An Impossible Attraction

by Brenda Joyce

  It was late afternoon. She’d fled to her room after their breakfast, intent on escaping both him and the memories of their passion, which he’d so effortlessly aroused. But it was impossible. He was Clarewood, and everywhere she turned, she felt his presence and his power.

  She remained in disbelief that he would approach her yet again. That disbelief was joined by dismay—and also panic. The sooner she escaped Clarewood, the better, she thought.

  The coach was passing the white limestone fountain now.

  She would never rekindle their affair. There was nothing to consider. He’d had his chance and she’d had hers, and they’d both made monumental mistakes. They were done. She did not need a protector. And even if she did, she would never accept Stephen in the role, not after all that had happened, not even if some lost, lonely part of her needed someone just then.

  She tried to think about Owen, but that had become impossible now.

  Instead, the shocking passion she and Stephen had shared kept returning to her mind, but it did not matter. She would never forget his cruelty after. She forced herself to recall every detail, every horrid word. She had been filled with joy and expectation after their lovemaking, and then he had hurt her terribly with his false accusations.

  He was hateful!

  But she had lied to him.

  Alexandra hugged herself. She wished he hadn’t rescued her from her London room. She wished he’d become a distant, blurred memory. She wished he hadn’t fed her that delicious, desperately needed breakfast. But he had done all of those things.

  She told herself that he was a tyrant, used to having both servants and noblemen jump to do his bidding, and that he had no idea as to what it was like to ever be refused. But she understood him a bit better now, and she could see how such a difficult childhood, coupled with the power he now had, would have turned him into a hard, uncompromising man.

  She was so nervous she felt sick. And that was another reason to leave—the most compelling one of all: so he wouldn’t find out about her condition. She never wanted to be accused of being a scheming fortune hunter again.

  She could manage on her own. She would manage on her own. There was no other choice.

  She was so close to tears, confused and uncertain. She thought about her father and, because it hurt too much, she instantly shoved the image of him screaming at her and throwing her out from her mind. Despite his cruelty to her, she hoped that Olivia was looking out for him and Corey. She so wished she was at home with her sisters—and that she had never laid eyes on the Duke of Clarewood.

  Images, heated and frenzied, flashed through her mind, images of her beneath him, in his powerful arms. His blue eyes were brilliant, blinding; his smile was warm….

  She sat up straighter, staring outside. She must not recall the passion they had shared. The elm trees lining the long drive were now entirely red. The trees closer to the house were red and gold. The sky was a pale blue, but the sun was shining. She could no longer see his coach. In a moment or so, he would be entering the house.

  Alexandra stood up. He was going to have to let her go. There was no other choice. It was time to go back to her tiny room. Her life was an impoverished one, and staying here for too long would simply make the return to reality worse.

  Biting her lip, Alexandra put the embroidery aside and stood. She paused before the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. She’d pinned her hair up, refusing a maid’s help, but the simple coil wasn’t tight enough.

  Dread churned in her belly, and she started downstairs. When she reached the ground floor, she heard male voices and knew he had company. She tensed. She would have to delay their battle—and she had no doubt it would indeed be a battle.

  She had no intention of eavesdropping, but she could hear exasperation in Clarewood’s tone. “You need to rein in your wife, Alexi, and your sister.”

  Good intentions forgotten, Alexandra stepped closer to the library doors, which were completely open.

  “Unlike you, I find a woman’s independence admirable. And if Elysse has made up her mind to thwart you, I may even cheer her on. Someone needs to take you down, Stephen.”

  Alexandra could barely believe what she thought she was hearing—Alexi’s wife was disputing Clarewood? And Alexi de Warenne was daring to speak to him as an equal? She crept still closer to the door and looked into the room.

  Alexi was amused. He was a handsome man, standing there in riding clothes, grinning. Clarewood, however, was dangerously annoyed. “I don’t know why I put up with all of you.”

  “You put up with us because we won’t be jettisoned, though God only knows why we put up with you and your moods,” Alexi said amicably. He went to the sideboard and began pouring drinks. “Have you ever thought about the fact that you were a dour boy—and now, you are a dour man—though thankfully not as dour as old Tom?”

  “Have you come here to insult me? My complaints are justified. I specifically asked the ladies to find my mother a suitable match—not to shove her at the damned American.”

  Alexi laughed. “As I said, independent minds.” He handed Stephen a drink, and to Alexandra’s surprise, they clicked glasses, Clarewood actually seemed to be softening. Alexi added, “I don’t think your mother will obey you in this particular matter. Besides, they make a striking couple, don’t you agree?”

  Clarewood choked. “Do not provoke me.”

  “Why not? You are easy to provoke, and it is good for you when you are refuted, disputed and downright disobeyed.”

  Clarewood gave him a dark look. “I gave them an opportunity to aid me in finding the dowager duchess a proper suitor. Now I am dismissing them from this task.”

  Alexi saluted him. “If they are on a trail, they will be as eager as bloodhounds. They will not cease and desist, my friend.”

  “Lay down the law,” Clarewood said.

  Alexi gave him an incredulous look, then sobered. “By the way, Charlotte Witte was at Harmon House last night. I hope you are finished with her. She was beyond any pale.”

  Clarewood inhaled sharply. “What did she do?”

  “She told Lizzie that Alexandra Bolton ruined her gowns, and then went on to elaborate that Miss Bolton has been thrown out by her father and is now living in a London slum. She was gleeful, by the by. And she seems bent on making certain that no one will ever give Miss Bolton their orders.” He stared. “She had nothing pleasant to say on the subject of your latest paramour.”

  Alexandra suddenly felt so ill that she reeled and had to grab the door frame to right herself.

  “Charlotte has gone too far.” Clarewood slammed down his drink. “I made the mistake of allowing her back into my bed for a night or two. But I am tired of her rumor-mongering. Miss Bolton does not deserve it.”

  Alexi turned and spotted Alexandra. “She most certainly does not deserve any of this.”

  She froze with dread.

  Clarewood whirled, and instantly he said, “Are you ill again?”

  “No.” She straightened. “I am sorry, I did not mean to eavesdrop, but I had thought to conclude our earlier conversation.” She knew she flushed. Did he intend to defend her from Charlotte Witte and her lies?

  Clarewood reached her, steadying her with a firm grasp upon her arm. She met his gaze and thought she saw concern there, then realized she had to be wrong.

  He stared carefully at her, then asked, “Do you know my friend Alexi de Warenne? Alexi, come meet Miss Bolton, my houseguest.”

  Her heart thundered as she tore her gaze from Clarewood, expecting to see mockery, disdain or contempt on Alexi’s handsome face. But he only smiled warmly at her. “Good afternoon, Miss Bolton. I believe you have recently met my wife. She spoke very highly of you.”

  Alexandra was so surprised, she felt her knees buckle. Clarewood grasped her again. “You need to sit down,” he said firmly.

  She turned to look at him, then said to Alexi, “I enjoyed meeting your wife and sister, sir. It is nice to meet you, as we
ll.”

  He kept smiling as he looked back and forth between them, then said, “Well, I am off. I have been told I must be home by six, and as you know, my wife rules the roost.”

  Clarewood looked at him, shaking his head.

  Alexi grinned, then bowed to Alexandra. “Do not mind this beast. Beasts can be tamed.” He walked out.

  Alexandra felt as if she’d been hit by a whirlwind. Clarewood was so different around Alexi de Warenne; clearly they were close, and just as clearly they cared deeply for one another. He was close to Elysse and Ariella, too, and—most amazingly of all—he was angry with Charlotte for her lies and attacks.

  “You are staring,” he said softly.

  Did that make him human after all?

  When she did not speak, he said, “Have you been ill again, Alexandra? I expect the truth this time.”

  He still held her arm, she realized, and pulled away. “I have not been ill. I have been embroidering this afternoon, and I saw your coach return.” She breathed in. “Mr. de Warenne is as charming as his wife.”

  “Yes, he can be a charming rogue—when he wants to be.” He left her side. Alexandra watched him pour a small sherry, then return and hand it to her. She shook her head, but he said, “I insist.”

  She took a small sip and realized she was staring into his dark blue eyes.

  He said softly, “Have you reconsidered?”

  Her heart slammed. He had meant to defend her. He wasn’t entirely unkind. And he was beloved by some—the de Warennes seemed to care for him, at least, so perhaps he was not such a beast.

  “I cannot,” she said, but even as she spoke, her heart began to pound.

  “Why not? You cannot deny that an attraction rages between us, and I wish to take care of you.”

  Breathlessly, she asked, “What will you do about Charlotte?”

  “She will never utter another word, malicious or otherwise, about you.” His gaze turned searching. “When I said I would be your protector, I meant it in every possible way.”

  And she believed him. Her heart lurched, racing all over again. She trembled, aware of the rapid warming of her body and the desire to step closer to him. If she did, he would take her into his arms—and she would be safe, as never before.

  “I despise injustice,” he murmured. “There has been injustice, has there not? I was terribly wrong to accuse you of scheming to trap me into marriage.”

  Tears arose. “I did not think my innocence important,” she whispered. “I was afraid you would walk away.”

  He watched a tear fall. “Why are you crying?”

  What could she say? That she had fallen in love with him at first sight? That he had hurt her terribly? That she missed her sisters, her home, and yes, even Edgemont? That she dreaded returning to her hovel of a room? That she hated being whispered about, being scorned?

  His expression softened. He slid one large hand up her neck, then covered the side of her face. Holding her head still, he leaned forward. “You cannot deny me now. I want to make this right, Alexandra,” he said, and he kissed her.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ALEXANDRA FOUND HERSELF in Clarewood’s powerful embrace. She tensed as his mouth hovered over hers, as his breath feathered her lips. She had never wanted anything as much as she did his kiss—and, frankly, his protection.

  As if he knew, she felt him smile, and then he murmured her name. Helplessly she slipped her hands onto his shoulders. He looked at her. She looked back—and his blue eyes were blazing.

  She felt his hunger. Desire fisted through her. But even so, she simply could not do this.

  As he pulled her impossibly close, covering her mouth with his, claiming it fiercely, possessively, Alexandra hesitated, trying to resist him. But he kept kissing her, and at last she cried out, tightening her grasp on his shoulders, finally kissing him back.

  He made a harsh sound.

  Their mouths had fused. Now their tongues entwined. Desire made her dizzy, hollow, almost sick. She needed him desperately. His hands moved into her hair, and the thick waves fell down. He turned her and pressed her up against a wall. He pinned her there, every inch of his hard, restless body urgent and demanding against hers.

  She had never wanted anyone this way, and in that moment she knew it. Just as she knew she loved him, foolishly, stupidly and, somehow, irrevocably. And that was why this could not go on.

  “Stop,” she managed, tearing her mouth from his.

  He paused, his eyes widening in surprise.

  “I cannot restart our affair,” she gasped, pushing at him now. “Please, let me go.”

  He was so surprised, he was speechless. Then, reluctantly, he eased his grasp on her.

  Alexandra ducked beneath his arm and moved a goodly distance from him. She was shaking, and her body felt as if it were in flames. But it was her heart that hurt the most now.

  “I vow to take good care of you,” he said harshly.

  She turned and saw him watching her like a hawk. She truly did not want to resist him, but she had to. He was offering her an affair, and when it ended, her heart would be broken. She knew that now.

  “I do not blame you for mistrusting me.”

  “I cannot accept your charity or your protection,” she managed.

  His gaze was solemn, searching. “I see that your mind is made up,” he finally said. “You are a stubborn woman. But I am a stubborn man.”

  She trembled. What did that mean?

  “I am also deliberate, determined and patient. Very well. I will respect your wishes—for now.”

  She gasped. “Do not think to wage another pursuit!” She already knew she was not strong enough to resist his advances, if he truly meant to continue them.

  “You seem dismayed,” he said softly, his eyes gleaming. “And I think we both know why that is the case.”

  She began shaking her head. “You must respect my wishes entirely.”

  He folded his arms. “You are off the hook—for now. But I will make things right.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked warily.

  “You will stay here—as my respected guest. I insist.” And he smiled.

  Her heart leaped. She knew she didn’t want to leave Clarewood, especially not to return to Mr. Schumacher’s room; no one in her right mind would. But still she said, “I cannot accept.”

  “You can—and you will.” His smile became warm. “I have houseguests from time to time. It is hardly unusual.”

  “Everyone knows what happened between us! My name is already in tatters. They still whisper about me.”

  His smile faded. “Didn’t I just tell you that I would protect you—in every possible way? There will be no more gossip. I promise you that. In fact, I will even set the record straight and see to it that the world believes nothing happened between us.”

  She was disbelieving. He would tell a few cronies that she was his guest and under his protection. She had no reason to be his guest—Edgemont Way was within two hours’ drive. And though he would tell them that there had not been a seduction…She trembled. “No one will believe you.”

  “Probably not. But does it matter?” He was wry. “No one disobeys me, Alexandra—except, of course, for you. If I indicate my displeasure, this chapter ends.”

  She inhaled. God, she wanted nothing more than her good name back and the gossip to die! But though he could probably put an end to the worst of the gossip, she doubted that she would have her good name back—and there would still be scorn. Maybe not from everyone, but ladies like Charlotte Witte would always take out their knives when they saw her. Still, this would be a vast improvement. Society was used to all kinds of affairs. “Why are you being kind?”

  “I am not an unkind man, Alexandra, nor as heartless as is claimed.” He studied her for a moment. “I have an engagement tonight. Why don’t you tell Guillermo what you wish to have for supper? Now, if you will excuse me—seeing as I have been momentarily rejected, I have some reading to do.”

 
She simply stared.

  He gestured at the door.

  Alexandra realized he meant to read there in the library, and that he had just dismissed her. Still stupefied by every moment of their encounter, she rushed for the doors. When she paused to glance back at him, he was already at his desk, reading a stack of papers. He was absorbed, and he did not look up.

  Her heart stalled. If only she could have accepted his offer…if only she’d had the courage to do so.

  He glanced up.

  Alexandra fled.

  THE NEXT MORNING Alexandra learned that Stephen was an early riser.

  She didn’t know what time he had returned last night, because she’d gone to sleep at midnight, and he had yet to come in. She hadn’t exactly been waiting up for him—she had been reading a novel in bed—but she had been acutely aware of the fact that he was absent. Reading had proven impossible, as he was front and center in her mind. She kept thinking about their conversation and that stunning kiss—and what he wanted from her now. She worried about how she would shore up her defenses against him, when she hardly wanted to—when she had such inappropriate feelings for him. It had been strange going to bed in that luxurious guest room, but it had been wonderful, too. She had almost felt cared for. She had to remind herself that he merely desired her, which was a far different thing.

  How could she have fallen in love with him?

  Because there was no other explanation for her wild, turbulent emotions, her inescapable memories and her intense, undying preoccupation with him. All told, they had shared a few hours together. In sum, she hardly knew him. And for all the shared good times, there had been so much that was bad and hurtful. On the other hand, love was always inexplicable. One did not ever choose love—love chose its victims. And hadn’t she heard that he’d left a trail of broken hearts across the country? Undoubtedly she was hardly the first foolish woman to take a single look at him and fall headlong in love.

  She wished her errant feelings would vanish, but she was terribly aware of them now.

  Alexandra started downstairs, trembling with uncertainty and anticipation. It was eight o’clock in the morning. She hadn’t seen him since their last conversation, when he had said he would momentarily respect her wishes, and that she would remain at Clarewood as his guest. Guests would join their host for breakfast and politely chat about any number of mundane subjects. She hoped he expected her to join him. Foolishly, she looked forward to the encounter, even while cautioning herself that he must never know how she felt about him.