by Brenda Joyce
Stephen stared, breathing hard. He wanted to believe it, and for one moment, recalling the way she had caressed his cheek and looked at him with soft, shining eyes, he almost did. Hadn’t he been her first? Hadn’t she tried to refuse him on moral grounds? But then he recalled how he had found her and St. James in the front hall, and Alexandra had been caressing the other man’s cheek just the way she’d caressed his. He could barely breathe. “You haven’t seen them together.”
“No, I haven’t, but as I said, right now you are blind. Have you spoken to her? Really spoken to her?”
Stephen tensed and began to pace.
“I thought so. You had a terrific row and then you left. Why don’t you go home and go to sleep, and when you wake up—and recover from tonight’s overconsumption of whiskey—you can have a calm, rational discussion with her.”
Stephen turned. “I do not think I will ever be rational again.”
Alexi smiled.
“It is hardly amusing.”
“Actually, Stephen, seeing you brokenhearted and taken down a peg or two by a good woman is very amusing—and well overdue.”
A part of him did want to go home, awaken Alexandra and demand to know if she cared about him—if she loved him, even a little. And if he made love to her first, he could probably entice her into just such a declaration.
Do you love St. James?
I love you.
Do you love St. James?
Of course I love him….
“Thank you for being so understanding,” he muttered. But what if she did love him a little? After all, she was carrying his child, not Owen’s.
Alexi came over and clapped him on the shoulder. “If you tell her how you feel, or even if you don’t, and you simply offer marriage, I feel certain she will accept.”
Stephen wasn’t certain, not at all. And then he realized that didn’t matter, either. What mattered was their child. They should marry for the sake of the child.
He stared, his heart hammering. “I am not going to tell her that I love her, given the probability that she does not love me back.”
“Why not? What do you have to lose?”
“I have some pride left,” he said brusquely. He somehow knew he could not withstand making that kind of confession, not if she did not say the words to him in return.
“And that might be all you have left, if you don’t tell her how you feel,” Alexi said. “So what will you do? Allow her to run off with St. James?” His stare was piercing.
Stephen felt his anger surge. “You bloody well know I would never let my child be raised by someone else!”
“But you’ve told me a hundred times that you will be a terrible father—just like old Tom.” Alexi’s eyes were wide and innocent.
Stephen told himself that he was not going home to tell Alexandra that he had fallen in love with her, nor would he beg her to choose him over St. James. Dukes did not beg.
Dukes issued orders—and ultimatums.
Tom mocked him openly now.
“I never said Tom Mowbray was a terrible father. He was a harsh disciplinarian—but he has made me the man that I am.”
“No, you are who you are because you are a de Warenne, Stephen, and you had Julia to offset Tom’s cruelty.”
“I have to go,” Stephen said abruptly, turning.
Alexi followed him through the door. “What will you do?”
Stephen paused in the front hall. “We will marry for the sake of the child,” he said.
Alexi’s eyes widened. “I suggest you ask her pleasantly.”
Stephen smiled coldly. “I am not feeling very pleasant, Alexi.”
Alexi groaned.
ALEXANDRA SAT IN THE WINDOW seat of her bedroom at dawn, Olivia beside her, Corey curled up asleep in a nearby chair. A tray of refreshments sat on the small breakfast table to their left. Her sisters had apparently overheard them shouting at one another, and had come to Alexandra’s room immediately. They hadn’t left her even once during the course of the entire, endless night.
And endless it had been. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. Her heart ached so much. She hadn’t slept at all last night, and how could she? She had been shocked and hurt by Stephen’s anger and accusations. It was a nightmare come true. To make matters even worse, he’d left Clarewood at midnight, returning three hours later. She didn’t want to imagine where he’d gone, but there seemed to be only one possible explanation for a man leaving his home in the middle of the night like that. He’d sought comfort from another woman, she was sure.
Alexandra sat with her cheek on her raised knee. She was brokenhearted.
Olivia caressed her stiff shoulder. “What will you do?”
She lifted her head. “I will have to make myself presentable, go downstairs and continue the discussion.”
Olivia’s stare became searching. “That was not a discussion.”
“No, it was not.” Alexandra hugged both knees to her chest.
“How could he become so hateful to you when he was so kind and generous before?”
“I was afraid of this. I have never known anyone with such a temper. It is rare. But he apparently cannot withstand what he thinks is dishonesty.” She felt like crying all over again. “I was going to tell him about the child last night. Can you believe it? And I would have told him Owen was in town, too!”
Olivia took her hand. “You were right and I was wrong—at least about Clarewood.”
Corey surprised them when she said, “I think he loves Alexandra.”
Alexandra jumped, surprised to realize her sister had awoken. “I wish you were right, but I am afraid you are wrong.”
“No, I am right—two men love you, and he is angry because of Owen.”
Alexandra did not think so. He was furious over the child, just as she had expected in her heart of hearts. She slid her feet to the wood floor, which was icy cold. “I should get up. He is an early riser.” She trembled, already ill with fear.
But as she stood, a knock sounded on her door, startling her. “Come in.”
The door opened and Stephen stood there, so ravaged in appearance, his eyes so dark and determined, that she gasped in shock. Instantly she knew he’d not yet been to bed. She wondered if he’d been drinking, but it was impossible to tell. “I wish a word with you now,” he said.
She was alarmed and looked at her sisters, but they were already standing, their expressions indicating the same worry and surprise that she felt. Olivia caught her eye, and Alexandra said, “I’ll be fine,” though she knew the words were a lie.
They hurried across the room and scooted past Stephen, who did not even look at them, much less greet them. When they were gone, his hands went to his hips, his posture aggressive.
Alexandra hugged herself. “I despise arguing with you.”
“Then don’t lie.”
She debated defending herself yet again but was sure he wouldn’t believe her. “I don’t want to fight with you.”
“Good. I have no intention of fighting with you, either—not now. Not when you are carrying my child.” He paused, looking at her meaningfully.
She tensed. “Yes, I am,” she said, unsure as to his intent.
“We will marry, Alexandra, for the sake of the child.”
She was shocked.
“You will not bear my bastard,” he added. Then, “And if this was your plan, it has succeeded.”
She began to shake. This had not been her plan, and while she loved Stephen, and marrying him was beyond her wildest dreams, he was angry with her, cold and distant, and he was suggesting marriage not because of any feelings for her or desire for a future with her, but for their child. How could she accept?
How could she refuse?
Instantly, she thought of Owen, who would offer for her because of the love in his heart.
“You are strangely silent,” he said coolly.
She inhaled. “I am shocked.”
“Really?” His tone was mocking. “I am the g
reatest catch in the realm, yet I haven’t heard you accept my proposal.”
What should she say? That she loved him too much to marry him this way? Or should she marry him anyway, because she loved him? “I am going to have to think about it.”
His eyes widened briefly, and then he smiled dangerously. “I must admit, I did not expect that answer.” His stare hardened and smile vanished. “I expected you to turn me down.”
He was no longer furious, she thought, sickened with dismay, he was simply hateful. “I need to think about it, Stephen,” she repeated.
“Really?” He laughed coldly at her. “Let me make myself clear, Alexandra. I have dreaded marriage for as long as I can recall—I have been searching for a suitable bride for a decade, at least. This will be another arrangement for us—for the sake of the child. I will not bring a bastard into the world.”
She trembled. “Do you hate me?”
He started. Then, “No.”
They had that, at least. She closed her eyes briefly. “I still have to think about it.”
“Why? Because you want to wait and see if St. James will step up?”
Before she could deny that, he said, “Let me rephrase. This was not a proposal, it was a choice. You may choose to marry me, or you may run off with your beloved St. James.” She cried out, but he barreled on. “However, if you decide to run off with your lover, the child stays here, with me, and we will be married first.”
She gasped in disbelief.
His smile was cold. “The child is mine. You have a choice to make.” He turned and started from the room.
She ran after him. “I cannot agree to either choice!”
He whirled, and they collided. He caught her savagely and said, “Oh, no, you will make a choice—it’s me or St. James, and the child stays here.”
Alexandra was too stunned to say a word.
He flung her off and strode out.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AS JULIA ENTERED the St. Lucien Hotel, heads turned. She hurried across the spacious lobby, ignoring the stares. Even those who did not recognize her could surmise that she was a lady of wealth and rank—her stature was obvious from her clothing, her jewelry and her comportment. But some clearly knew who she was, for murmurs of “Good morning, Your Grace,” drifted in her wake. She did not look at anyone, nor did she respond. She simply couldn’t think about anything or anyone other than Tyne.
He had kissed her briefly, but with so much passion—and she had kissed him back. Then he had told her he was leaving and pulled away. They had remounted, Julia in a daze, partly from desire and partly from shock. And when she had tried to make conversation as they’d returned to the house, he’d been quiet and withdrawn. He’d left before she could ask him if he wished to return and ride again.
He was returning to America tomorrow. She’d made inquiries.
She was ill with dismay and sick with dread. She hadn’t slept in days, not since their outing—not since his kiss. She was smitten with an American stranger, and she was never going to see him again—unless she did something about it.
Julia had lived most of her life in isolation. While Tom was alive, she’d formed and maintained the appropriate relationships and acquaintances, but never any close friendships. To anyone who chose to consider the question, her life had been centered on her duties as a mother and a duchess. Secretly, her life had revolved around protecting Stephen from his father’s criticisms, cruelty and rages.
After Tom had died, she’d maintained a portion of those relationships, while allowing others to wither and fade. She’d remained close to Stephen, as he was only sixteen, to help him with his new responsibilities. It had quickly become clear that he would manage Clarewood far more astutely and efficiently—and economically—than Tom had ever done. He hadn’t needed her help, only her support.
Exulting in her freedom, she’d begun building a new life for herself, one founded on her love for horses and dogs. New friendships were formed with other horsemen and women. But she was reserved by nature—and none of those relationships had become close.
Consequently, she had no one to confide in.
After Tyne had left, she had sat down by herself, with her Danes, to analyze her situation. She had realized her choices were few. She could do nothing and hope he returned to see her, or she could go to him and take matters into her own hands.
The truth was that she was lonely and wanted to be with Tyne. She wanted to walk with him, talk with him, ride with him—and she wanted to share his passion. She did not want him to disappear from her life. She even thought she might want to share her life with him.
And she knew he might not share her feelings—but there was one way to find out.
Now she paused at the hotel’s front desk. Because it was so early, she was the only patron present. A clerk rushed to attend her.
She didn’t even try to smile. “Is Mr. Jefferson in?”
“I have yet to see him come down, madam,” the clerk said.
“What is his room number?”
He did not blink, merely turned to a ledger and gave her the information. Julia thanked him and headed for the wide wood staircase.
She knew she was being stared at as she went up. She didn’t care, even if it was unheard of for a woman to call openly on a male guest in his room. The gossips would have a field day, she decided. Let them. It was so early that they couldn’t believably accuse her of lechery. They would go mad, trying to decide who she had seen and why she had done so.
She almost smiled, but she was as nervous as a girl of sixteen. Would he be pleased to see her—or would he be dismayed?
If he was clearly dismayed, she wouldn’t even attempt to flirt with him, she thought, her anxiety increasing. She hurried down the corridor, clutching her purse, already breathless. When she saw his room, she inhaled for courage and knocked on the door.
“One moment,” he called.
Suddenly she flushed. What if he was with a woman? She would die of embarrassment.
And then the door opened. He stood there in his trousers and a shirt, the shirt half tucked in, as if he’d been undressed. His eyes widened when he saw her.
She knew her color remained high, and she could not look away from his amber eyes, but instead of reciting the lines she had rehearsed, she said thickly, “You are leaving tomorrow.”
He slowly nodded, his gaze locked with hers. Julia was acutely aware of his powerful body, his heat, his scent. Tension seemed to fill the small space between them. He kept his hand on the door. Suddenly, his gaze never moving from hers, he stepped back, pulling the door fully open.
No invitation could have been clearer.
Breathing hard, trembling, Julia stepped past him, into his suite, and stopped. There was a desk and a sofa, but she saw only the bed. And now he stood just behind her, so close that her skirts touched his trousers.
He closed the door, saying, “I’ve been thinking about you.”
She turned to him; it was impossible to think. She could only feel now, only want. “Tyne,” she murmured.
Suddenly he gripped her shoulders, and his grasp was crushing. For one moment he looked at her, his eyes ablaze. And then he pulled her up against his body, wrapping his arms around her, so she was dwarfed by his huge embrace. She felt every hard inch of him as she breathed in his thick male scent, her cheek crushed against his chest.
His heart was pounding.
He tilted up her chin, and their gazes collided. Julia realized her heart was beating as hard as his, harder than it ever had before. He understood—and he covered her mouth with his.
His kiss was hard and demanding. She caught his shoulders, deliriously excited, as he forced her mouth wide, his tongue going deep. Julia began to whimper. To squirm. Nothing had ever felt as right as his kiss, his touch or his huge body engulfing hers.
They kissed wildly, frantically, moving across the room. The backs of her thighs hit the mattress. Julia caught his shirt as he broke the kiss, fumbling a
t the buttons. It never crossed her mind not to tear his clothes off. She couldn’t breathe as his bare chest was revealed.
He caught her hands. “Are you sure?” he asked.
She slipped her hands over the shockingly hard planes and muscles of his chest. She inhaled sharply, and he groaned. “I have never been as sure. Make love to me, Tyne.”
He tore off his shirt and flung it aside. Julia took one look at his huge, muscular and scarred torso, and almost fainted from the intense flood tide of desire. He lifted her into his arms and laid her on the bed, his mouth on the swell of her breasts, above the bodice of her grown. His mouth left small, hard kisses there while she stroked his hot skin, his nipples and his hard, rippling arms. She couldn’t stand being apart or feeling so heavy and so hot. “Hurry,” she whispered.
He lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes ablaze, but there was surprise there, too. Then he reached for the buttons at the back of her dress.
She sat up, panting, and suddenly she was the woman she’d once been, the woman she’d forgotten all about. As he unbuttoned the dress, she reached up and removed her hairpins and small hat, and as she slid her hands in her platinum hair, she looked at him. Her dress was unbuttoned, but he hadn’t pulled it down, and he went still. Wanting him terribly, she suddenly lifted her hair, allowing it to spill free, while the bodice of her dress fell, revealing her to him. Her corset was Parisian, the chemise transparent silk. Her nipples had become so sensitive that even the soft silk hurt.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered roughly, reaching for her.
But she stood, breaking his hold, and slid the dress off, revealing her silk drawers and stockings.
Instantly, Tyne grabbed her by the hips. “You’re so tiny.” He sounded almost afraid.
She had never felt as desirable. As they kissed wildly, frantically, they fell to the bed. He fumbled with his belt and trousers, shedding them, and then his hands were all over her. Julia didn’t know how she got out of her underthings, but his hands and mouth were everywhere, in places that hadn’t been seen or touched in decades, and she wept in growing pleasure.