In a possessive gesture, Jack offered his arm and inclined his head, challenging her to accept. Alex lifted her chin and after a moment’s hesitation, placed her hand on his sleeve.
Together they walked up the short flight of stairs. They were greeted by a stiff, tuxedo-clad butler, who ushered them across polished hardwood floors covered with expensive Persian rugs through a foyer that opened into what appeared to be a formal living room.
It was unlike any living room Alex had ever seen, running the width of the house to a dramatic focal point at the far end, a large floor to ceiling window adorned with gray silk drapes hung on custom rods. The walls were also gray, but with a light green over-tone that complemented gold-leaf painted tables.
Seating was accomplished by creating several conversation groups with an eclectic mix of upholstered chairs, settees, and area rugs. Yet no one was seated. All the guests stood with drinks in hand, while white-coated waiters moved among them.
There was energy in the room, a vibrant hum of voices and a mixture of heavy perfumes, enough to quash all of Alex’s earlier attempts to settle her stomach. Without thinking, she clutched the fabric of Jack’s coat, her fingers biting into his arm. He covered her hand as if to reassure her, and they stood in silence watching the crowd of twenty or so well-dressed Louisville elites.
“You’ll do fine,” Jack whispered, squeezing her hand.
Alex didn’t acknowledge his words of support. She couldn’t. Her throat was dry. Raw panic ran in her veins. She’d rather ride a runaway horse than be in this place at this time. She told herself she looked just as good as these other intimidating people and lifted her head high.
Two women separated themselves from the crush. Although it had been more than ten years since Alex had last seen her, she immediately recognized Mrs. Breckinridge. Jack’s mother looked every bit the grand matriarch, from the perfectly coifed silver hair and elegant silver floor-length gown to her polished nails and fingers flashing diamonds.
The other woman was much younger, tall and stately with an air of sophistication that made Alex want to creep behind Jack and hide.
The younger woman rushed forward, smiling. Her gunmetal gray, taffeta cocktail dress barely reached the middle of her thighs, revealing long, shapely legs. But the top of the dress was what must have caught the eyes of every man in the room. It crisscrossed across her bust, exposing the woman’s creamy shoulders and elegant neck while a rhinestone buckle drew attention to her cleavage.
“Jack!”
Alex sensed Jack’s tension. She glanced up at him just as the woman stopped in front of them.
“Miss Gloria Fenton,” Jack said, “may I introduce Alexis...my wife...Mrs. Jackson Breckinridge.”
His words took Alex’s breath away. What message was he trying to deliver by such a formal introduction? Clearly by the look on Miss Fenton’s suddenly flushed face, Jack’s words were sinking in.
His mother strode forward and gave her son a quick peck on the cheek. “What did you say, Jack, darling?”
“I was introducing Alex to Gloria,” Jack explained and then paused dramatically, “as my wife.”
* * * *
That went well. Not! The hubbub that her introduction caused lasted until the butler called the guests to dinner. Seated beside Jack with Mrs. Breckenridge on her left, Alex stared at the gleaming collection of six wine glasses flanking her gold china plate. Alongside and above the plate, silverware lined up in precise military formation catching the light from crystal chandeliers.
She had never seen such finery. Where did she begin? Alex fought fear, unreasonable, gut-wrenching fear that threatened to overwhelm her. How could she do this? She was so out of her league. Reaching across her china plate, she seized the water glass and drank several gulps of soothing liquid.
When Alex glanced up, she caught a smirk from Miss Gloria Fenton, who sat across the table. Carefully, Alex replaced the glass, never taking her gaze from the woman’s dark eyes, arched black eyebrows and bright red lips. She may be from the other side of the tracks, but no one had to tell her why Miss Fenton’s glare carried daggers. Women knew these things.
This Louisville debutante had fancied herself first in line for the title Alex, however reluctantly, now carried.
“Jack, darling,” Mrs. Breckinridge purred in a theatrical whisper that all could hear, “I’m disappointed. I expected you to have a wedding ceremony, not some clandestine runaway affair.”
“We had a fine wedding ceremony, Mother,” Jack replied.
How could he sit there so totally in control, not even breaking a sweat? Alex envied him and hated him at the same time. This was his natural playing field. He belonged here while she was an interloper longing for the smell of horseflesh and hay.
Jack turned to her. “In fact we had a very nice ceremony, didn’t we, dear?”
Alex mustered a quick nod, wondering if her eyes were wide with fear. Was she expected to respond? Or behave like a shy, loving bride? One glance across the table made her feel as if her self-confidence was ebbing away.
But she wouldn’t let it.
She leaned against Jack’s shoulder and murmured sweetly, “It was almost as nice as the honeymoon, wasn’t it?”
He laughed, the sound bubbling up from deep within his throat. “I do love you,” he said and kissed her forehead in a spontaneous display of approval.
Alex sat back, pleased with herself. She had achieved a tiny victory. The artery pulsed in Miss Fenton’s flushed neck. As for Jack’s mother, well, their race was yet to be run. Alex figured her mother-in-law would break fast from the gate and be hard to catch in the stretch.
* * * *
Two hours later, Alex came out of the powder room and found Miss Gloria Fenton outside waiting.
“They say your father managed their horse farm,” Gloria said without any preliminary niceties.
“He did.” Alex started walking down the hall.
“Don’t walk away from me, you gold digger!”
Alex turned, fighting a whirlwind of anger. “What do you want?”
“I want to know what you did to trick Jack into marriage.”
Alex smiled at the irony. If Gloria knew Jack had sought her out, what would she think? She turned on her heel again. “That doesn’t deserve an answer.”
The taller woman grabbed her arm, twirling her around. “Jack has never mentioned your name. You must have done something to him to cause this marriage.”
Gloria’s venom-filled words didn’t surprise. Jerking her arm free, Alex stood her ground.
“I know what it’s like to lose a race,” she said. “I’m sorry you’re disappointed in Jack’s marriage to me.” She shrugged. “I guess you’ll have to learn to live with it.”
“Bitch!”
“Sticks and stones.” Alex longed to stick out her tongue, but offered a tiny smile instead. Turning once more, she strode down the hall, chalking up another win in this no-win situation.
The dining room had cleared out, and the guests were once again in the living room, this time seated in groups drinking their after-dinner coffee. Alex stood alone at the threshold to the room. A few heads turned toward her, but no one offered a welcoming smile.
“You don’t belong here, do you, dear?”
Alex straightened her shoulders, refusing to be hurt. Slowly she turned to face her new mother-in-law.
“You’re that little girl from the farm,” Irene Breckinridge said. “The one Brandon took up with before Jack encouraged him to join the army.”
“I was friends with Brandon.” Caution made Alex’s voice waver. “We played together at the farm when we were children, all three of us.”
Irene looked at her with a scornful expression. “Marriage is not a game. I don’t begin to understand Jack’s thinking, especially with Brandon lying cold in his grave.”
A chill rippled down Alex’s spine. She lifted her chin. “Trust me. I don’t take my marriage to Jack lightly. We weren’t trying to hurt you.”
“But you did. I can’t believe he loves you. You’re not his type. You’re not the wife I want for my son.”
“I believe that’s Jack’s decision, not yours,” Alex said. She didn’t have to face this hostile woman. Not with her insides burning with anger and humiliation.
“He’s a Breckinridge.” Irene glared at her with furious eyes. “He has never once shirked his responsibility to his family. I intend to find out what you’ve done to him.”
Alex watched Jack’s mother sweep into the living room smiling and greeting her guests. The double standards were obvious. She felt nothing but contempt for the Breckinridge family and their lifestyle. Brandon had let her down when she needed him the most. His mother considered her the daughter of hired help. She’d been a fool to subject herself to them again and to think Tyler deserved a place in this rich man’s world.
Alex slipped away to the entrance foyer where she stood in silence gathering her thoughts. She hated what she’d done. But because she was already tired of the fight didn’t mean she would go back on her word. Tyler needed the security it brought. From within herself, she just had to find the strength to continue. To make it all the way to the finish line.
No! That shrew wasn’t going to run her off.
Alex heard steps coming into the foyer, but she didn’t look back. Suddenly Jack was there, standing behind her, grasping her upper arms, whispering into her hair, “Let’s go home.”
Why couldn’t she let herself lean back against his chest? Accept the warmth of his presence? The safety of his embrace?
She stood stiff with resignation. “Jack,” she said in a raspy voice, “can we really go home? All the way home? To Breckinridge Station?”
Alex heard the slow, sharp intake of his breath. Silently he took her hand and escorted her to the front door and out of his mother’s house.
Chapter Eight
“Breeze him a half mile,” Johnny Marsden instructed, giving Alex a boost onto Greco’s back. She settled herself into the saddle. “Hook up with that two-year-old from Pete’s barn.”
“Sure thing, Johnny.” Alex looked from where her uncle stood with his hand on Greco’s bridle to see Jack striding down the shed row. Her lips parted in surprise.
Admit it. You’re intrigued by the man you married. You like the way he grins, the feel of his warm hands, and the male smell of him. You wouldn’t have agreed to this marriage without that attraction you feel for him.
“Johnny.” Jack nodded at the trainer and then switched his gaze to Alex. “Hi,” he said. “I finally have everything arranged. The movers are all set for tomorrow morning. We’ll be moved in by tomorrow night.”
“That’s wonderful.” What did he expect her to say? The tension between them rang loud and clear, springing from the surprising chemistry that swirled around them whenever they were together. And they would be together a lot now, wouldn’t they?
Their gazes locked. Was he measuring her against other women he knew, like the high-class, black-haired witch Gloria? Did he regret that his high-minded principles had forced him into marriage with her? Alex longed to ask him, but words failed her. Maybe things would be different away from the city, back on the farm where they’d been happy as kids.
Her life had changed so much. She felt like a simple bystander, a spectator just waiting in limbo for whatever Jackson Breckinridge had planned for her.
He stared at her, seeming to strip her bare with an undisguised passion in his gray eyes. Shivers scurried up and down Alex’s spine. She bit her bottom lip, lowering her gaze.
“I’ll talk to you after the workout, Jack,” she said and turned Greco away.
Jack’s insides lurched with desire. Alex had a very vulnerable mouth. One he longed to taste again. On the back of the horse, gazing at him, her eyes seemed wider, more compelling—exposing a shyness he had not seen from her earlier. Did he imagine the gleam of interest in her eyes? Did she sense this unspoken pull between them?
Alex clucked once and moved toward the track, Greco prancing sideways in anticipation. Jack followed Marsden to the railing where its aluminum surface reflected the weak March sunshine. Standing there, he lifted a hand to shade his eyes. Alex and Greco stepped onto the dirt and jogged the wrong way of the oval.
“She’ll warm him up slow.” The trainer’s dry, impersonal commentary kept up while they watched. “Then she’ll turn him the right way and start the workout next to the inside rail. When a horse breezes, we let him work at a good pace without urging him. Today Greco will work in company.”
Jack nodded. In the distance, Alex was joined by another exercise rider on a powerful-looking colt. They turned their horses around and broke into a gallop, asking for more speed. At the quarter poll, both horses kicked into high gear. On the outside Greco breezed head-to-head with his companion, neither one giving ground.
“Fifty seconds,” Johnny muttered. “That’s good for the half mile. She kept him well in hand.”
Jack knew it was a successful workout. The two horses galloped out the next five furlongs. Jack’s lips thinned with surprise at the nerves bunching in his stomach. He admired the way Alex sat so effortlessly in the saddle, so confident and in control.
Another part of him was scared shitless for her.
* * * *
Darkness descended upon Breckinridge Station. Standing at the door of the screened porch, Alex gazed at the shadowed patio at the back of the house and the swimming pool, still covered against winter weather. A cool night breeze soothed her forehead. Here, away from the city, she smelled spring, the raw earthy aroma of changing seasons.
She was bone tired, exhausted from moving their belongings to the horse farm, settling her mother and most of the family furniture into the coach house over the garage, and making sure Tyler was at home in his upstairs bedroom overlooking the rolling bluegrass pasture. Her mother and son seemed content. Even Simon the cat was happy with fields and barns to explore. Evelyn had retired to her quarters for the night, and Alex had finally shut the door on an exhausted boy. It had been a good day, one they all would remember for a long time.
Alex twisted the wide gold band on the third finger of her left hand. Its weight was unfamiliar, as unfamiliar as the main house of the fabled stud farm. Instead of a brick mansion in the Federal style like My Old Kentucky Home, complete with a spiral staircase and large, drafty rooms, Jack’s ancestral home looked more like a Tidewater cottage—homey and open with a wraparound porch.
She remembered visits to its kitchen as a child when her mother was housekeeper, but she hardly ever visited the family’s living area. When they came for summer vacations, Brandon and Jack stayed upstairs in the room now belonging to Tyler. Sometimes she would join the Breckinridge boys in the swimming pool, but more often their playground had been the extensive barns and fields around them—the places she couldn’t wait to show her son.
Jack came up behind her. “Penny for your thoughts,” he said, his breath touching her hair and making her tremble. “Are you cold? Come inside.”
Alex turned to face him. “No, I like it out here. It’s so peaceful...quiet.”
“It is.” His eyes grew tender. In the light shining through the open family room door, Alex saw him smile.
Her fingers itched to caress those upturned lips. But she dared not touch him. Touching might lead to other things. Like kissing. More touching. Her need was there, a moment of weakness that turned her legs to jelly. She was very, very vulnerable.
“Want to sit out here?” she asked.
“I’d like that.” Jack sat down on the cushion of a brown wicker sofa. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and laced his fingers behind his head. “Whew! I didn’t know how tired I was until I sat down.”
Alex found a spot across from him on a matching wicker chair. “Me either.”
Letting out a long breath, she savored the sudden silence between them. Cool air eased the hot flush on her cheeks. The night sounds brought a down-to-earth peace
that descended around them.
“So what do you think?”
Alex lifted an eyebrow. “About what?”
“About this house.” He waved his hand. “Breckinridge Station.”
“I can’t believe I’m here and living in your grandparents’ house.” She smiled through the twilight. “It’s like a dream come true.”
“Having you here is like a dream come true.”
Her heart turned. She didn’t know what to say.
Jack’s gaze lifted over her toward the brightly lit family room window. “This house brings back a lot of good memories.”
“It certainly does.”
His gaze reconnected with hers and they exchanged smiles. “Nana’s cookies, cold milk and sitting on her lap. Nana was always available for a big hug when I scraped a knee.”
“They’re good memories.” Thinking about the past shattered Alex’s courage. Brandon was part of her recollections of this place, for wherever Jack was, his little brother was never far behind. Brandon, Tyler’s father and the man who let her down so completely, haunted this house. Would it ever be different?
Jack must have noticed her mood change. “You’re thinking about Brandon.”
She hesitated, measuring her words. “Don’t you think about him? He belongs here too. It’s strange there are only two of us now where once we were like the Three Musketeers.”
Jack shifted on the sofa, sitting forward. “That’s why I can’t lose you.”
He had moved nearer to her. Their knees were centimeters apart, their shoes almost touching. She caught that crisp, male aroma of his aftershave. It mixed with the night breeze. The memory of the sexual attraction she had felt for him at their first meeting in Johnny’s office came back to her with a wallop.
The same tension erupted between them.
“I’m not going anywhere, Jack.”
He reached for her hand. “When I was at the track yesterday, I realized how frightened I am when you exercise horses.”
Kentucky Woman Page 6