“All evidence to the contrary.” The vicar glanced at her belly, and then he removed his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I have known you since I christened you, so if you tell me this man is not the father of your babes, I will not compel you to marry, and His Grace will have to find another to do his bidding.”
A lie danced at the tip of her tongue, along with vehement repudiations and sharp disavowals, which she suspected would condemn her to the bowels of hell had she voiced them. “He is the father, Mr. Catchpole.”
The vicar resituated his spectacles on his nose, lifted a leather-bound tome, and opened to a marked page. “Please, join hands.”
Jason reached for her, and Alex wrenched free. “We have joined enough.”
With a wide-eyed expression of shock, the vicar cleared his throat. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today...”
#
Lady Alexandra Collingwood.
As the daughter of a duke, she retained her title and rank, along with a few select terms that aptly described the angry beauty.
Wife.
Expectant mother.
Jason shuddered.
Of course, he could think of other more appropriate appellations, which no lady of character would dare articulate: Hellion, virago, termagant, harridan, and she-wolf...oh, the list was endless.
The occasional ping of silver meeting china punctuated the silence, and despite claims otherwise, his brother-in-law had offered no felicitous toast. As he sat beside his bride in the cavernous dining hall at Penhurst, which seemed to emphasize the sparse wedding party consisting of Damian, Alex, and Jason, he mulled the day’s events.
While Jason had answered each petition Mr. Catchpole had posed, Alex had stood tight-lipped and taciturn, which spoke volumes as to her mood, and Damian had responded in her stead. And although the good vicar had announced their union official, in the eyes of God and the law, they had shared no kiss to seal their vows, which was fine with him, as he feared she might bite off his head—or another, more estimable protuberance, given her dour spirits.
It was her unforeseen ire that had rendered him befuddled. After all, had she not wanted to marry him? Had she not declared her love? Had she not bucked propriety and shed her societal façade, along with her clothes, and taken to his bed as a practiced seductress in her endeavors? Aside from her pregnancy and body, what had changed?
“May I be excused?” Alex inquired in a small voice.
“You have not—”
“But you have—” Jason glanced at Damian.
“Sorry, Collingwood. Old habits die hard.” Her brother frowned and averted his stare. “I defer to your authority.”
“You have consumed almost nothing.” How could he reach his errant wife? “Think of our children.”
“I enjoyed a large breakfast, sir.” It bothered him that she refused to look at him. “So I am not hungry.”
“Perhaps I can tempt you with lighter fare?” Recalling Alex’s fondness for sweets, he altered his tack with his sullen spouse. As he drew a platter of desserts to her place setting, he said, “Do you see anything to your liking?”
“Please, sir. I am rather exhausted, as it has been a trying day, to say the least.” While Jason had anticipated all manner of curses heaped on his soul, in the wake of his forced wedding, he had not prepared for the new version of Alex, blanketed in a dense mixture of reticence and disconsolation. “May I retire?”
“All right, my lady wife.” He pushed his chair from the table, stood, and dismissed the approaching footman, as Jason preferred to assist his bride. “You may go to your room.”
Again, Alex stunned him with her dejected countenance, as she bowed her head and slumped her shoulders, and he could tolerate her conduct no further. With a finger, he tipped her chin and brought her gaze to his. The wrenching anguish he spied in her blue eyes struck him as a vicious punch to the gut.
“Rest well, sweetheart.” He was not sure why he had done it, but he pressed on her a gentle kiss. “We journey to our country home, tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir.” She half-curtseyed and waddled from the dining room.
“Collingwood.” Damian tossed his napkin on his plate.
What now? “Aye?”
Damian shifted his weight and grimaced. “I have taken the liberty of installing your personal belongings in my sister’s chambers.”
“For the love of all creation—why?” Jason had reached the end of his tether. “In case it has escaped your notice, Alex detests me, and you would drive me into her bed?”
“It is your wedding night.” Damian shrugged. “It made sense, at the time.”
“Trust me, I am well aware of my marital state, but Alex increases.” A fact Jason could not ignore. “In deference to her condition, I would not take her without her encouragement and consent.”
Damian focused on the floor. “But you must consummate your vows, else the union is not legal or binding.”
“I hate to point out the obvious, but Alex and I consummated our vows in January, and the proof of our success grows in her belly.” Jason snorted. “I would assert I am irrevocably bound to your sister.”
“Quite right.” Damian stood. “I have lost my appetite. Would you care to join me for a brandy?”
“Brother, at this moment, I could use a bottle.” Jason chuckled and slapped Damian on the back. “How in bloody hell am I going to correct the mess I have made of my situation?”
“There you have me, as my experience tends toward courtesans, not wives.” Damian snickered, as they crossed the foyer. “And I apologize for my heavy-handed tactics, as it was not my intent to meddle in your personal affairs. But my sister possesses a certain obstinacy of spirit, and you would do well not to discount it.”
“Ah, yes. Her notorious stubborn streak.” Jason whistled in monotone. “We have met.”
“Oh, Collingwood.” In that instant, Damian laughed, and the tension nagging Jason’s shoulders dissipated. “I do not envy the road ahead for you and my sister. And on that note, you have yet to sign the marriage contract.”
In the study, Jason came to an abrupt halt. “Why does it feel as though I am returning to the scene of the crime?”
“Perhaps because Alex looked on you as a sword-wielding executioner?” Again, Damian surrendered to uncharacteristic mirth. “I still cannot believe she ambushed you in Plymouth, and I wish you had sent her home, posthaste. Why did you delay, when you might have spared yourself your current predicament?”
“Damian, I mean no disrespect, but I have never met anyone half so bold as Alex, and I could never resist her.” And then Jason dropped into a high back chair, propped his elbows to his knees, and rested his chin in his palms. “But the short answer is I care for her.”
“Well said, brother, and I am delighted to hear it.” Damian retrieved a folder and set out two documents. “Have you apprised my sister of your engaged affection? It might go a long way to smooth ruffled feathers.”
“Do I look like a brainless nincompoop?” That singular question posed the heart of Jason’s dilemma, given Alex had declared her love, and he had rejected her. “Under the circumstances, I doubt she would believe me, and I have no idea how to convince her of my sincerity.”
“Have you considered asking the Brethren husbands for advice, as all four gave less than stellar performances in the marriage mart and should have learned something from their misadventures?” Damian filled two brandy balloons and passed a glass to Jason. “They must have some sage wisdom to impart, and what could it hurt?”
“Damian, you are indeed the voice of reason, as the thought had not occurred to me.” Had Lance not sought such counsel in his attempt to bring Cara to the altar? “I shall compose a series of letters upon our arrival at Stratfield Manor.”
“Then you need only sign the contract, and our business is concluded.” Damian wrote Alex’s name, then affixed his initials, and Jason scribbled his endorsement.
“I suppose that does it.�
�� Jason downed his brandy. “But I am for Bedfordshire. In light of the change in my accommodations, will you direct me to my wife’s quarters?”
“Of course, and you must promise to write me, from time to time, and tell of my sister and your heirs, as I fear she may never forgive me.” Damian walked Jason to the door. “At the top of the stairs, turn left. On the other side of the gallery is a long hallway. Alex’s apartments are the third entry on the right.”
“Brother, I shall dispatch regular correspondence, and once I repair the damage to our relationship, I will encourage her to contact you, too.” They shook hands. “And thank you, for hearing my side.”
“Well, I could not kill you, as I would have orphaned my future niece, nephew, or both.” Damian grinned. “I wish you luck, as you will need it.”
In mere minutes, Jason navigated the chasmal residence and loitered at the portal of Alex’s quarters. Nervous as a green lad with his first whore, he thought he might knock. Then again, it seemed unwise to provide his spitfire bride warning of his presence. Cursing uncharacteristic indecision, he at last turned the knob and set wide the oak panel.
A fire in the hearth warmed and illuminated the sitting room, which featured a large wingback chair and a daybed piled high with pillows. But he had no interest in the furnishings.
An entry to the left opened to another, much larger chamber. An impressive four-poster, the most massive he had ever seen in a woman’s quarters, held pride of place at the center of the back wall. To his surprise, the bed was empty. A fireplace bathed the room in soft light, and just then he located the object of his affection, standing before the only window with the drapes still tied.
Moonlight cocooned her in a silvery glow, which rendered all but invisible the silk creation she wore. Similar to the attire with which she had taunted him in Plymouth, the diaphanous gauze only emphasized the tempting cleft of her bottom. In a flash, Jason recalled what he had done to her luscious derriere in vivid detail, and he gritted his teeth against a groan.
When Alex inclined her head and hugged her pronounced belly, something inside him seized, and his gut clenched. Had he thought her beautiful? The term seemed insufficient, as he found her breathtaking. Focused, determined to right the wrongs of the past, he crossed the floor, slipped his hand beneath her long locks, closed his fingers about the hair at the nape of her neck, tipped back her head, rested a palm to her belly, and kissed her.
CAPTAIN OF HER HEART
CHAPTER EIGHT
In soft, subtle sashays, Jason loved Alex with his mouth, and she could have cried. It was so wonderful to taste her captain again, and then his rejection intruded on their delicious interlude, haunting and taunting, and she withdrew.
“Why are you here?” She tottered to the mantel and gazed into the blaze. “And why did you kiss me?”
“Just correcting your oversight, love.” His rich baritone melted over her, like honey on a hot scone, and left nothing untouched.
And, oh, what she felt.
“I do not follow.” How often she had dreamed of their wedding night, yet her fantasy had never included a forced marriage and an unplanned pregnancy. “What have I neglected?”
“I believe it customary to seal the marital vows with a kiss, or would you argue otherwise?” Was her husband flirting with her?
“Well now you have had your kiss.” And Alex wished she had donned a more conservative robe. “So you may take your leave, and I shall see you in the morning. I wish you a pleasant rest, sir.”
“Not so fast, my fetching bride.” Jason chuckled, in that sensual rumble that sent delicious shivers over her flesh. “As my personal belongings have been moved here, compliments of your brother, I will sleep here.”
She gasped in horror at the prospect, because she could resist so many things, but randy Jason—oh, no. “But—you can’t mean to take me in this condition.”
“Would you like me to try?” He grinned, and the ice encasing her heart fractured.
“Of course, not.” She lied, as her body never failed to respond to his flirty summons.
“Are you sure, because you do not sound very certain of yourself?” Her naughty husband trailed a finger along the curve of her cheek, her jawline, her neck, and then he traced imaginary circles on her décolletage. “And I am most definitely at your service, my dear wife.”
“Yet you love me not.” She grasped at a lifeline, to forestall his lusty assault, because if he touched her in that place at the apex of her thighs, he would have her.
“Perhaps, not.” With a mighty frown, he dropped his hand to his side. “But I desire you.”
And there it was, the source of her torment and shame, plainly spoken. “That was never enough for me.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Jason inclined his head.
“You are a wise man, though you have done your best to convince me otherwise, so figure it out for yourself, sir.” Shielded in anger mixed with despair, Alex unfastened the lone button of her robe. “I should warn you that I sleep in the nude, as I find nightgowns altogether confining and uncomfortable, at this stage in my pregnancy, so you should avert your gaze, given my rotundness offends you.”
“I beg your pardon?” He settled hands on hips and shifted his weight. “When did I ever make such a callous statement?”
“Did you or did you not comment on my size, when you first arrived?” With a deep breath, she steeled herself for his derision and dropped her robe to the floor. Then she drew back the blankets, fluffed a mountain of pillows, and enacted the wonky exercise required to recline in bed.
“Alex, I admit I am, at times, an ignorant arse, and I regret my thoughtless comment, but I plead temporary insanity, as your condition was a deuced shock.” After doffing his coat and waistcoat, he untied his cravat and flung the linen swath across the back of a chair. Then Jason sat and tugged off his boots. When he unhooked his breeches, she closed her eyes. “All right, where is the rapier retort? What happened to my fiery society miss? You know, the brazen spitfire who followed me to Plymouth?”
“You destroyed her.” The mattress dipped, dislodging her pillow supports, and she rolled to the side, into Jason’s arms. Hovering close, with their noses mere inches apart, he hugged her. “I am all that remains, sir.”
“Will you stop addressing me so formally?” As she tried to resituate herself, he held her firm. “And what are you about, with the pile of cushions, as you cannot be comfortable? Is this your way of erecting additional barriers between us?”
“I need not add to our troubles, sir. But my elevated position is the only posture that affords a measure of relief that I may sleep, as our babes are restless.” It was then she realized her husband had deliberately baited her. “And I show you that deference which is owed to a husband, as I have been bred to obey.”
“How many times must I remind you I was not to the manor born?” Jason brushed his lips to hers. “As you so correctly pointed out in Plymouth, I am but a low-born sailor. I never attended Eton or university, thus my education took place above and below decks, courtesy of the Royal Navy, and I am quite proud of my history, as I have no use for titles or such foppery.”
“Are you finished?” She moaned, as he kissed her again.
“No.” With a fistful of covers, he drew the sheet to her chin. “How can I help you, love? There must be a more relaxed station. Will you not lean on me?”
“I would, but then I could not rest when you leave me—and you will leave me.” How Alex needed his strength, but she had trusted him once, and he had disappointed her. “And I would not inconvenience you.”
“Darling, you are never an inconvenience, and I have no intention of leaving your side, unless duty calls.” He splayed a hand protectively over her belly. The babes kicked, and his eyes grew wide. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Yes. Your children are most active at night.” She smiled at his countenance of inexpressible wonder. “But I thought you would return to London, after installing m
e at Stratfield Manor.”
“Installing you?” Jason blanched, and she could not help but giggle. “Sweetheart, you are my wife, not some contracted heir maker. Bloody hell, but the peerage infests your mind with such revolting notions.”
“Then you intend to reside with me?” All right, she was a vast deal more than relieved that he would not abandon her to the country, yet Alex knew not what to expect of her husband.
“You really think the worst of me, do you not?” How wounded he appeared, as he slipped his arm about her shoulders. “And who could blame you, given my abominable treatment. My lovely bride, I know I hurt you. If I could go back in time, to that awful day in Plymouth, know that the outcome would have been quite the opposite, as I should have married you. But now we are wed, and your honor is restored. Let go your anger and make the best of our situation.”
“Are you serious? Is that all you have to say for yourself?” She had almost fallen for him—almost. “It will take more than pretty words and easy manners to resolve our problems, sir.”
“I do not suppose we can straighten out our difficulties in a single conversation, dearest.” Jason shuffled the pillows and encouraged her to recline on her side, with her belly nestled in a cushion he had placed with efficiency and her head resting on his shoulder. “I ask for a chance, Alex. Give me the opportunity to redeem myself, nothing more.”
“But you ask so much.” She pressed her palm to his muscled chest. “And I know not if I can survive another disappointment. I must consider my babes—”
“Our babes.” As was his way, he raked his fingers through her hair and massaged her scalp.
Memories, bits of the past flooded her consciousness, and Alex sniffed, as she revisited cherished moments from their courtship and her time in Plymouth. Soon, the tears flowed, as she mourned the fanciful dreams she had coveted since they met two years ago.
“Do not cry, darling.” He cradled her head, and she sobbed without restraint.
“I weep not for you.” In truth, Alex lamented the man she had thought Jason had been, and it had almost killed her to discover he was not her knight in shining armor.
Brethren of the Coast Box Set 2 Page 42