by Gayle Eden
They were building their lives, newly wed, and although he would soon see them all, even Val who was in Switzerland with her husband, and the baby girl Holly, this Christmas. He could go and see them anytime. It was not the same as not having them around. Particularly Johanna—who had been so energetic and so full of laughter—when she was not in her rebellion. He was blissfully happy however, that she and Sascha Auttenburg were finally together.
Bracing himself inwardly, Alexander started up the stairs to collect the duchess himself. He had been cautious and patient since meeting her informally, though he knew of her for years. It was an original experience for a former Rakehell, and for a man who got subtle and not so subtle offers still, at fifty, actually “going after” a woman.
He had never questioned his looks before, but had to reach some comfort with age, where the lines at the corners of his eyes and marks of character did not bother him. He was conscious that he had aged well. He was fit simply because he kept himself so, wanting to enjoy his life as much as possible.
Well aware of Sonja’s past, her scars, and the hell she had lived in from young girlhood, Alexander was one who saw past her façade of aloof reserve, and saw it for the protectiveness it was. That did not mean he was not affected by the way she held herself, moved, or spoke. Bloody hell no. There was appeal in regal grace too. There was a challenge in it.
From that lush raven hair, worn most often in the Egyptian style, half up, half down, to her full figured body that she dressed in vivid hues and rich fabrics, she was a striking woman. Her eyes were a soft brown, thick black lashed, her lips, semi full, dark, almost naturally red. She had beauty, as Edmund had that graceful cool elegance. With Sonja, it fit. She carried it off as few could—and, for the most part, when he had first met her, it was intrigue and admiration rolled into one, for him.
Over time, conversely, he realized it was more, much more than he had counted on experiencing at this stage in his life. He did not underestimate her past unhappiness, and present guardedness. If he did, he would have made his feelings for her known months ago. No. He realized he would have one chance, and although he had no experience with this… multifaceted a woman—he was going to take it.
Striding down the long carpeted hall, Alexander stopped before her chamber. He raised his hand and knocked on her door.
At her soft, “Enter.” He opened it and stood in the doorway, his gaze finding where she had turned from the windows.
“Lunch is served. You may need a light wrap. We’ll dine in the courtyard.”
While he was pronouncing all of that, Alexander first took in her black and gold gown. How perfectly it fit her tall height, and edged her round creamy shoulders. Her hair was up, a band of gold velvet in it. Lush thick curls fell over her shoulder.
When she moved to pick up a shawl and tie it lightly on, he registered what he had seen in her face, and in those velvety brown eyes, and his anxiety level heightened. He would need to play this all very carefully whilst still urging her beyond those protective walls. Right, ole boy, he mentally muttered, you have one hand, play it wisely.
Offering her his harm, he escorted her down the hall and stairs, talking lightly of the fall beauty out of doors.
“Yes. I love this time of year, outside of London, particularly.”
When they were out in the courtyard, he released her to pour wine, yet watching her close her eyes and breathe deep of the nutty, earthy, scent, carried on a mild breeze.
“Thank you.” She took the wine from him, and they stood side by side a moment, sipping.
Alexander was thankful of his height and fit body, not for the first time, and very much aware of her feminine curves, creamy skin, and the subtle scent of her perfume. His body though was always conscious of her. Just as her glances could do something to him. They made him drown just a little. A reaction that when he’d first registered it, floored him.
The woman made him weak in a way none had in years.
Idly fingering the bottom of her glass, the duchess turned her head and caught him studying her. He did not flush. His heart was not racing because he had been caught—but rather those soft brown, raven-lashed eyes, were very real windows into her soul.
He could not help but imagine a young girl, raven hair, chocolate eyes, vulnerable and at the mercy of her older husband. Aware however that was years and years ago, and that she was almost in her mid-forties. Maturity sat naturally on her beautiful face. However, much of that wisdom was from what she had made of her life in ongoing difficult circumstances.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
He watched her mouth shape those words.
“Like what?” His grin formed crooked.
She scanned his face and then turned away. Some tightness in her voice, she supplied instead of answering, “I should not be here.”
She was no fool.
Alexander did not take her for one.
He uttered softly, “Come, our lunch is getting cold.” Before walking over, and holding out her chair.
They sat, and plates were uncovered. Sometime after consuming half the meal, he regarded her again and offered quietly, “Although I do have the gelding here, I think you will like. Would you have come, had I not thought of some excuse?”
“Certainly, I would come with Alex and Edmund when invited.” She was pushing vegetables around on her plate with her fork, her eyes on that.
“Sonja. That is not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant.” She set the fork down and sat back, wiping her mouth and then resting hands and napkin in her lap. Now scanning the distant woods with her gaze, she offered, “We make very good friends, my lord, even family. But if you are attempting what I think you are—”
“Alexander. Call me Alexander. I agree we have a comfortable friendship and enjoy each other’s company. I want more. I do not think, for all I have kept that unsaid between us, that you are ignorant of it.”
Her fingers reached for her glass. She drained it, rolling her lips before she looked up and over at him. “I cannot be whatever it is you need me to, Alexander. I can be your friend, a loyal friend and good company, I hope. But anything further—”
Alexander ignored the tightening in his gut. He murmured, while holding her gaze, “I am not that young Rakehell anymore. I am the father of three diverse and very strong willed daughters, a father in law. And—a grandpapa.”
He heard her subtle snort and his mouth quirked at the corners. “Yes, my rep was well earned and quite colorful, but it is the past and very little of who I was then, and now. I believe you know me better than most.”
“Women still flirt with you.”
“Yes.” He did not deny it. Saying dryly, “I charm them. I have ever been a charming fellow. However, I grew up some time ago. If it is my past that gives you pause….”
“No.”
He ignored that for a moment. “I had a mistress, Constance. And, mistresses between, who were sophisticated and unavailable for more. I avoided commitments, for the simple reason that my past mistakes made me fear, that I would not be a good husband for any woman. Long term affairs are not all bedroom antics however.”
He stopped there, because of the tension he saw in her. After drinking his wine, re-filling their glasses, he asked her if she wished to finish the meal. She was not hungry, she said.
Alexander stood and invited her to carry her glass and join him.
They sat in the cane chaises on the lawn.
Thinking she would be more comfortable not looking at him, he said finally, “I know the story. I know what your life was like with the duke. As much as anyone not there, not feeling your pain, and abandonment, could feel…”
“Edmund…”
“In a roundabout way, yes. But Edmund had his own burdens and guilt, his own need for a man to talk with.” He turned his head, and observed that her eyes were narrowed on the distance. The shawl, untied, had slipped to her elbows, though still covered her back. “I know that time h
eals and matures us. The absence of him, the fact you became liberated, helped. Nevertheless, I do not disregard what you still hold inside from it. If I did, I would have seduced you the moment I desired to. Which was—nearly our first meeting.”
“I find this conversation, disconcerting.”
“I’m sure.” He looked away and down at his glass. “And yet, I have to drop any pretense of why I invited you.” He drank and rested the glass on his thigh before murmuring, “I can take rejection. I am half prepared for it. However, I would beg you this, give me the benefit of the doubt, where you may not another. You know me, at least, the real me. It is only the intimate side of ourselves we’ve kept hidden from each other.”
“I am not for you, Alexander.”
He glanced again to see she was shaking her head, her glass tight between her hands.
“Do you want to tell me about it? All of it. I will listen without judgment, although I may wish he were alive, to run him through.”
“No. I do not. I have told it more in these last years, to Johanna, and Alexandria, and Val was there. I am removed enough from it, so that it seems like another time, another world, and person. I have forgiven myself, because as I am now, I would not have allowed it. Nevertheless, as I was so very young, ignorant, and frightened, having no world to live in but that one, I have forgiven myself. I will never—forgive him.”
“You don’t have to.”
“No.” She sighed and leaned her head back a moment, closing her eyes. He watched the light wind stir strands of her hair, brushing it gently against her cheeks and brow. Sonja murmured, “That’s one thing I will not let anyone make me responsible, or feel badly for. I was not old enough to have any perception of marriage or intimacy, or even what adults do. I was raped within moments of my wedding, and once he had me, owned me, I came to realize he saw me as his possession.
He enjoyed training me, punishing me. I comprehend what a skewed reality I lived in. I survived in body, in mind too, although—I own that over the years, after he died, I had many delayed reactions. I had reactions—because, he would not allow me to show them. I got through, probably because of Edmund. I give him credit. His love for me was very healing. His letters to me were a window of hope and sanity. He wanted nothing from me save for me to be happy and whole.”
Feeling anger and too many emotions to vent, though they choked him, Alexander pushed them back and offered, “I understand. It does not make you less than any other human. In fact, I believe you are stronger. He was a weak man who preyed on you. He took advantage—and chose—to torment you.”
She opened her eyes slowly. “Yes. But I tried…I tried after I felt strong enough, to have a…normal relationship, with men.”
He discerned what she was hinting. “I am the least who should be saying this, my dear. However, any relationship we have, based on sex, without the intimacy, is only going to give us momentary ease. I chose women who did not want anything deeper, and women who were not available. I did not question it, because I, frankly, did not want anything more.
I was bitter. I misplaced the blame much of the time for my own decisions. I was a passionate fellow. But if you are speaking of sex with a random man, I am not surprised you found it did not somehow transform you.”
She was finally looking at him, so he said, “It may be presumptuous of me, but I think you are the type of woman who cannot treat it casually. You cannot put it into a category separate from emotions, because your body and your emotions are deeply connected. Your esteem and your trust—everything is too intertwined.”
Her gaze went over his face. She whispered, “It is alarming that you— truly—know that.”
“A man who spends half his life seducing women, knows those who can be, and those whom he has no business bedding. Those he can hurt.”
He sat up to the side and rocked his empty glass in his fingers a moment. “You frighten me more than I do you. Trust me.”
“I do…” She sat up too, that half laugh in her tone giving him some optimism.
Standing, he took her glass, and set both on the small table. Holding out his hand, palm up, Alexander let his lavender gaze capture hers. “Stroll to the dock with me.”
Sonja seemed to stare at his hand for long moments before ultimately placing hers in it. They walked leisurely, down an incline, and toward the weathered dock, at the moment covered here and there with fall leaves. There were ducks on the lake, in the marshes. Other fowl were calling out and flying over.
Standing at the base of the incline, he supplied, “I am not professing or even offering to be the man who gives you all that you deserved for too many years. Whilst I have some confidence in my skills, that is only a small part of meeting the challenge you present. I think you know me, Sonja.” He flexed his fingers on hers. “I have let you into my life as no woman has been.”
The autumn sun was gentle in the sky. He turned to regard her profile. “You are like no one in my past. You are a woman I greatly admire, and I mean outwardly, I enjoy observing you, as much I like your depth and strength. I do not take this opportunity lightly at all.”
Though she did not turn to look at him, she said softly, “I know this part of you, and I admire it. The father you are, the friend you have been to your friends. I cannot lie. I am as impressed with your sophistication and charm, as much as I am your intellect. But I know this much about men, they all have expectations…”
After leading her to the dock, he returned quietly, “All that I expect is that you will open yourself up to the possibility. That you might let down your guard, and trust yourself with me. Trust me.”
When she did not answer, he asked, “Have you allowed yourself pleasure?”
“What?” Apparently lost in thought, she blinked at him.
“Never mind.” He shook his head and contented himself with standing there, simply holding her hand. Contain, dear boy. You have time for that. This is not it.
“It’s beautiful here. In all seasons,” she mused aloud.
They began to talk then, about the estate, the annual gatherings there, his expectations of seeing Valerie and Archard during the holiday. It would be his first time seeing Holly, their daughter. They talked of Megan; a cousin of Johanna’s who had wed Archard’s brother, Aric Van Wyc. The last he had heard, she was settled in Aric’s country house and he was still going back and forth with Roth, another cousin, attending business. Two of her brothers were staying with her.
The Marquis gathered from the letter, that Megan had overcome the hasty, boarder wedding, but that she and Aric had much to learn about each other. Which they would no doubt, once Archard returned and Aric came home for good. It was a good match. The young couple would argue and love their way through the rough spots.
They spoke of Edmund and the heir, and of London. Other than business, visits to friends, special invites, Alexander was not sure he would do the season this year. She murmured that she had little enthusiasm for the social whirl unless his daughters were part of it.
“What of the property you bought?” He asked her as they started back.
“I have delayed moving because Alex and Edmund needed me. I suppose I should do that soon.”
“No. Wait for summer. Have you a Steward?”
“Yes. A good man. He is very prompt and precise in his reports.”
“In the summer then, that is the best time to tour.”
After they reached the house, they had coffee before she excused herself. He did not see her again until dinner.
Alexander mentally groaned. She took his breath away. She wore a bronze gown that did wonderful things for her skin, eyes and hair.
She begged to retire early and though he wanted to protest, he did not. Alexander was very aware he had given her much to think about.
Chapter Three
It was early, a mist-laden dawn, and Sonja breakfasted with the Marquis, before going out to view the horse; beautiful, blood red, with sleek muscles and long mane and tail. She fell in love
instantly.
“How much?”
“Consider it an early Christmas gift.”
“I couldn’t.”
“You will.”
They were both in riding clothing, himself in tweeds, and she in a dark habit. He had the mount saddled and took his own sorrel out.
Sonja laughed, having the mount at a full gallop. It moved well and had spirit to spare. Though she insisted on paying for it again, Alexander was adamant. He refused to tell her who the owner was.
Her hair escaping the simple tie, wind tossed, they slowed and crossed a stretch of meadow just as some of the overcast parted. It would not be a sunny day. Likely rain was coming later, but the fresh scents and mellow landscape, was breathtaking.
Her gloved hands gathered the reins. She followed as he led toward one of the ancient barns. It was partly collapsed and vine covered, but charming.
Sitting there a moment, Sonja realized she had been tense. Having slept little, because of their conversation, and all during her bath and dressing, afraid he would expect some answer at breakfast; it had taken her this long to relax. Sonja eyed him, that silver mane mussed too. His handsome, aristocratic profile, no matter how many times she looked at him, always stirred her. He had a lean muscled grace, wide shoulders, strength in his body. Here at Hawksmoor, it was more noticeable than in London. There, he looked suave; elegant, always dressed to perfection, with his silk lined capes and walking sticks, the striking silver hair.
As he turned to regard her in return, those jet rimmed lavender eyes sent sensations running through her, not just because he looked at her so intimately, but because of the beauty of them.
It was very easy to see both the mature and handsome lord, also parts of the younger version—who must have smiled wickedly and seduced women on the spot.
Sonja blinked out of her muse and sighed inwardly, turning her head, though feeling his gaze linger.
It would be so easy.
“Mind if I smoke?”
“Not at all.” She scanned the area, delighted when she spotted scurrying wildlife whist the tinge of smoke filtered through the air.