My Lady Vixen

by Connie Mason

  Adam slanted Gwen a bemused glance. “What do you suggest I do, Gwen? Alexa is carrying my child.”

  “Get rid of her once the child is born. Send her back to her father. Or … is it that she is better in bed than I am. Adam?”

  “Surely you don’t expect me to answer that!” Adam replied, vastly amused.

  “As big as she is she can’t be doing you any good, darling. You know I’m crazy about you. No one has ever made me feel like you do. Why not let me provide what your wife is incapable of giving you?”

  Her low seductive voice promised delights Adam had long denied himself while her lips, so soft and inviting, begged for his kisses. Without him willing it his mouth covered hers hungrily. Abandoning herself to his drugging kisses, Gwen melted into his crushing arms, not caring whether anyone might be watching. “Oh, Adam,” Gwen sighed raggedly. “I know you still want me. Make love to me, my darling. I’ve been too long without you.”

  Adam was stunned by his response to Gwen’s blatant invitation. Desire throbbed through his veins as his body reacted instantly to the soft warmth in his arms. It had been ages since he had a woman; since his wedding night, to be exact. Gwen was a handy and obviously willing substitute for the woman he really longed to make love to, so why not accept what she offered? he asked himself, unwilling to moralize so long as need dulled his senses. Alexa need never know, and besides, Gwen was nothing to him but a willing receptacle for his lust.

  “Where?” Adam croaked hoarsely. “Where can we go?”

  Triumph sparking her desire, Gwen whispered urgently, “The guest cottage, it will be deserted now while the reception is in progress. Come, darling, hurry. I want you so badly my body is afire for your touch.”

  Needing no further urging, Adam swooped up Gwen’s lithe form in his strong arms and turned in the direction of the cottage, a place he and Gwen had used often in the past for their trysts.

  The carriage carrying Alexa had barely traveled to the end of the driveway before she realized she had lost her reticule in the excitement of her hasty departure. Flustered, she ordered the coachman to return to the Governor’s mansion so she might ask Adam to look for it. Thinking she might have dropped it outside when she and Adam left the house, Alexa retraced her steps while she sent the coachman inside to look for her husband. And then she saw him, but he was not alone.

  Gwen was pressed so close to Adam’s hard frame that they appeared as one. After a kiss that Alexa was certain went on forever, she watched stunned while Adam took up his ladylove and started off for some unknown destination. Alexa’s distress was such that she was unaware of the strangled sob that passed between her parted lips.

  Startled, Adam heard the sound and whirled, fearing they had been discovered by one or more of the guests. He was completely unprepared to confront his wife’s astounded face: one fist stuffed in her mouth, the other clenched in the folds of her red dress.

  “Oh, God,” he groaned as if in agony as he roughly set a smirking Gwen on her feet. “I thought you left.” Dismay made his voice gruff.

  “Obviously,” Alexa choked out. “But you won’t have to tell me twice.” Turning in a froth of red, Alexa began running back along the path toward the carriage, desperate to escape the sight of Adam with another woman in his arms. The night was dark, the way strewn with loose stones, and Alexa’s body awkward and ungainly. In her haste to flee from Gwen’s smirking face and Adam’s confusion, she tripped. Her ankle turned and she fell heavily to the ground, her stomach taking the brunt of the fall.

  She was halfway up before Adam gained his wits and rushed to her side. “Alexa, my love, are you hurt? Oh my God, I wouldn’t have this happen for the world!” He began a slow but frantic search of her limbs for any sign of injury, but thankfully found none.

  “Don’t touch me, Adam!”

  “I’m sorry, Alexa.” Adam rejoined lamely. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “I want to go home, Adam,” Alexa said shakily.

  Still fearing she might be hurt in some way. Adam cradled her gently in his arms and carried her back to the carriage, settling her on the seat and sliding in beside her. “What made you come back?” he asked once she was made comfortable. The coachman, at Adam’s signal, slowly started forward, doing his best not to add further to Alexa’s distress. From a distance Gwen watched, frowning.

  “I suddenly discovered I lost my reticule somewhere and came back to look for it.”

  “Are … are you certain you’re not hurt? What about the baby?”

  “There seem to be no bones broken,” Alexa allowed grudgingly, fixing Adam with a contemptuous glare.

  “Alexa, allow me to explain. I had too much to drink and … and … forgive me … Gwen means nothing to me. She offered …”

  “It doesn’t matter. Adam.” Alexa cut him off in mid-sentence. “You owe me no explanations. I know why you married me and you never promised to be faithful.”

  Groaning inwardly Adam decided not to pursue the matter further, thereby adding to Alexa’s distress. Plenty of time for explanations later when she had calmed down. For nearly an hour they traveled in silence.

  Suddenly Alexa doubled over, clutching her middle convulsively. A groan of anguish escaped her throat and beads of perspiration dotted her furrowed brow. Adam turned deathly white, more frightened than he had ever been in his life.

  “What is it. Alexa? Is it the baby? Oh, God, what have I done to you?”

  “No … no!” cried Alexa, biting her lip against the pain, “it is too early! Help me. Adam! Help me!”

  Her plea tearing him apart, Adam urged the coachman dangerously faster as he tenderly cradled Alexa’s tormented body in his arms, all the while cursing Gwen, cursing fate, but mostly cursing himself. He had never felt so helpless or so useless in his life.

  Adam was eternally grateful his plantation lay not too far from the city, situated on the south bank of the Savannah River. Traveling as fast as safety allowed, they reached Foxworth Manor shortly and Adam was galloping up the stairs two at a time with Alexa in his arms while the coachman was dispatched posthaste back to Savannah for the doctor.

  With shaking hands Adam undressed Alexa, slipped a nightgown over her head and tucked her in bed. “Are the pains getting any better, my love?” he asked anxiously, hopefully.

  Biting her lip to keep from crying out. Alexa shook her head negatively. In an attempt to ease her pain. Adam poured cool water into the basin and gently bathed the perspiration from her face and neck, though Alexa was in too much agony to appreciate his effort. Her one consuming thought as she drifted in and out of pain was that Adam would have made love to Gwen had she not interrupted at an inopportune moment. And she was about to lose her baby because of it.

  Two hours later the doctor from Savannah arrived and Adam reluctantly left Alexa’s side while he made a thorough examination of his patient. A half-hour later he confronted Adam in the hallway, shaking his head sadly. “I’m sorry, Lord Penwell, but I can detect no heartbeat. Your wife told me she fell. Evidently the child suffered the brunt of the fall. I’m afraid there is nothing more I can do except offer help in aborting the dead fetus.”

  Adam sagged against the wall, glad for its support. He was stunned at what his lust had wrought. “Does Alexa know, doctor?” he asked jerkily.

  “No, I thought it best not to cause her any more anguish than necessary. She’ll need all her strength for the birthing.” He made to reenter the bedroom, then turned back to Adam. “If one of your people is experienced in midwifery, send for her. I’ll be glad for the help.”

  Adam nodded and rang for Jem, asking him to summon Mammy Lou, the elderly woman who delivered all the babies born on the plantation. She was competent and intelligent and should prove capable of following the doctor’s directions.

  To Adam’s tormented mind it seemed that he paced outside the door for hours, but in fact only two were to pass before Alexa emitted a piercing shriek that sent shivers up and down his spine. Then all was quiet. F
ear for Alexa nearly caused him to go rushing into the bedroom despite the doctor’s orders to remain outside. His hand was reaching for the doorknob when the panel opened and Mammy Lou stepped out carrying a tiny bundle swaddled in a white cloth.

  At Adam’s inquiring look, Mammy Lou said, “He didn’t have a chance, Mastah Adam. His tiny skull was crushed.”

  “It was a boy?”

  “Yas, suh. Perfect in every way, though he couldn’t have weighed more than three pounds. I’m sorry, suh.”

  “Tell Jem to have the carpenter build a small box. Mammy Lou,” Adam said, his voice catching painfully in his throat. “We’ll have the funeral in the morning.” Mammy Lou started to walk away with her tiny bundle. “Wait!” said Adam suddenly. “I’d like to see him.”

  Mammy Lou looked dubious but finally uncovered the still form and offered him to Adam’s view. Almost reverently Adam regarded the lifeless child, blood of his blood, flesh of his flesh, and then he turned away, unable to restrain the tears streaming down his cheeks. Mammy Lou continued down the stairs and Adam, steeling himself to face Alexa, entered the bedroom.

  Alexa looked incredibly small and pale lying in the bed with her eyes closed. She did not stir when Adam entered, nor did she acknowledge his presence in any way. Immediately the doctor drew Adam aside.

  “I did all I could, Lord Penwell.” Doctor Lambert shrugged, his weary face etched with sadness. “It was as I expected. The child’s skull was crushed in the fall. It’s a terrible blow to your wife. I know, but Lady Foxworth is young and healthy, there will be plenty of time for other children.”

  “How is my wife, doctor?” Adam asked in a low voice.

  “As well as can be expected. As births go this one wasn’t particularly long or difficult. But I’m afraid your wife is taking the stillbirth badly. She’ll need all your support and love to surmount this tragedy.”

  “By God she’ll have it!” vowed Adam in a hoarse whisper. If she’ll accept it, he thought but did not add.

  His job done. Doctor Lambert prepared to leave, moving about the room gathering up his instruments and packing them in his medical bag. “Summon me immediately should a fever develop,” the doctor said in parting.

  “Is there much danger of that?” Adam asked sharply.

  “There is always danger of fever. See that she takes plenty of liquids and stays in bed a week or two.” Then he was gone.

  Gingerly Adam approached the bed but refrained from speaking should Alexa be sleeping. When she slowly turned her head and opened her eyes, Adam was stunned as well as saddened by the hurt and bewildered look lurking in their violet depths.

  “He’s dead. My baby’s dead, Adam,” she said in a flat voice devoid of all emotion.

  “I know, my love. It hurts me, too. I wanted him as badly as you did. But there will be other children. We’ve plenty of time.”

  Alexa blinked. Though she was weary beyond bearing, her voice, surprisingly strong, conveyed her contempt. “How can you say that. Adam? You married me for one reason only, to give your child a name. Now we have nothing! There is no child! Your obligation to me is ended.”

  “Alexa, my love,” Adam reasoned, “you’re tired and distraught, and this is no time to discuss our affairs. You blame me for our baby’s death and God knows you are probably right. I blame myself. But don’t judge me now, Alexa, wait until the hurt passes and we have time to talk.”

  “You’re right, Adam, I am tired. I want to be alone. You can’t possibly understand how I feel. My baby meant everything to me. At long last I would have someone to love me for myself. Now I have no one.” She turned her face to the wall.

  “You have me, Alexa,” Adam whispered softly. But she was already asleep.

  The next day the tiny baby was buried beneath a live oak tree in a small box lined with velvet. Alexa was in no condition to attend for she awoke burning with fever. The doctor was sent for and he immediately ordered cooling baths to bring down the fever. Adam insisted on performing that task for his wife and none could persuade him otherwise. For three days and nights Alexa waged a violent battle against the raging infection, and on the fourth day emerged victorious as the fever broke.

  During those desperate days when Alexa hovered between life and death, Adam refused to leave her side, patiently forcing life-giving liquids down her parched throat, spoon by painful spoon. Only when Doctor Lambert assured him she would live was he persuaded to leave her side.

  It was during his long vigil at Alexa’s bedside that Adam learned of his wife’s attraction to the Fox. Time and again she called out his name in her delirium, stunning Adam. They had met so briefly that he was astounded she could have formed such an attachment to the privateer. But obviously the Fox had impressed Alexa greatly for her to call out his name so desperately, Adam thought. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine Alexa would form a romantic attachment for Fox. Had he known, he would have made certain things were done differently.

  Though Alexa’s physical recuperation pleased the doctor, her mental state definitely did not. Her melancholia reached a point where it threatened to destroy her, as the doctor was quick to impress upon Adam. “Is there nothing you can do, Lord Penwell?” he asked worriedly. “Your wife’s body has mended nicely but she has lost the desire to live. Was that baby so important to her that her mind refuses to look to the future?”

  Adam shrugged helplessly. He had tried to talk to Alexa but she refused to listen. She blamed him for her baby’s death and so far nothing he could do or say consoled her. “I’ve tried, Lord knows I’ve tried to get through to her,” he told Dr. Lambert.

  “Is there no one who can talk to her?” the doctor suggested. “Should there be, I strongly advise you to do it soon.”

  After that conversation Adam was thoughtful a long time, determined to go to any lengths to bring Alexa out of her despondency. Somehow, someway, he’d find someone or something to save Alexa from retreating from life. Desperate situations called for drastic measures, and considering what he was about to do it was obvious he was driven by desperation.

  Alexa sat listlessly in the lounge Adam had thoughtfully pulled up to the window, her hands folded motionless in her lap. She knew she should be out taking exercise in the late winter sunshine but she could not gather the energy to care. Frozen in her own private hell Alexa drew more and more into a shell of her own making.

  Hattie was careful to dress her attractively in soft, flowing robes and brush her dark hair until it shone like glass, but it mattered little to Alexa how she appeared to others. She knew both the doctor and Adam were concerned about her but she was content to sit and let the world go by. How could she make them understand she had no intention of dying just yet? When she tried to explain they refused to believe her, especially in light of the way she repeatedly pushed her food away when it was forced upon her. Didn’t they realize that she needed little nourishment to sustain her dormant body? What she did need was time. Time to come to grips with her grief and time to evaluate her feelings for Adam.

  There were times in the past weeks when she actually felt sorry for her husband. His own grief appeared genuine, but when he attempted to explain about Gwen, she would hear none of it. She couldn’t, not yet. Meanwhile she was content to hibernate like an animal whose bodily functions stopped for long periods of time while she existed in a deep, dark void.

  As was his custom since her illness, Adam bid Alexa goodnight before he retired to the room he had been using since Alexa’s illness. Disappointment etched his features when she barely acknowledged his gesture, as if it was not worth the effort. When Hattie came to ready her for sleep she allowed herself to be handled like a child and tucked into bed. The faithful servant spent a few minutes banking the fire, then left the room, softly closing the door behind her. So deep had Alexa sunk into despair that she was unaware of how close she hovered to total retreat from life.

  Sleep. Healing, almost like death but without the same permanence: elusive. As much as Alexa desired i
t, it would not claim her. Thoughts. Crushing, too complicated to face: painful. They would not stop. And then a noise, barely a breath, yet Alexa sensed it, every fiber of her being attuned to the raspy whisper that sometimes haunted her dreams.

  “Alexa, my love.”

  Adam? No, not Adam. Fox! But how … ? Raising on one elbow, Alexa peered into the darkness, imagining a masked face lurking within the shadows. “Who is there? Adam? Is that you?”

  “No. Alexa, not Adam.” There was no mistaking the husky whisper.

  “Fox! Where did you come from? You shouldn’t be here, it’s too dangerous! The English are determined to have you at the end of a rope.”

  “Would you care, milady?” he asked, stepping from a darkened corner of the room into the light of the flickering fire. Alexa’s breath lodged painfully in her throat at the welcome sight of him, his powerful, well-muscled body moving with the grace of a sleek cat. He looked tough, lean, and sinewy, and Alexa wished he would show her his face.

  “You know I would, Fox,” came Alexa’s low reply. “But why have you come? You know Adam is a royalist. If he found you here he would turn you in. Oh. Fox, please leave now before you are discovered!”

  “I’ll take my chances, milady,” rasped Fox hoarsely. “I came because I heard you were ill. I had to see for myself that you were recovering. I … I heard you hold your life in little regard.”

  A stunned expression marched across Alexa’s face. “Where … where did you hear that?”

  “I have my ways,” he said mysteriously. “Is it true? Have you no desire to recover?”

  Alexa’s dusky lashes swept her pale cheeks, unwilling to show Fox just how close he had come to the truth. “I lost my baby, Fox,” she said, as if that explained everything.

  “I know,” he sympathized. “But you are young. Alexa, there will be others.”

  “The child could have been yours, you know.”

  Fox was quiet a long time. “Aye,” he acknowledged sadly, quietly.