"You wanted me to marry you," he murmured in her ear. "At least secretly, deep inside." He was kissing her neck now, his kisses making her hot and cold at the same time. "Admit it."
"I didn't." She tried to get away, but she didn't try too hard. Despite her anger she craved his touch. "I didn't want to marry you. It didn't make sense."
"You apparently wanted to marry me back in London when I was Geoffry Rordan, Viscount Ashton." He spoke the name as if he referred to someone else.
"That's not fair and you know it. I was young. My father made the arrangements just as your father did. Besides," she looked up at him coyly through a veil of dark lashes, "I thought you handsome."
He lifted his head from the open bodice of her tunic. "You knew me?"
She shrugged. "I'd seen you at a ball."
"Sly jade," he teased. "So tell me, if you were all so willing then, why not that night in the fort? I'm still the same man . . . more or less."
"I'm older. I make decisions for myself now. On the surface you and I don't seem to make a good match. You and I are nothing alike. You're crude, you're unconventional. You can be a wild man, Hunter."
"But that's what you like," he whispered, teasing the lobe of her ear with the tip of his tongue as he pressed his groin against hers. "Isn't it? The wild man in your bed." With one swift movement he swept her into his arms. She grabbed him by the shoulders to steady herself. "You like to be made love to by the savage, don't you?" he encouraged, his voice taking on a husky catch.
She was laughing with him now, returning his kisses. Her breasts were tingling, her body yearning to join with his, despite the fact that they'd made love only hours ago on the boat. "Hunter. You can't be serious. It's midday! We're no longer in the wilderness. This is my aunt's home. The servants!"
He tossed her onto the thick feather tick and leaped on top of her, pulling at the leather bindings of her tunic. "Servants be damned," he growled. "Let them find their own wenches."
Chapter Twenty-two
Alexandra squirmed in her chair. Her stays were so tight she could scarcely breathe and the lace at her cuffs was driving her mad. She nodded her head, trying to pretend she was listening to Mistress Haxton as she dug at her wrist where the Irish lace scratched.
Alexandra had been back in civilization such a short time, and already she was restless. Hunter had been so busy seeing old friends and looking into the possibility of a ship to take them back to London that she rarely saw him during the day. Those hours were spent visiting with the seemingly endless string of visitors Aunt Sally had invited to welcome Alexandra home. That was their excuse at least. Alexandra guessed they were coming around hoping to get some shocking gossip about her captivity and get a peek at the Viscount Ashton who had rescued her and then married her to save her name.
Aunt Sally cleared her throat for the second time and Alexandra looked up. "Pardon?" She smiled hesitantly as she reached for her teacup.
Mistress Haxton repeated herself. "I said, only yesterday Emily Croften and I were discussing how you possibly could have survived the attack on the boat when dear Charles and Susan were not so fortunate." She crossed herself. "God rest their souls. How did you escape?"
Alexandra looked up at Mistress Haxton. She was a painfully thin woman with dyed red hair and an obvious moustache above her rouged lips. "I hid in the bushes," she lied for what seemed the one hundredth time in four days. "I didn't see anything. I didn't see Uncle Charles and Cousin Susan die, she thought. I never heard them scream. "I was too frightened. Soldiers found me and took me to a fort." There was never a Mohawk called Two Crows. He didn't kidnap me. There was never a Captain Cain or even a beautiful Indian woman called Laughing Rain. Two Crows didn't save Hunter's life and lose his own in the sacrifice. "Hun . . . Geoffry discovered me at the fort quite by mistake. I was ill. When I recovered, he brought me home."
"And that's where you married, child?" Mistress Haxton leaned forward. "At the fort?"
"I have the legal documents myself, Gerta," Aunt Sally chimed in, passing a plate of sugary sweets to her guest. "Quite legal and binding, I assure you."
Gerta Haxton took two pastries before passing back the plate. "Of course the marriage is binding." She lifted a heavy eyebrow in an insinuating manner. "But then, there's no way for you to know, Sally, what took place before the nuptials."
Aunt Sally smiled sweetly. "I would say it matters not, dear Gerta, whose first child was born so prematurely. You forget. Lord Ashton and my niece were betrothed. The agreement was never officially broken. You know full well a betrothal agreement is quite the same as the marriage itself."
Alexandra rolled her eyes heavenward as she pushed out of her chair and walked across the parlor in her too-tight leather shoes. She was amazed at how the entire town of Annapolis was interested in knowing the exact moment when Hunter had bedded her. With the Iroquois Indian uprisings, the fighting with the French up north and the constant raises in taxes and tariffs, Alexandra found it difficult to believe that her virginity was the most outstanding concern in all the American Colonies.
Her gaze drifted to the double windows. Outside, Aunt Sally's gardener was trimming back dead branches with a pair of shears. As he cut back the brown, shriveled foliage he dropped the sticks neatly into a basket at his feet. Alexandra wished she were outside in the garden right now. Trimming the shrubbery appeared to be far more entertaining than her conversation with Mistress Haxton.
Alexandra breathed on the cold glass to make it foggy and then wrote Hunter's name in the circle with her fingertip. Of course she would have to get used to calling him Geoffry now. She knew that. He certainly couldn't remain Hunter of the Shawnee. But for some reason, every time she said Geoffry, the name sounded hollow in her ears. It will just take time, she told herself.
Hunter's name faded until she saw only the reflection of her own face in the glass. She closed her eyes. They had left the fort six days ago. She was beginning to grow concerned about Jon. Where was he? Hunter said he was supposed to wait with the old Shawnee man until help arrived and then return to the fort. Hunter had left directions at the fort for Jon to meet him here in Annapolis. Jon was to go to the Cock and Coddle Tavern down by the docks and Hunter would find him there. Hunter had gone every day but no one had seen a sign of Jon yet.
Alexandra sighed. Though at times in the last weeks Jon had certainly tried her patience, she missed him. Here in her aunt's home where everything seemed so foreign now, she craved the familiar. She wished she could put on her buckskin tunic and leggings and sit by the campfire and talk with Hunter and Jon while they smoked their pipes and teased each other about the women they'd tumbled and the horseraces they'd lost as young men.
Alexandra turned away from the window. Mistress Haxton was having yet another pastry. Alexandra wondered to herself how she could remain so slender and eat so much.
"Going somewhere, dear?" Aunt Sally asked.
Alexandra turned back and forced a smile. She was hoping to slip out of the room unnoticed. She touched her forehead. "Just a slight headache. I thought I'd go for a walk in the garden."
"Heavens no! You'll catch your death in the chilled air!"
Alexandra chuckled. "Aunt Sally. You forget, I—" She almost said she'd slept on the ground for more than two months, but she caught herself. She and Hunter had agreed that the less she said about the time she'd been gone, the fewer probing questions she'd have to answer. "You forget I'm an adult woman—married. I can walk out into the garden if I well please."
"Of course you can—when the day is warmer. When you're not feeling poorly." Aunt Sally rang a silver bell. "I'll just have Chastity bring up some sleeping powders to your room. You want to be fit for the ball this evening. You can't miss it. Everyone will be here to be formally introduced to Geoffry."
"Yes, everyone," Mistress Haxton echoed, sounding much to Alexandra like a magpie.
Alexandra fluttered her eyelids impatiently and continued out of the parlor and into the front hall.
She didn't need any sleeping powders. What she needed was some peace and quiet. This household was so noisy compared to the silence of the forest that it was no wonder her head ached.
"Geoffry said for me to be certain you rested," Aunt Sally called after her. "He'll be so disappointed if you're too ill to dance this evening."
Aunt Sally was quite smitten with Hunter, or Geoffry as she called him. Smitten either with him and his handsome smile, or his title and fortune, she didn't know which.
"Alexandra! Alexandra! Do you hear me?"
Alexandra could hear Aunt Sally murmuring something to Mistress Haxton about her niece having still not recovered from her ordeal, and of course being newly married and the pressures of that . . .
Alexandra had turned in the hallway to head up the staircase to her bedchamber when the front door swung open. Her face lit up in a genuine smile. "Hunter! You're back early." She jumped off the bottom step into his arms. She kissed him on the mouth. "I missed you. I'm going to go mad with all this sitting about doing nothing. Do you think this afternoon you and I could—"
"Alex," he interrupted. "Look what I've picked up on the docks." Holding her in one arm, he hooked his thumb in the direction of the door.
There stood Jon, dressed in a pair of fringed buckskins, a deerhide cloak, and quilled moccasins. He wore a bow and quiver over one shoulder and a musket over the other. He looked tired, but strangely at peace with himself.
She laughed and threw herself into his arms, hugging him tightly and surprising them both. "God's teeth, Jon. I thought we'd have to go back after you!" She plucked at the hide cloak. "I've never seen you in Shawnee trappings! Where have you been?"
"Long story," Jon said.
She smiled up at him. "So give me the shortened version." The entire time they were on Cain's trail, she never once saw him in anything but Englishman's clothing. She was curious as to what would have made him want to don the clothes of his heritage. "Why the Indian costume?" she teased.
"My clothes are being pressed," he answered drolly. "I apologize for arriving late, but the old man I stayed with while Hunter went for his family died that same night. I returned to their village to see him buried." He grimaced. "Stop looking at me like that. They needed someone else to help carry the body. That's all."
She smiled. "I'm proud of you."
He rolled his eyes. "Christ, Hunter, I'm almost glad she didn't take me up on my offer. Now you're stuck with her the rest of your born days and I'm not."
Hunter offered her his hand. "I need to speak with you, sweeting. Upstairs." He sounded strangely solemn to her. Tired . . .
As Alexandra went to lift her arms from around Jon's shoulders she heard a horrendous screech from the direction of the parlor.
"Indians! We're under attack!" Gerta Haxton screeched from the doorway. "Help her, for Mother Mary's sake! They've come back for her!"
"Gerta!" Aunt Sally came hustling to the doorway. Her hands flew to her plump cheeks and she shrieked for all she was worth.
One of the manservants, Black Boe, came running down the hallway with a musket in his hands. "Stand back!" the Irishman called. "I'm comin'! I'm comin'!"
"Shoot him!" Aunt Sally ordered. "Save Alexandra, Black Boe!"
The servant took aim. "Let her go or I'll shoot you dead, redskin."
Alexandra, looked up at Jon who was still holding her in his arms. She knew this wasn't funny. It wasn't funny at all. Poor Mistress Haxton honestly believed they were under attack by wild Indians.
But Alexandra couldn't help herself. It had been days since she had a good laugh. She started to chuckle. Then Jon began to chuckle. Then Hunter.
Black Boe stood in the center of the hall beside the grand staircase, the musket poised to fire, a queer look on his face.
"It's all right, Black Boe," Alexandra said, still laughing. "Put down the weapon before you shoot me. He's a friend of Geoffry's, and a friend of mine."
"Sweet Mary, Mother of God," Mistress Haxton murmured from the doorway as she fluttered her handkerchief in her face. "I believe I may faint, Sally. Call for smelling salts."
"Indeed you'll not faint here, Gerta. Not in front of my guests." Aunt Sally grabbed Mistress Haxton by one bony arm and gave her a shake. "Get control of your vapors and take yourself home. We'll expect to see you this evening at the party."
With that matter settled, Aunt Sally, forever the proper hostess, rushed forward to greet Jon and Hunter. "My apologies, dear Geoffry." She looked to Jon, scrutinizing his face. "Excuse our behavior. I hadn't realized Geoffry would be bringing home a guest. Do you speak the King's English?" She peered into his face. "English?"
Jon released Alexandra and swept his hand, bending into a bow so deep that his forehead nearly touched the slate floor of the front hall. No court dandy being presented to King George himself could have looked better. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, madame." He took Aunt Sally's hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, his lips lingering for a long improper moment. "Alexandra said she had an aunt, but she failed to tell me how utterly beautiful she was, and so young." He straightened, still holding onto her hand. "Had I realized what a paragon you were, madame, I'd have arrived sooner."
Alexandra cut her eyes at Hunter. Jon was like this with every woman he met. He was indiscriminate; tall, short, fat, thin, red or white. He seemed to like all women and he wanted them to like him.
Hunter shrugged at Alexandra with a sigh and then turned back to their hostess. "If you don't mind, Sally," he said, "I've invited Jon to remain here in your home for a few days."
Aunt Sally looked to Hunter, who was starting up the staircase. "Well, certainly, certainly he may. I . . . I don't know that I have any . . . any Indian food, but—" She looked to Alexandra for aid, but Alexandra was already starting up the stairs after Hunter.
"Brandy and a side of beef will be fine, Auntie. Now if you'll excuse us, we're in need of private conversation. Make yourself at home," Alexandra called down to Jon. "I'll be down directly."
Jon waved at her, flashing her a grin as he turned his attention back to Aunt Sally. "Sally, may I be so presumptuous as to call you Sally?" Alexandra heard Jon saying as he steered her aunt back toward the parlor. "Well, Sally dear, it seems I'm in a bit of a bind. I've no proper clothing but these ghastly hides and I understand there's to be a ball this evening in Geoffry's honor. Do you think—"
Alexandra turned the corner on the staircase and Jon's voice was lost to the sounds below. "Hunter, Hunter," she called. "Wait for me." Sensing something was wrong, she hurried after him, down the hallway and into his bedchamber. She closed the door behind them and leaned against it.
He looked pale to her.
"Hunter, what is it?" she asked softly. "Jon's all right, isn't he?"
He stood at the window. Alexandra couldn't resist a smile. What a striking sight he was, even with the lines of his face pulled taut with worry. Foregoing a wig, he wore his auburn hair pulled back sleekly with a black velvet ribbon into a neat queue. He was dressed in a pair of burgundy breeches that molded to his sinewy thighs and shaped calves drawing the eye downward to expensive black boots sewn of calfskin. He wore a linen shirt with a stock, a navy brocade shirtwaist, and a navy coat cut of the latest fashion. He was dressed simply, but elegantly.
"Jon's fine. Better than I've seen him in a long time. It was good for him to spend some time among his own people. I think he's come away with a better understanding of them."
"Then what is it? Hunter, tell me."
He pulled a folded piece of paper from inside his shirtwaist and offered it to her. He didn't make eye contact as it passed between them.
She took it. It was a brief letter. The ink was splotched with several illegible words, but the meaning was clear. She folded it carefully when she was done. "Your father, I'm so sorry."
He sighed, tugging at his lacy stock as he stared out onto the street below. "The letter is months old. He's probably already dead."
She linked her arm throu
gh his and slipped the paper back inside his waistcoat. "No. Maybe not. Maybe there's still time. With a little luck we can be there in eight weeks."
"A winter crossing?" He gave a derisive snort. "A friend once made record time crossing from London here only to sit off the coast six weeks trying to make it safely into the bay. A ship doesn't leave here for another ten days. It could easily be the first week of February before we make it back to England."
She rested her cheek on the soft brushed brocade of his waistcoat. "Was he ill when you left?"
"Healthy as a racehorse."
"You couldn't have known, Hunter." She looked up at him, wishing she could smooth away the obvious pain written across his face. "Regrets are useless now. You did what you did. I've forgiven you. Almost." She smiled up at him. "And I'm certain your father has too."
"I don't regret leaving, just having to hurt him the way I did. These last six years, even with the tragedies, have been the best years of my life." He took her hand. "If I'd not come I'd never have had you."
She laughed. "Of course you would have. Six years ago, remember? Our wedding."
He squeezed her hand, gazing out the window at a father and his son passing on the street. "It would never have been the same and you know it. It would have been merely another arranged marriage. I'd have cared for you as would have been my duty. I'd never have abused you. I'd even have given you children." He was silent for a moment. "But I doubt I'd have ever loved you."
"Hunter, how can you say such a thing? Of course we would have fallen in love."
He shook his head. "Listen to yourself. You call me Hunter in the privacy of our room. You call me Hunter when we make love."
"Only because I forget that's not your real name."
"No. You fell in love with the Hunter of the Shawnee, not Geoffry Rordan, the Viscount Ashton."
She didn't understand, but she was trying. "He's the same man."
His met her gaze, his hazel eyes studying her carefully. "Is he? I don't think so."
His Wild Heart Page 24
