by Emma Wildes
In lieu of the right words, he said nothing. The short silence was an eternity.
“He left me here all alone.” It was a statement, quiet and hopeless and full of aching dignity. “Our parents are dead, he’s my only family, and he just left me.”
Alex felt his heart tighten at her obvious anguish. “I’m sure he didn’t want to do it, but you know Robert—”
Her head came up. “Damn you, Alex, don’t defend him. Not now, not after this.” One small fist smote her knee. Her glare would have melted icebergs.
“Only if you won’t measure your self-worth by the selfishness of one weak man,” he shot back, irritated by her open hostility.
“My self-worth,” she said heatedly, “is perfectly intact. Unlike some people I know who have to have everything in skirts to assure themselves they are a man.”
So, they were back to that. She might be homeless, she might be destitute and hurting, but she was still unforgiving. There was certainly nothing wrong with her memory.
Well, he thought defensively, she needed to learn that if verbal sparring was her choice, in that arena he was much, much more experienced. He gave her a calculated amused stare. “Not everything in skirts,” he rejoined pleasantly. “But thanks for the vote of confidence. I simply haven’t had the time. If you recall, I’ve been fighting a war.”
Her face whitened. “Go to hell.”
“I once warned you about your unladylike language. Don’t swear in front of me again, Jess. And believe me, I’ve been to hell.”
“You have no right to tell me anything about manners. Or anything else, for that matter.”
“I do, when you are in my house.”
It was an unfair shot that certainly hit home. She seemed to freeze, to go very still. Her eyes were huge pools in the pale oval of her face. Her breasts heaved under the very demure material of her plain gown.
A twinge of guilt shot through him but he ignored it.
“I am going to bed.” She set aside her empty brandy glass and got to her feet a little unsteadily. “Feel free to leave now for Grayston.”
“I am not going anywhere.” He made the declaration in a lazy voice.
“We can’t stay here together.” Her outrage was a tangible thing.
“You shouldn’t be here alone either. What if I had been an intruder?”
“Better alone than with you. It is most improper.”
“Depends on your point of view.”
“My point of view is that you should leave right now.” She stood there in regal dismissal.
“My point of view is that this is my house and I’m staying.”
“Then I’ll leave.”
“Not in the middle of the night, you won’t.”
“Try and stop me.” Jessica turned and squared her shoulders. “You have no hold over me. As I understand it, I am entirely on my own.”
“Jess.” His voice was lethally soft and he stirred in the chair. “I’m just going to say this once. As I’ve pointed out, I am tired. Very tired, if you want the truth. I am perfectly willing to let you have the bed upstairs but not willing to follow you out into the night to make sure you’re safe, which is what I’d be honor-bound to do.”
“Honor? You must be joking. Who could have less honor than you?”
With effort he clamped down on a surge of icy anger over the continued barrage of insults. “Plenty of men, I’m afraid. In any case, you’re here, and that is a fact. I’m here, and that is another fact. No one knows we’re here alone and the staff I hired won’t arrive until midday tomorrow. The only thing for both of us to do is to get whatever sleep we can and we’ll sort out the mess later. I’m sorry, but that’s the best I can come up with at this late hour.”
“It’s out of the question. One of us is leaving.”
“Absolutely not.” He reached for the brandy bottle without taking his gaze from her face. “And don’t even dream of testing me. I am not yet fully recovered and my shoulder is throbbing like a native drum thanks to you, but I believe I’m still twice your size, Jess.”
Silence. She stood staring at him with those great accusing eyes. Then her whole body seemed to slump. Her mouth twitched in what looked like regret. “I am sorry. At least about your shoulder. I wouldn’t have hit you there if I had known.”
“Apology accepted. Just go to bed.”
She nodded, looking suddenly very much like some of the young, shell-shocked soldiers he’d seen in battle. Groping for the doorway, she moved stiffly, her slender shoulders drooping.
“Good night,” he whispered softly but doubted she even heard him.
* * * *
She couldn’t help it. No matter how she wanted to stem the tide, no matter that she told herself she expected no less of Robert, the truth was…devastating.
The tears came. She fought them valiantly, but lost the battle. Maybe it would do her good to just let it out.
Jessica lay in bed and began to weep in great gulping sobs. She pushed her face into the pillow but it didn’t help. She still made the betraying noises, cried the tears and felt the desolation settle into her soul.
Forget the house. It was just a place. But Robert, her only family, had left her without a word. He hadn’t cared enough to stay, to try and redeem anything from their family fortunes. Maybe he’d counted on Nathaniel, maybe he’d thought the future settled, but he hadn’t talked to her, or remained to make sure she was secure and cared for, or as much as said goodbye. Her sobs shook the entire bed.
She very truly felt more alone than at any time in her life. But she wasn’t alone.
She hadn’t even heard the door open but she felt a gentle hand touch her back and the give of the bed as he sat down on it.
“Jessica, are you all right?”
Alex. He must have heard her and felt some sort of absurd pity.
She stiffened and mumbled hoarsely into the pillow, “I’m just fine.”
“Look, I don’t blame you for crying—”
Desperately she said, “I’m not crying, so you can leave now.
I’m just…hungry.”
She heard the rumble of a soft laugh. “If I behaved like you, then I would have watered the whole peninsula for the last four years. Army rations are notoriously thin.”
“Don’t laugh at me.” She hiccupped embarrassingly.
“Jess, I am not laughing at you. And it is perfectly all right to cry. Your brother has always been a selfish ass and if I had him here, I would beat him senseless on your behalf. Everything he told me indicated your future was settled.”
She sniffed, fighting a fresh spate of tears. “I guess it is. I mean, Nathaniel asked for my hand and Robert said yes. But…” She gave a choked sob and felt her shoulders shake convulsively.
The next thing she knew she was surrounded by strong arms, her face pressed into a broad, hard chest. Alex lay down next to her and cradled her with amazing gentleness, one hand going to stroke her hair like she was a frightened child as he held her.
Actually, she was frightened. Very frightened.
His comfort seemed to break the dam. She clung to him and let the tears flow freely, soaking the fine linen of his shirt, absorbing his intriguing scent, relishing the feel of his strong hands as he touched her lightly in comfort. She sniffled, she sobbed, and no amount of awareness on her part that it was the hated Alex Ramsey who held her could overcome her need for the feeling that someone, anyone, remotely cared about what happened to her.
Even him.
She cried until she was weak and utterly drained, and he held her and soothed with words, with the touch of his hands, until she felt herself slip into a welcome oblivion of exhausted sleep.
Chapter 4
Something smelled wonderful. It was a curious combination of fragrant flowers and fresh baked bread. Alex sighed, adjusting his position, wondering if he imagined it. It had happened often enough in Spain. Through the worst of it he’d often found himself dreaming of a comfortable bed and decent food.
Slowly he opened his eyes.
This time, it was no dream. It was very much a reality. All of it.
Bright sunlight lit the back of the drawn curtains, giving the room a soft amber glow. He lay, still fully clothed, on the big ornate bed that had once belonged to generations of Rowelands. Jessica was curled next to him like a kitten, her shapely backside nestled enticingly against his hips, her long, silky hair tickling his nose. She still slept soundly, breathing deeply and slowly, one slim hand tucked under her cheek. His right arm lay across her slender waist.
He’d obviously fallen asleep the night before holding her, something he’d had no intention of doing.
The worst part of it was that while her hair smelled lusciously like lilacs in the spring, the smell of fresh bread and hot tea came from a tray sitting by the side of the bed.
Which meant only one thing. It was no doubt late—very late—and the staff he’d hired had already arrived from London.
Jessica sighed and stirred in his arms.
Rolling away as abruptly as if she were on fire, and gaining his feet, Alex ignored both her sleepy murmur of loss and the twinge in his shoulder, shoving his hand hurriedly through his hair.
Jessica subsided back into slumber, her long lashes stark against her ivory cheeks. Lips slightly parted, her mouth looked moist and inviting. She was feminine and incredibly alluring even fully dressed, sprawled among the tumbled sheets, her gown twisted and her body relaxed. Small, dainty bare feet peeped out from under her skirts.
A sinking feeling of dismay twisted hard in his stomach. They’d slept together, in the same bed, all night long and for a good deal of the next day if the slanting rays of the sun he saw against the heavy drapes were any indication.
Damnation. His mind whirled.
At least one person had seen them that way, for someone had delivered the tray. Since there were two cups and two plates sitting next to the pot of tea, it had obviously been assumed that he and Jessica would share breakfast in the intimate setting of the bedroom.
Why wouldn’t it be assumed, he snarled inwardly with self- reproach. They were in bed together.
This damage wasn’t going to be easy to repair.
This was not at all what he intended when he could no longer bear the image of her desolate expression as she had turned and left the study, and he had foolishly yielded to the impulse to check on her. It would take a creature made of stone he quickly excused himself, to leave her sobbing alone in the dark and not at least offer comfort.
Comfort, yes. He gave an inward groan. Compromise her reputation, no. Whatever his noble intentions, he had some powerful doubts anyone else would believe the story.
He needed to think, but his head felt full of cobwebs. Alex stared at Jessica’s sleeping form and tried to analyze the disastrous situation. True, they’d spent the night together, but also true, they were both fully clothed, and the staff he’d hired was new and had just come from London. It was possible to keep it quiet.
Wasn’t it?
He left the room and went downstairs.
The very correct elderly butler he had hired the week before met him halfway across the vast and empty main hall. Inclining his white head, Higgins said regally, “Good afternoon, Colonel. I trust your journey here went as smoothly as my own. We were able to arrive early and have begun unpacking. Cook prepared a cold luncheon, but as you were still sleeping, she felt she could not do otherwise than send up some hot tea.”
Knowing he was disheveled, unshaven and had slept until well past noon, Alex grimaced and rubbed the stubble on his chin. In fact, the older man, in his perfectly pressed and tailored clothes, made him a little self-conscious. “Actually, food sounds marvelous but I would like to bathe and change first.”
“I’ll have hot water sent up directly.”
“If the staff needs anything, obtain it either from Grayston or the village. I was unprepared for the condition of the house. I hope the rooms at the back of the house are still furnished.”
“They are, sir, and quite nicely. The staff will be comfortable. And Cook says she can make do very well in the kitchen. It looks like only the contents of the family apartments and main rooms are missing.”
“Good.” Well, that was a relief anyway. “I appreciate your efficiency, Higgins.”
“Yes, sir. Of course. Please depend on me.”
Alex turned away toward the stairs. Maybe everything would be all right if he woke Jessica quickly and could get her over to Grayston with all due speed. Ariel would know how to handle the mess, she was extremely diplomatic—she had to be, married to his brother—and as a duchess wielded considerable social power.
Higgins cleared his throat. “Sir?”
Foot on the first step, Alex looked over in question.
“I took the liberty of having one of the footmen bring in the young lady’s trunk. It was still sitting outside.”
Alex stared. Her trunk. Of course she’d have one. Jessica must have had to carry it herself all the way from the village. He felt a fresh surge of rage against Robert.
Higgins lifted his white brows very slightly. “Would you like it brought up to your bedroom, sir?”
Off-balance, he wasn’t prepared to answer the question. Especially as it was phrased, so delicately. Hell. Alex opened his mouth, closed it, and then swallowed. She would want to change, of course. He could hardly drag her off to Grayston in rumpled slept-in clothes without allowing her the chance to freshen herself. Her world was awful enough.
“That would be fine,” he said as casually as possible, “but the lady won’t be staying.”
“No?” Higgins looked impassive. “Very well, sir.”
* * * *
Food.
Her stomach rumbled, overriding her desire to sleep forever. Jessica sat up, shoved her disheveled hair out of her eyes and looked at the tray by the side of the bed.
The soft fragrance of cinnamon and currants drifted to her nose.
And she was so very hungry.
She reached for a scone, pinched off a corner and put it into her mouth. It was flaky and warm and utterly delicious.
Heaven.
She ate the rest of it with unladylike haste. And then a second, this one heaped with sweet cream. Finally, she poured herself a cup of tea.
Alex had either gone to Grayston for this, or he had managed to find some food in the kitchen. The second possibility, she realized as she blissfully sipped her steaming tea, was unlikely. The tea was marvelous, perfectly made, and the scones had been wonderful. Picturing him up to his brawny elbows in flour defied the imagination, and as she had pointed out already, Robert would not have left food anyway.
“You’re awake.”
She jerked at the cool voice coming from the doorway, tea slopping onto her dress and the unmade bed. Alex lounged there, dressed very formally in a dark blue tailored coat that fit his broad shoulders, a snowy cravat, gold waistcoat, buff breeches and highly polished boots. His fair hair was perfectly brushed, and his well-shaped mouth curved in that irritating mocking smile she had once thought so charming.
Mocking, yes, indeed. In the morning light he looked older than the man she remembered, with lines around his mouth that had never been there before and a wary cynicism in his eyes. He was still the most utterly handsome man she had ever seen, but there was an unfamiliar hardness to him that had been hidden in the darkness of their encounter the night before.
Self-consciously wiping the crumbs from her fingers, she swallowed. “Yes, I’m obviously awake.”
“And you found some breakfast, I see.”
“Yes, thank you. Wherever did it come from?” It was impossible to find dignity when your hair was a wild nest and you were wearing yesterday’s wrinkled clothes. Nonetheless, Jessica straightened her spine and returned his level stare.
“Never mind. Are you all right?” he asked softly.
The question brought back the night before and the memory she refused to face while wolfing down her breakfast. She’d behaved like a fool and had clung to him, to Alex Ramsey of all people on God’s earth, letting him hold her, to pretend to comfort her…
Pretense.
It wasn’t easy to forget he now owned the house she grew up in, and had, until the night before, considered her home.
The house her family had owned for many generations. Her bitterness toward Robert extended to Alexander Ramsey as well. He had profited from her brother’s weakness, and she was homeless.
“I’m fine,” she said in stiff denial.
He nodded. “Good. I’ll have hot water sent up. I expect you to be ready to travel to Grayston in less than an hour.”
“Grayston?”
“You cannot stay here. My mother and Ariel would love to have you.”
Loftily, she said, “I would not dream of imposing on your family.”
“Really?” One fair brow inched upward in a mannerism that sent irritation in waves through her body. “So then, what do you propose, Jess? Camping out on the front lawn like a gypsy? Sleeping in the stables?”
Sitting on the rumpled bed, she felt her throat tighten. Her predicament was dire. It was unkind of him to point it out. If the truth be known, she had no idea what she was going to do.
It felt terrible.
She stared at him. She was dirty and crumpled and unsightly. He was elegant and relaxed and utterly handsome. He had money, a home, and a hero’s reputation for his achievements while fighting the French. She had nothing but the clothes on her back.
Tears pricked her lids but she blinked fiercely. She was not going to cry again in front of him. The night before had been humiliation enough.
To make matters worse, he’d been kind.
He’d held her very tenderly and made her actually feel like he cared.
Had it been true, that would be different. She’d been victim once to his transient charm. Many women undoubtedly had. From the rumors, many was an understatement.
