by Brenda Joyce
“I understand,” Edgemont replied.
And because he knew the girls were at the door, undoubtedly pressing their ears to it and eavesdropping, Stephen said, “Ladies, please come in.”
The door opened, and the two stunned young women walked forward, their eyes riveted on him.
He smiled and handed Olivia a very large check. “This is for new wardrobes and any other necessities that you and your sister might need.”
She didn’t even look at it. Instead, tears came to her eyes. “We cannot possibly accept this,” she whispered, reminding him so much of her sister.
Corey jabbed her with her elbow and said quickly, “Thank you so much, Your Grace.”
SHE WAS A KEPT woman now.
Alexandra smiled, unashamed, tingling right down to her toes. In fact, she was filled with joy and happiness. Stephen’s handsome image was engraved on her mind. In it he was smiling, his eyes warm. They were lovers now—and she was deeply and irrevocably in love with him, as well.
It was midday, and she was working on one of Lady Henredon’s older gowns, a very lovely Parisian couture creation of lace and chiffon. It was hard to concentrate. Several days had passed, days that felt like a dream come true, days in which she wandered about Clarewood very much like its mistress, while being thoroughly well loved at night. She did not feel like a mistress or, worse, a fallen woman. Oh, no. She felt like a bride.
She had to pinch herself, because she knew this was not a fairy tale, that she was not a bride, and that there would not be a happily-ever-after ending. But that knowledge could not change her feelings—feelings that seemed to be growing by leaps and bounds.
She’d fallen in love with him before taking up her place in his bed again, but her love seemed to intensify with every passing moment. And how could it not, when he treated her like a wife, and when even his entire staff was reverent and deferential to her? The chef had begun asking her to plan the day’s menus. The housekeeper had begun to ask her which linens she preferred. Her own personal maid would ask her which of the new gowns he had insisted she buy she intended to wear for supper, and which for the next day. How could she not feel like a cherished bride? And most of all, it felt as if this interlude would last forever—as if he loved her, just a little, in return.
It was so hard to chide herself for thinking that. And her warmth increased as she thought of how he’d awoken her before dawn to make love again, this time slowly and tenderly, before he left for a midday meeting in Manchester. He’d even kissed her goodbye.
Alexandra paused in her sewing, smiling. He was such an extraordinary man.
She was living in a fairy tale with her own prince charming.
How had she ever thought him a cruel, unkind man? He had devoted his life to alleviating the misery of others. She had quickly come to realize that as much as he revered his duty to Clarewood, which was bound up with his sense of duty to his deceased father, the success of his philanthropies was even more important to him.
They had fallen into a routine, with each of them going about their affairs by day, and then sitting down together to a wonderfully intimate supper in the evening. He had stopped going out to attend other social engagements, though she knew those engagements existed—after all, he was a premier peer and had many social obligations. Yet ever since their relationship had changed, he had stayed in every single night to be with her.
She knew the time would soon come when he would begin going out again—more evenings than not, no doubt—and she told herself that she did not care. She refused to think about spending the evenings alone at Clarewood while he went out, or the fact that if she were a bride, she would be going out with him.
And he was as generous as he had said he would be. Alexandra looked down at her raspberry silk gown. It was the loveliest dress she had ever worn.
A week ago a very famous seamstress had appeared with two assistants, informing her that His Grace had insisted an entire wardrobe be made for her. She had tried to refuse. They had scattered the loveliest, costliest fabrics she had ever seen about the drawing room, making it so hard to breathe, so shocked had she been by the lavish display. She had itched to touch the gorgeous bolts of silk and chiffon, of satin and velvet. But she had refrained. Then they had piled up equally lavish samples of stunning and expensive trims. Alexandra had been in disbelief—why would he spend such a fortune on her? She had spent the day trying to refuse each and every suggestion, but in the end, if she so much as indicated that she liked something, the seamstress instantly decided to make a day dress or an evening gown from it. Five dresses and an evening gown had already been delivered. Clearly an entire team of seamstresses had been sewing ever since the day of the fitting.
But one terrible problem loomed. She hadn’t told him about the child.
Alexandra instantly felt ill. He hadn’t seemed to notice the ongoing nausea. Surely he would have said something if he had. Not a morning passed that she did not rush off to find a chamber pot, but he was already downstairs by then—or off the grounds and on his way to town. She cleaned the pots herself, though she thought her personal maid knew what was going on. He had accused her of deception once, but the deception she was now engaged in was far worse than misleading him about her innocence. A child’s life and future were at stake.
She did not know what to do. She thought every single day about the child she was carrying and his right to know about it. But even though it seemed like a faraway memory, she hadn’t forgotten his rage when he’d thought her a scheming fortune hunter. She never wanted to be accused and hurt that way again. She had been so certain he would think the child a plot to trap him into marriage if she revealed her condition to him. Now, she was not so sure. Now she wondered if he might understand that it had been a fateful accident. Now she wondered if he might continue their affair, even knowing she was pregnant.
She did not want to lose him—not yet.
He had every right to know that he would be a father. And he would be a wonderful father, she had no doubt. Her son or daughter had every right to the benefits of having the Duke of Clarewood as a father. She believed that with all her heart and all her being. But when she told him, their relationship might end. If he thought she was trying to manipulate him yet again, it would certainly be over.
Alexandra was so deeply in love that she could hardly imagine their relationship ending. Yet she hadn’t lost every shred of common sense that she possessed. He would learn the truth in a few more months, when her condition became obvious.
And since he was going to find out about the child sooner or later, it was becoming clear that she should tell him now. It would relieve her conscience. It was the right thing to do. Still, she remained afraid of how he might react. If he could accept the news, she would cling to their affair until he lost interest in her.
This might feel like love, and for her it might actually be love, but in truth it was only an arrangement, though Stephen made it so easy to forget.
Now Alexandra stood and stretched. She’d turned a small withdrawing room on the ground floor into her sewing room. She rubbed her aching back and walked over to the window. As she looked outside, she saw an oddly familiar carriage parked in front of the house. Tension instantly began to roil in her stomach.
Stephen was gone for the day, and she could not greet his callers. She stared, suddenly grim. She would have to hide until Guillermo sent the visitor away. So much for feeling like a beloved bride.
She was surprised when Guillermo knocked, the sound now familiar to her. She hurried to the door, thinking that there must be a problem. “What is it?”
“You have callers, Lady St. Xavier and Mrs. de Warenne.”
She blanched. “No, that’s impossible—they must be calling on the duke.”
“The ladies have explicitly stated that they are calling on you.”
Her alarm was instantaneous. “Send them away!”
“May I suggest you entertain them in the Gold Room, Miss Bolton?”
>
She was shocked. In the entire week and a half that she had been at Clarewood, Guillermo had never offered an opinion, much less advice. “No good will come of this.”
“To the contrary, His Grace is very fond of both young ladies, and I believe he would insist you take their call.” He left.
Alexandra was dumbfounded. She took a breath and decided that he would never have said such a thing if he did not believe it. And she was filled with dread—while she had liked both women, she couldn’t imagine why they had called. She hadn’t thought about it, but the entire town had to know that she was living at Clarewood, and the most vicious gossips like Lady Witte would surely be accusing her of being Stephen’s mistress. He might have quelled some gossip, but their affair could not be a secret now.
Ariella and Elysse were in the Gold Room when she arrived, chatting about someone she did not know, a cousin named Margery. Instantly both women turned to her, smiling as if they were thrilled to see her.
She was relieved, but she was cautious, too, wondering if the daggers would soon appear. “Good afternoon,” she said carefully. “It is so pleasant to see you both again. But I am afraid that His Grace is not in at the moment.”
“We know,” Elysse said, smiling. “But we are here to see you, and this call is long overdue. We wanted to make certain that Stephen is treating you well. You seem to be in one piece—one very lovely piece, actually.”
Alexandra tensed. What did the other woman mean?
“Actually, we are going shopping,” Ariella said, stepping forward. She gave Elysse a quelling look. “And we decided that you must join us.”
“Do you want to go shopping? Stephen will hardly mind, and he is gone for the day, anyway. Although he can be so difficult,” Elysse said. “By the way, we think you are very brave to be putting up with him. He is renowned as a terrible host.”
Alexandra started.
“He rarely has guests here, and when he does, they do not stay for very long,” Ariella explained. “It is not that he shows rudeness or ill will, but he is too preoccupied to entertain. Though he is intolerant of those who overstay their welcome.”
They were trying to ascertain the extent of her relationship, Alexandra decided. “He has been an excellent host,” she said carefully.
Both women seemed delighted by her response. When they simply smiled and did not speak, she added, “I’m sure you have heard that I had a falling out with my father. The duke was kind enough to suggest that I stay here until I could make other arrangements.”
Elysse sobered. “That is awful, about your having to leave your home,” she said. “We are both so sorry. However, we are pleased that you have not joined in the universal condemnation of Stephen as a host.”
“I would never speak ill of him,” Alexandra said tersely.
“Apparently he is capable of being a good host—when he wants to be,” Elysse said with a smile.
Ariella said softly, “He must be smitten.”
Alexandra tensed and bit her lip. She did not know what to say. Surely they knew she was his lover, not truly his guest. Yet these women were acting as if there was nothing wrong with her being Stephen’s mistress. “He is a gentleman,” she finally said. “He is kind…a pleasing and thoughtful host. If I have overstayed my welcome, I have not noticed it.”
The two women exchanged another glance, both remaining delighted. Then Ariella laughed. “You are clearly welcome here. Very few know how kind he is, Miss Bolton. His reputation is that he is cold, demanding, difficult and heartless. And I will admit that with most people he is very autocratic and rude. Clearly he has changed.”
“And you have not lost patience with him,” Elysse added.
Alexandra’s cheeks were on fire, and she was breathing with some difficulty. Did they expect a confession? “I doubt anyone would be foolish enough to lose patience with His Grace.”
“I lose patience with him all the time. Stephen can be a boor. He can also be boring,” Ariella stated.
Alexandra felt her eyes widen. “He is far too clever to ever be boring, and he is actually charming,” she began, then stopped abruptly.
“Well, I am very glad—” Elysse grinned “—to see you in such good spirits, and so utterly loyal. You must be terribly good for him.”
Alexandra was speechless.
Ariella looped their arms together. “Miss Bolton, I have known Stephen since he was nine years old, and he and my brother are best friends. We are thrilled that he has finally found someone as genuine as you to light up his dark, dreary life.”
Alexandra pulled away. “I don’t know what you mean!”
“We knew he was uncommonly interested in you when he helped your father home at Sara’s birthday party,” Elysse said. “Because we know Stephen so well, and he would not have bothered otherwise.”
She felt helpless—as if being pushed along by a huge gale into a confession she did not want to make. “I had nowhere to go, as I said. He was kind enough to offer me accommodations, that is all.”
“Good,” Ariella said. “As it was his fault you wound up booted in the first place—was it not? He is honorable. So he did what was right.”
Alexandra sat down, only to realize she was being rude, as she hadn’t allowed her guests to sit first. If she confessed her feelings to these two women, would they laugh at her? Mock her? Scorn her? She was beginning to think they were genuinely pleased that she was carrying on with Stephen.
Ariella sat down beside her on the sofa and took her hand. “Love is such a strange bedfellow. When I first laid eyes on Emilian, it was all over for me—though I thought him a Romany vaida! I was smitten, besotted, obsessed, never mind that he was partly Roma and my father disapproved. And it was a difficult journey, one that, at times, seemed impossible. But he is the love of my life,” she said happily, and squeezed Alexandra’s hand.
“I was eight when I first met Alexi,” Elysse said cheerfully, sitting down on the other side of Alexandra. “I thought he was the most dashing boy I had ever seen—and the most annoying! We spent our childhood years trying to impress or outright ignore one another—until he rescued me from scandal and then abandoned me at the altar. But we found our way back to one another, and I could not live without him,” she said, smiling.
Alexandra had to smile. Her heart was racing now. Those were beautiful love stories—so unlike her own. But they clearly knew she was Stephen’s lover and even seemed to know that she loved him—and to approve. “But this is wrong!” she burst out. “Why don’t you condemn me?”
“Because we like you,” Elysse said firmly. “I liked you the moment we met. And we love Stephen—enough to worry about him. And sometimes there is writing on the wall.” She grinned.
Alexandra did not have a clue as to what she meant.
“Besides, love can be so impatient,” Ariella said, somewhat wickedly. “Good, now that is settled.” She stood. “Come on. We are going into town, I need gloves, and Elysse needs clothing for her baby. You can accompany us—I am sure there is something you might wish to buy. And don’t worry, if we come across any jackals, we will fend them off for you.”
“Better yet,” Elysse said, “we will send them to Stephen, and he will dispatch them for us.”
Alexandra bit her lip, hard. It seemed that she had somehow made two new and wonderful friends.
ALEXANDRA HURRIED downstairs, hoping to catch Stephen before he became too involved in his daily affairs. The girls had kept her out past supper last night; she had gotten home at half past nine. He had been in the library, reading contracts, having delayed supper until she returned. He had seemed pleased that she had spent the afternoon with the two women, and had refused to let her apologize. And then they had forgotten about supper. He’d pulled her close, and they’d made love on the rug, in front of the fire.
Eventually they’d gone up to bed, and this morning she had overslept. It was half past ten. She ran down the hall just as Stephen stepped into the corridor. Not for the first
time, they practically collided, but he caught her and steadied her.
She let him pull her close. “We didn’t speak last night except for a moment, and I was afraid you’d be gone by the time I came downstairs.”
He slid his hand up to the nape of her neck and into her loosely coiled hair. “I wasn’t in the mood to converse last night—as you well know.”
She blushed. He had been so terribly amorous. “I meant to send word that I would be late. I never meant for you to wait on me—and to miss supper. I am sorry, Stephen.”
His smile was indolent. “I said I didn’t mind, and I never say what I don’t mean. In fact, I am glad Elysse and Ariella got you out of the house. You never said—was it an enjoyable day?”
She nodded. “I did not buy anything, but I helped Elysse choose her baby things.” She stopped.
He stared.
She was uneasy. When she made those kinds of slips, she had the distinct sensation that he knew she was with child. But if he knew, he would confront her, she was certain.
He broke the tension. “Were you treated well?”
She was relieved by the question. “The shopkeepers treated me like royalty, Stephen.”
He smiled, pleased. “Then maybe you will start going out more often. And why didn’t you make any purchases? Didn’t you see anything you liked?”
She bit her lip. How could she tell him that she would never feel comfortable using his credit?
He pulled her close. “I thought so. It would please me, Alexandra, if you went shopping. In fact, it would please me very much if you spent an excessive amount on yourself.”
She had to smile back at him. “I think you mean it.”
“I do,” he murmured. Then, “Come into the library with me.”
His eyes were so warm that for a moment, she thought he meant to make love to her there in the bright light of midmorning. But a moment later he was opening a locked desk drawer. He straightened to face her, and she could not see what he was holding. “It is my pleasure to give this to you, Alexandra.”