by Andrea Kane
“Why are you acting like this?” Alex implored, their mouths so close that she could smell the brandy on his breath. Despite her trembling fear, she could sense a raw desperation at the core of Drake’s violence. A desperation that she sought to understand.
“Because, despite your attempt to prove otherwise, I am the only man in your life and in your bed.” His fingers tightened on her chin, and Alex winced with pain.
“You know I’ve never been with another man,” she whispered in a small, shaken voice.
“There has never been an opportunity … until now.”
She swallowed deeply. “It wouldn’t matter. I don’t want anyone but you.”
“Stop lying to me!” he commanded in a hoarse voice.
“I’m not lying, Drake.” Alex sensed that they had reached a precipice, that the solution to the problem lay just beyond her grasp. Instinctively she knew that she could heal him if she just reached far enough, was willing to take the enormous risk.
She reached up with a small, cold hand and stroked his taut jaw. Her fingers, her voice, trembled.
“I’m not like her.”
Drake froze, staring down at her, a look of stark emotion on his face. “Like whom?”
It was time to risk it all. “Your mother.”
He caught her by the shoulders, his fingers biting into her arms. “What the hell do you know of my mother?”
“I know she hurt you. I know you believe that all women are like her. We’re not. I’m not.”
He swore under his breath, pushing her away from him with a force so strong that she fell back onto the bed.
“Hurt me? No, she didn’t hurt me, princess. I am far too strong to be hurt by anyone, least of all a common slut.” At Alex’s gasp, he laughed bitterly. “Oh, it was all very proper. She provided my father with an heir—two of them, in fact. And then she was free to play. And play she did, with anyone and everyone who had the anatomical requirement between his legs.” He raked his fingers through his hair, sweat covering his forehead. “Oh, she was very discreet—so discreet, in fact, that no one knew about it, least of all my father. There was only one problem with all of this. He adored her, worshiped her, with his whole heart and soul. In his eyes my mother could do no wrong; she was just short of a saint. And she let him believe she felt the same way, gazing up at him so tenderly, making him think he was the only man on earth.”
He turned away from Alex, his profile cast in shadows. “I grew up believing my mother was the epitome of womanhood, everything that was beautiful and soft and caring. And then I was out riding one day when I was fourteen, and I found her in a secluded spot far away from the house. She was beneath the Earl of Locksley, her skirts tossed up, moaning like a common whore.
“And that is not the worst of it. Later that night she asked to see me alone and calmly told me that she felt no guilt for what she had done, that my father was a fine man but just not enough for her, and that she would continue to live her life as she saw fit. There was not a drop of remorse in those cold green eyes. She suggested that I refrain from mentioning this to my father, for it would destroy him. Then she shrugged and said that, of course, it was my decision to make. She didn’t even give a damn.”
Drake faced Alex, angry and agonized and betrayed. “I never told him, because she was right; it would have killed him. I spent the next eight years of my life watching her deceive him again and again, unable to do a damned thing about it. No one else in the family ever knew. My father died without knowing what a bitch he had married.
“And I soon found, through my own experience, that my mother was far from unique. Every woman I encountered had the same shallow, destructive values. And I swore that no woman would ever do that to me.” The memory of Alex’s behavior tonight returned to claw at his soul. He took slow, menacing steps toward the bed, his words cold and deliberate. “You are never again going to humiliate me in public or in private. Ever.” He towered over her, his body shaking with anger, past and present.
Tears streamed slowly down Alex’s face as she realized the severity of Drake’s wounds. “I would never do that to you, Drake,” she whispered, then shook her head at the cynicism and hollow victory she saw on his face. “Not because I am afraid of what you would do to me, but because I love you.”
He froze, his face set in rigid lines. Then he swooped down upon her, catching her hands in his and lowering the weight of his body on top of hers.
“Damn you … damn you! Don’t you ever say those words to me again,” he growled. “They are meaningless; there is no such thing as love.”
“There is. I love you, Drake.” She lifted her head to kiss the pulse that throbbed at his throat. “I would never hurt you, never betray your trust.” She kissed his Adam’s apple gently. “I love you,” she whispered against his hot skin. “I love you,” she repeated, rubbing her face softly against his chin. “I love you.”
A deep groan rumbled from within Drake’s chest as he capitulated to her words, her caresses. He lowered his face to hers, crushed her lips beneath his in a kiss of savage demand, tightened his fingers on hers as if to bind her to him against her will.
No coercion was necessary. Alex opened to his command, to his fiery tongue and burning kisses, arching herself against him and offering him everything she had, all that she was.
He released her hands to tangle his fingers in her hair, whispering incoherent words against her delicate skin. There was no escape from this madness, this insatiable need she aroused in him, and Drake wasn’t certain he even wanted to try. He was on fire, lost in the flames of hell, desperately seeking the heaven she offered.
“Alex …” He buried his mouth in the scented hollow of her throat, as her hand moved between them and beneath his robe to find him, to stroke him in tender welcome.
“I love you,” she breathed into his damp hair, feeling his hardness pulsing in her hand.
With a guttural sound he raised his hips, pulling up her night rail in one frantic motion and tearing open his own robe to free his rigid arousal. He separated her legs with his knees, slid his hands beneath her buttocks, and drove into her with a wild, powerful lunge that made them both cry out.
And then he was moving, his thrusts hard and fast and so deep that he swore he could touch her womb.
And Alex was with him, wrapping her arms around his back, bending her knees to hug his flanks, loving him to the very depths of her being. Her body was vitally alive, aware of the sensuous feel of his silk robe rubbing against her bare thighs, the crushing weight of his body on hers, each shudder he gave as he thrust into her wet warmth, the broken love words he could not contain.
She loved him. The Duke of Allonshire … Captain Drake Barrett; they were one and the same. And she loved him.
She sobbed out his name as her body contracted in unbearable pleasure.
Drake raised his head and stared down into her face to watch her as the spasms swept over her, his face contorted with pain.
“Damn you, Alex,” he panted, closing his eyes as the explosion of his own release erupted within him. “Damn you for doing this to me.” He gave an agonized groan, as waves of ecstasy crashed down upon him, submerging him.
He crushed her against him, molded her to him, and poured his entire being into hers, the tormented words torn from his heart and his soul.
“Damn you for making me love you.”
Chapter 28
“DON’T YOU THINK IT is time we talked about it?”
Smitty stood beside Drake on the polished quarterdeck of the newly completed merchant ship. The vessel was larger than La Belle Illusion, more lavish in detail. She was also, as yet, nameless.
The two men had set sail on the Thames the morning after the ball. Yet, three days later, Drake had yet to discuss his turbulent encounter with Alexandria. The men had spoken mostly of the unsolved mystery behind the attempts on Drake’s life. They had spent the remainder of the daylight hours acquainting themselves with their new ship, but there were freq
uent silences filled with unresolved tension.
Now Drake stared moodily out into the sunset, his features haggard with strain, dark circles beneath his hollow eyes. At Smitty’s reminder of the night prior to their flight from Allonshire, Drake’s hands tightened reflexively on the wheel.
“I have no desire to speak on that subject, Smitty. I am here to forget.”
“And have you?”
A haunted look shadowed Drake’s face. “No. I have forgotten nothing.”
Smitty studied Drake’s anguished expression and asked the question that had plagued him for days. “Did you hurt her, your grace?”
Drake closed his eyes at the accusation, seeing Alex as clearly as if she still lay before him. Her cheeks had been streaked with tears, her expression filled with pain, which she made no attempt to disguise, as she had silently watched him stagger toward the door, leaving her crumpled and alone on her bed. How many times had she told him that she loved him? Over and over, and yet he couldn’t accept it, hadn’t wanted to hear the words. Instead he had taken her in rage and in a frantic attempt to free himself from the emotional bond that she had forged between them. His only sane act had been to declare his love for her. But even that revelation had been disguised by anger and uttered at the very height of passion.
Had he hurt her? The answer to that was an unequivocal yes. He had hurt her … in more ways than one.
“How could you harm her?”
Drake’s eyes snapped open at Smitty’s angry tone.
“Because I am a bastard.”
“Not a bastard, your grace, but a damned fool.”
Drake nodded in agreement, the need to share his agony suddenly more than he could bear. “She told me she loved me. And I know it to be true. But damn it, Smitty, when I saw her with all those men, flaunting herself, flirting openly with them, all I could think of was—”
“The worst,” Smitty finished for him. “And without even speaking to the duchess first, you retaliated. Tell me, does your heart feel that your wife would openly seduce a roomful of men? Knowing her as you do, do you think she would show so little respect for your feelings as to acquire a string of paramours right before your eyes?”
Smitty didn’t wait for Drake’s response, but continued, determined to make his friend see the truth. “It is time to put the old scars behind you,” he stated simply, placing his hand on Drake’s shoulder, for despite Smitty’s outrage at the thought of Drake causing Alex pain, long-standing loyalty and love made him sympathetic to his friend’s internal torment.
“Hasn’t your wife proved to you by now that she is unique? That she is interested in no man other than you? Try for once to think objectively, your grace, to see things as they really are, not as you imagine them to be. Lady Alexandria has forgiven you for your deceit, for the chaos you have made of her life, for the near-impossible adjustment she has had to make these last months. And why? Because she loves you, because she has always loved you. Now, are you going to nurture that feeling, revel in the beauty that it offers, or are you going to throw it all away because of the immoral women who have tarnished your past?
“I suggest you consider that question carefully, your grace, before you discard the only chance at happiness I believe you have.”
Drake stared at Smitty, the final words piercing his soul. Smitty was presenting him with a choice, but in reality, no choice existed. To keep Alex’s love he would have to risk everything, to offer her everything she deserved.
The choice had been made long ago.
Alex stared up at the portrait, seeing the coldly elegant beauty of the regal woman who returned her gaze through haughty, frigid green eyes.
Vanessa Barrett’s exotic, brittle looks had tantalized, seduced, enchanted countless men, most of all Drake’s father. She had used them all, taken what they had to offer, and given nothing in return. Even in a picture, Alex could sense her superficial beauty and her empty soul.
A sudden chill permeated the gallery, and Alex rubbed her arms with her hands, seeking warmth.
She stared defiantly at the portrait of Drake’s mother. “You left your mark,” she accused. “But I won’t let you win. Drake needs me, I know he does … and he loves me as well.” She placed her hand against her slightly rounded abdomen. “We are going to have a child, and we will raise it with love and commitment, neither of which you gave to your son. You hurt him, more than even he understands, but I won’t let him remain a prisoner to your destruction. He is mine now, and no matter how long it takes, he will recognize it. He will.”
The portrait did not answer, but continued to stare mockingly down at her. Nauseated, Alex turned away. Drake had been gone for three days—endless days of waiting and wondering. She knew he had been in torment; she had felt it throughout the storm of their physical union and afterward, when he had torn himself from her, as though he couldn’t bear to be one with her any longer, and staggered from the room without a word, leaving her alone … so alone.
And so afraid. For three nights she had been unable to sleep, tormented by images of Drake being brutally murdered at sea. Whoever was trying to kill Drake was still out there, plotting and planning. The thought terrified her, for she loved him with all her heart.
He had said that he loved her.
Granted, it had been at the height of passion, words that were wrenched from within him. But he had meant them. Of that she was certain. It explained his almost desperate departure from her bedchamber and his subsequent flight to sea. She prayed that time spent alone, away from the pressures at Allonshire, would open his heart to the truth and bring him safely back to her.
She caressed the small mound that was their unborn child. They had so much to look forward to, so much to share. If only Drake would let them.
The door opened, allowing a shaft of light to catch Alex at her musing.
“Alex? Are you in here?”
Alex smiled, going toward the door. “Yes, Sammy, I’m here.”
Samantha frowned. “I was worried when I couldn’t find you. You haven’t been yourself for days.”
“I miss Drake,” Alex replied, joining Samantha in the hallway.
Samantha sniffed in annoyance. “It was terribly impolite of him to go off like that without a word to anyone. Our guests were quite disgruntled, to say the least.”
“It was something he had to do,” was Alex’s quiet reply.
Samantha turned back to Alex. “Still, I know that you have not been feeling well. I wish he would … Alex?” The last was said in panic, as Alex swayed on her feet, clutching the heavy wooden table in the hallway for support.
“I’m all right,” she assured Samantha, blinking to clear her head.
“Let’s go sit down.” Samantha led Alex down the hall to the drawing room and closed the door behind them. Gently she eased Alex onto a settee, then sat beside her. “Shall I ring for something to eat?”
“No, please, nothing.” Alex’s stomach protested violently at the thought of food.
“Alex, what is it? And don’t tell me you miss Drake. That is not enough to make you ill or to make you as tense as you have been, walking around like a drawn bowstring, quivering at every sound. Please talk to me.”
Alex regarded Samantha’s concerned little face and relented. She did need to talk, and while Samantha was young, she was old enough to understand and perhaps to help.
With a furtive glance at the closed door, Alex began. “Sammy, everything I am going to tell you must remain in confidence. Is that understood?”
“Of course.”
Alex nodded, trusting Samantha implicitly. “There are two issues involved here, one very wonderful, the other very ugly. As far as my illness is concerned, there is a physical reason for it.” She paused, savoring her news. “Drake and I are going to have a baby.”
The words were barely out when Samantha flung her arms around Alex’s neck. “Oh, Alex, that is so exciting! A baby! I cannot believe it; my brother … a father. He must be elated! Tell me, h
ow did he take the news?”
Silence.
“Oh, Alex, don’t tell me you haven’t told him?” Her youthful voice was filled with dismay.
“No, I haven’t,” Alex admitted in a tiny voice. “There hasn’t been a chance. I only just realized it myself. I was going to tell him the night of the ball, but …” Her voice trailed off.
Samantha knew something had happened the night of the ball to precipitate Drake’s departure and Alex’s melancholy, but she had made the firm resolution not to interfere.
“When will the baby be born?” she asked instead.
Alex smiled. “In mid-April, I think.”
“I am so happy for you.” Samantha took both of Alex’s hands in hers. “Rest assured I will not divulge the news to anyone.”
“I know.” Alex paused, her lovely face clouding. “The second revelation is terrifying. I never wanted to involve you, but I know how much you love Drake, and I need your help.”
“My goodness, this sounds so mysterious!”
“It is more than mysterious, Sammy. It’s horrifying.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Drake’s riding accident was no coincidence. It was a deliberate attempt to harm him, just as the sinking of La Belle Illusion was no accident but a calculated plot to kill Drake.”
Samantha’s face drained of color, and she remained silent for a moment, digesting the information that Alex had just given her. “Are you saying that someone is trying to murder Drake?” she managed.
“Shhh.” Alex put her finger to her lips. “Yes, that is exactly what I am saying. I have tried every way I know to figure out who it is, with no success.”
“Did Drake tell you this?” Samantha demanded.
“I overheard him talking with Smitty. They have no idea that I heard them, nor do they have any intention of telling me. So I took matters into my own hands.” Now that Alex had begun, the words tumbled over themselves in an effort to be said. “Drake’s saddle strap was deliberately cut, and it occurred to me that a guest at the house party might have done it. I questioned every person at the ball … without their understanding why, of course.”