by Emma Wildes
“Get off me.” The order was as undoubtedly fierce as she could make it with the breath still knocked out of her, little more than a demanding whisper.
Yes, definitely Jessica. In the flesh. Literally.
He didn’t move. Actually, he couldn’t.
During their struggle, the flimsy garment she wore had torn. He remembered the ripping sound as he caught her, but that hardly mattered. The fact was that she lay beneath him half-naked. His gaze went involuntarily to where her breasts were visible between the destroyed halves of her chemise: perfect, full and quivering, with the darkness of her nipples exposed. Her shoulders were white and slim, and her throat worked as she swallowed convulsively. He still had her hands trapped over her head so she was powerless to resist his insistent gaze.
“Let me go,” she cried out. Color crept up to stain her neck and face. “You…you big oaf, let me go!”
She was very lovely. It was impossible not to notice. Every promise of womanhood and beauty fulfilled.
And he’d been at war a long time.
They hung there a long second, staring at each other, before she suddenly started to squirm beneath him. Her knee lifted abruptly, connecting with the part of his anatomy that was becoming so interested. Wrenching her wrists from his slackened grasp, she brought her hand up simultaneously in a jaw-cracking slap to the cheek that made his ears ring.
Damn her.
He caught her flailing hands and shoved them again above her head, clamping down with his thigh to still her. “Stop it, Jess.” It was an order between his clenched teeth. “Relax.”
“Get off.” Her muffled oath was punctuated by the sudden surge of her hips, trying to dislodge him. Her face was bright red even in the dim light.
The motion of her lower body was reminiscent of another, one he was very familiar with but hadn’t experienced in a long time.
“Stop it,” he ordered softly. “Hold still right now. Unless, of course, you don’t mind that I’m starting to enjoy this.”
She went very still, eyes wide, her soft lips parting in shock. “Now,” he said harshly. “What the devil are you doing here?”
Chapter 3
It was too much.
Jessica’s day had gone from bad to worse, and now she was subjected to the indignity of lying half-stripped under a very real, very large and very intimidating Alexander Ramsey.
And he had the nerve to ask what she was doing in her own house.
Yet, as embarrassed as she was by her current circumstances, it could be much worse. At least Alex wouldn’t hurt her.
He stared down at her with those incredible eyes, blue even in the darkness. But at least, at this moment, he wasn’t looking at the rest of her but inquiringly into her eyes.
He’d ripped her chemise half off. Her cheeks were red hot. She was naked to the waist and he was on top of her. Her bare breasts were pressed tightly against his hard chest, the linen material of his shirt soft and warm against her skin. Firm fingers still shackled her wrists above her head.
Where the hell had he come from? She thought he was still marching through Spain, playing the warrior hero.
Grating it out, she said, “Alex, let me go. Now.”
He shook his head, a tiny smile touching his well-shaped mouth. “Given your murderous impulses, I think I’d better consider that course of action. I’d like to keep my head attached to my shoulders, thank you. Now, what are you doing here, Jess?”
“I might ask you the same thing.”
His brows shot up at the venom in her voice. “I think I’m the one asking the questions at the moment, angel.”
“I’m not likely to tell you anything and I am not your angel. Save your endearments for your…your harlots.”
His lips twitched in unabashed amusement. “Please excuse me, Jess. It’s true, I suppose, that when a half-naked woman lies in my arms I often find myself whispering endearments into her ears.”
Though she doubted that long-ago evening when she’d stumbled on him and his lover in the garden had meant much to him, it had been a pivotal point in her life.
She itched to slap him again. It had been a satisfying moment to connect her palm with that arrogant handsome face. Taking advantage of the fact that he’d slackened his grip on her wrists again as she stopped struggling, she gave a tremendous jerk to free herself and slammed her fist into his shoulder with all her strength in an effort to dislodge him.
She didn’t expect his reaction.
He stiffened, going white, and released her with a low groan, closing his eyes and rolling to the side to land flat on his back. With a muttered oath, he put his hand to the spot where she’d struck him, as if it really had hurt. They still lay at the top of the landing and she took immediate advantage of her freedom and scrambled to her feet, clutching her torn chemise together over her breasts and peering down at him, more than a little surprised one blow from her could have such a drastic effect.
The first thing that struck her was that he was so much thinner than she remembered. Still imposingly tall, still wide in the shoulders and long in the legs, but there was a lean, honed look to his body that spoke of either deprivation or excessive exercise, or maybe both.
He was in real pain, she realized with a small shock. In the thin starlight, sweat gleamed on his forehead. His mouth was compressed tightly.
She said in alarm, “What’s wrong with you? I didn’t hit you that hard. I…I couldn’t. You’re just acting that way to make me feel sorry.”
Alex’s eyes flew open and she flinched back from the accusation evident there. “I was wounded at Badajoz, Miss Roweland, and given leave to recover. That’s why I’m here. Otherwise I’d be following Wellington toward the French border as we speak.”
“Wounded?” She bit her lip in a surge of regret and denial that was decidedly unwanted.
“In the shoulder.” His reply was heavy with irony. “You have remarkably accurate aim.”
“I’m…I’m sorry, but how was I supposed to know that? You were mauling me.” She felt guilty, true, because it had never occurred to her she would actually hurt him.
One elegant brow arched upward and he sat up, letting go of his wounded shoulder. His long fingers went to his throat and he began to unbutton his shirt, murmuring, “Mauling you? I saved you a nasty tumble down the stairs, my dear. And I believe you were the one who came after me with…what was it? A fireplace poker?”
Jessica took a step backward, tugging the destroyed chemise tighter across her chest and hoping it concealed enough for at least bare modesty. “You can’t blame me. I didn’t know who you were! I heard someone moving around and I was frightened.”
“So you decided to beat their brains out? Very resourceful.” He pulled his shirt open and inspected a swath of bandages that covered his left shoulder. The sight made Jessica a little sick with remorse. He hadn’t been putting on an act. He had been wounded.
She asked defensively, “What was I supposed to do? I’m here alone.”
His eyes narrowed. Sitting on the landing, his white shirt hanging open and tucked into dark breeches, Hessians hugging his muscular calves, he stared up at her. “Which brings me to my original question, I believe. Why are you here, Jess? I thought you’d be in London, preparing for your upcoming nuptials.”
There was something suggestive in his tone, something almost mocking that set her teeth on edge. And there was also the way he stared at her, openly ogling her bare legs and the gap of torn material she tried desperately to keep together.
Lord, with his shirt open she could see almost as much of him as he could of her. The flicker of fascination she felt as she glimpsed the muscled hardness of his bare chest was mortifying.
Her cheeks tingled, filled with the fire of pure embarrassment. She whirled away, determined to head back to her bed. “I don’t owe you any explanations, Alex. Just get out of this house. Robert isn’t here. No one is here.”
“This house? My house.” The words were soft, like a threat
.
If that was his intention, they certainly flew to the right target.
“What?” She stopped dead, her whole body going cold instantly.
“You said ‘this’ house. It’s my house. I own Braidwood.”
She turned around very slowly. He’d gotten to his feet and rested carelessly against the staircase banister, a lean figure framed by shadows. Behind him the vast hallway was a pool of unfathomable darkness. He looked remarkably tall.
Her voice was a whisper. “What are you talking about?”
His gaze was level, locking with her own. “The house is mine. The entire estate, in fact. Like I said, I own it, all of it.”
“No.” She shook her head in fearful denial, her hair brushing her shoulders and back. For a moment she even forgot her dishabille.
“Yes.” Unequivocal conviction filled his voice. “I bought and paid for every inch of it.”
“That can’t be.” Her throat felt clogged, full. She couldn’t breathe. Robert couldn’t, surely he wouldn’t…
Alex’s smile was full of weary cynicism. “Think about it, Jess. Look at this place. Nothing is left but the grounds and the house. No stock, no furniture, not one servant. It can be. It is. Robert sold it to me.”
Despite herself, she began to shake, to tremble so violently she was afraid she would let go of her ruined clothing and humiliate herself further. Her brother had sold their family home and worst of it was, she believed Alex was telling the truth.
“Jess?” Alex straightened and took a step toward her in alarm.
Then she fled, stumbling, running like a madwoman through the blackness of the hallway.
* * * *
Alex propped his booted feet on the desk and took another hearty sip of brandy.
This had turned into one hell of a night, he thought wryly.
In one fell swoop he’d managed to frighten Jessica nearly to death, rip her clothes off, and then render the news that she was homeless in an extremely insensitive manner. Not to mention their interesting tussle at the top of the stairs. It probably wasn’t too surprising she had locked herself in one of the bedrooms and did not answer his knock.
The worse part of it was he felt a cowardly relief that he didn’t have to explain her brother’s actions.
He wanted to avoid her and the inevitable telling of the truth as long as possible.
So he’d retreated downstairs without much of an argument and discovered to his relief that Robert had at least prudently left his study untouched, complete with port, tobacco and a full bottle of the finest brandy. With an assessing gaze, he saw the room as he remembered it in the soft glow of the lamp he’d found on top of the mantel—a rosewood desk, tall bookcases with dusty unused volumes and leather chairs by the fireplace. He’d opened the window and let the soft night air waft inside, dispelling the musty, disused smell.
If he couldn’t have a bed and soft blankets, at least he could drink himself to sleep in a room that was civilized and comfortable.
“Tell me, did he really sell you the house or did he lose it in a game of dice or cards?”
The sound of the cool interruption made Alex straighten, his feet sliding off the desk with a thump as he quickly rose in automatic politesse. Jessica stood in the doorway, her pale face and trembling mouth belying the defiant tilt of her chin. She was dressed in a blue gown, but her hair still tumbled in loose, burnished mahogany waves down her back, and she was barefoot.
She had changed—he couldn’t help but think with an unwanted twinge of astonishment—so much. Four years were as nothing, yet a gap as wide as the ocean. The caterpillar was gone, replaced with an exquisite butterfly.
God, she was beautiful. Her features were delicate and perfectly formed, her skin smooth and unblemished, her eyes large and framed by dark lush lashes. As he knew well after their encounter on the stairs, she’d matured in an unsettling fashion, her natural slenderness emphasizing the fullness of her breasts and gentle curve of her hips.
He smiled crookedly. “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me. I believe you banished me to a place no lady should order someone to go.”
Her gray eyes flashed and her chin tipped higher. “You’re the only one who can tell me what’s going on, so I’ve changed my mind.”
He gave a brief bow. “Always a woman’s prerogative.”
“Answer my question. I need to know what happened.” The bitter edge in her voice was sharp as the blade of a knife.
He gave her an even glance and motioned to one of the leather wing chairs. “All right. Sit down.”
Her gaze was icy. “I prefer to stand.”
Away from him. Across the room in the doorway, with the vast emptiness of the stripped house behind her. In her pale blue dress, she stood defiant. That’s right, he’d almost forgotten, she hated him. She might have changed, but that had not.
He said deliberately, “Well, I don’t, and I was raised to stand in the presence of a lady. I’m dead tired and my shoulder feels like it’s on fire. Sit down, Jess, or I won’t tell you a thing. If we are going to have this conversation, it is going to be a civilized affair without fists, fireplace pokers or insults. Understand?”
Her soft mouth tightened. “I’m not a child.”
“No,” he agreed readily—too readily. “You are not a child any longer. I concede the point.”
There was no question she understood the innuendo. Her cheeks grew pink as she stared at him. Then, as if to prove she wasn’t afraid of him, she walked across the room and sank gracefully into one of the chairs facing the desk, tucking her bare feet under her sweeping skirts.
He poured a fair measure from the brandy bottle into a crystal glass and reached over to hand it to her.
“I don’t want that,” she objected, sitting very upright, refusing it.
“Take it. Trust me, you might need it.”
Her fingers closed around the glass. “But I haven’t eaten since…”
He stopped in the act of releasing the glass, their fingers almost touching. Alex stared at her. “Since when? Are you hungry? I’m sure I—”
“Don’t pretend to be concerned.”
He couldn’t control how his face tightened in annoyance. “I wasn’t pretending.”
“Never mind. Just give it to me.” She accepted the snifter and cupped it in her slender fingers. “I am sure if you looked around at all you’d also doubt there is a scrap of food left here anyway. I’ll survive.”
Yes, she would. Jessica had always had a remarkable spirit and sense of independence. That he could not deny.
So he might as well just tell her plainly.
Alex sank back down. “All right, the truth is simple. Your brother sold me the house to cover his most immediate debts. I was in London on my way back here from Spain and heard he was planning to sell it, so I made him an offer. He accepted it. The papers have been signed. He glossed over the extent of the desecration as far as the furnishings go when he listed the contents of the house, but he probably didn’t want to admit it and chance I might back out.”
Jessica didn’t blink at the explanation. Now that the initial shock had passed, she wasn’t surprised, he realized. It was easy to imagine that long ago she ceased to expect much from her brother. For that, he silently cursed Robert.
She said in a brittle little voice, “Well, I suppose I should be glad he didn’t wager it on a hand of cards.”
“Essentially, he did. He was in deep trouble, Jess.” He watched her take a cautious sip of brandy. “I’ve known a few men like him, men who couldn’t seem to control it, to stop the addiction. They are so sure the next card or toss of the dice will go their way. The excitement consumes them and they seem to lose perspective. Robert has always been one of those men. It was different when we were green boys in school and all he had was an allowance to squander. With a fortune at his carte blanche, I believe he could not control himself.”
Her eyes were shadowed. “I see. Did you buy the townhouse in London as well?�
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“No. I don’t need it. I have my own apartments at the ducal residence there. I prefer the country anyway.”
Her lashes lowered slightly. “But it’s gone, isn’t it? The townhouse…no doubt everything. He must have sold it all before he would sell the estate. Just tell me the truth.”
He hesitated and then sighed. “Yes. From what I understand, you’re right.”
“What does he think we’re going to do?”
Alex leaned back in his chair. “Why are you worried? You are going to be married.”
Her averted profile was lovely, pure with a rare, ethereal, classic beauty. Her lips tightened and she stared at her glass. “I am supposed to be. I don’t suppose my dowry is left.”
“Would Greene be so shallow as to cry off because you no longer have a marriage portion?”
That brought her head up, those gray eyes flashing at his insinuation. She gave him a haughty look. “No, of course not. I was simply thinking aloud. Nathaniel is honorable, something you know nothing about. But our wedding date isn’t even set. Where does Robert expect us to live in the meantime if he’s sold both houses?”
Alex was silent, looking at her as he sipped his drink. Lord, it was late, he was damned tired, and all this should not have to be his problem.
Jessica took an audible swallow of brandy and finally asked him the question he’d been dreading. “Where is Robert, Alex? If he’s sold everything, even the estate, where is he?”
Oh, how he hated telling her. Heavily, Alex confessed, “He’s gone.” Jessica blinked. “Gone? Where?”
“To America. Selling everything wasn’t enough. He escaped his creditors by leaving the country. He…can’t come back, Jess. He’s gone for good.”
Silence. It stretched onward. She looked more than shocked. She looked damaged. Her fine features blanched and her slender throat worked in protest.
Bloody hell. He needed to say something, hopefully the right thing. How he wished his sister-in-law, Ariel, were there to soothe Jessica’s wounded feelings, to offer her the right consolation. He was sure as hell the wrong substitute. For the past four years he had lived with hardened soldiers, not innocent young women.
