.”

“Yes, my lord,” Harry said, wishing it were over so he could go to bed before he dropped. The Axminster beneath his feet looked exceedingly appealing.

“Whilst I heartily applaud your efforts on behalf of the boy, Reverend Martin,” Montagu said gravely, “and I am relieved to know he is safe and unharmed, it does not take away the difficulty we face. Between two unmarried young women jaunting about the countryside in the dead of night without a chaperone, Kilbane’s name being bandied about, and your fight to liberate the boy, there is a scandal here which the villagers will have spread to the next three counties before luncheon tomorrow if we do not take it in hand at once.”

“I’m so sorry, Papa,” Lady Catherine said. It was the first time she’d spoken all evening.

Harry glanced at her. She was rumpled and her hair was askew, several bits of straw poking out of it at peculiar angles, yet if she walked into a ballroom looking as she did, Harry suspected she could still carry it off. She had the same force of character as her father, the same magnetic quality that meant every eye in the room was drawn to her, or would have been if Harry could have looked anywhere but at Alana.

“Ah, child, if I had a penny for every time I’ve heard you say that,” Montagu said wearily. “One day, you’ll go too far, and no amount of ‘sorry, Papa’s, will save you. I do not know yet if I can contrive it this time.”

She nodded, penitent, and went to sit down beside Alana, her hands folded in her lap, head bowed. Montagu did not look as if he believed her. Harry didn’t blame him. Alana reached over and took her friend’s hand, silently lacing their fingers together. Lady Catherine glanced up as Alana gave a quick squeeze and Harry saw the smile that Alana sent her, warm and reassuring. An unspoken promise to always be there for her friend.

Something shifted in his chest. This woman… This woman had saved Jeb from drowning, had stood up to Mrs Maby, stood up to him. She had determined to save Jeb yet again, had come after them both, heedless of her own safety or reputation, had defended him to Montagu and St Clair, looked at him with pride and encouragement, despite knowing all the ways he’d failed in the past… she was, quite simply, extraordinary. He must marry her, he realised with a flash of insight. Michael had been right, not that Harry had doubted it. He needed to marry, yes, but more than that, he needed to marry Alana before someone else saw exactly how special and wonderful and brave and extraordinary she was. He’d messed his life up quite thoroughly before now. He wasn’t about to do it again.

“I can make things right,” Harry said, before he could talk himself out of it. “If you’ll let me, or, more to the point, if Alana will let me.”

Everyone turned to stare at him.

Harry cleared his throat. He’d have liked to have believed he’d never been a less appealing prospect than in this moment, battered and grubby and worn to a thread. Sadly, that was far from true. The mess he appeared to be right now was a vast improvement, but Alana didn’t seem to mind. So, he took a deep breath.

“If Miss Cadogan would do me the honour of becoming my wife, I think we are all well thought of enough in the area that any hint of scandal would be quickly forgiven and forgotten.”

Silence reigned. It was the kind of silence that rang in your ears, and Harry wondered if he’d gone deaf, or if he only imagined he’d said that out loud. But then Alana sprang out of her seat like a jack-in-the-box, startling Aunt Cora so much that she upset her teacup and dropped the entire thing, saucer and all, back onto the tea tray with a crash.

“Oh, Cora, not again!” Lady Beauchamp cried, searching for her handkerchief.

But Harry didn’t care about teacups, nor about the blasted parrot that had apparently been sleeping in a dark corner of the room and now erupted.