An Impossible Attraction

by Brenda Joyce

  Then he stepped in front of her, barring her way. Alexandra gasped, just before he seized her arms, firmly but not hurtfully. What was he doing now?

  He said softly, “I rarely make errors of judgment.”

  His gaze was searching, and she could not look away. Her heart was thundering so loudly, she was certain he could hear it. “You have made such an error this time.”

  “I do not think so. I believe you are determined to accept the squire out of economic necessity.”

  “And if I am?”

  He suddenly slid his thumb across her jaw. Pleasure exploded within her body, while she trembled in despair. He murmured, “I intend to be a very generous benefactor.”

  It was so hard to comprehend him when he was caressing her face with his thumb. Desire was a huge fist now, deep in her stomach, churning the confusion there.

  “I look forward to being generous with you in all possible ways, Alexandra,” he said throatily.

  There was no mistaking the desire in his tone, no mistaking the lust smoldering in his eyes. She trembled, breathed, meant to pull away, meant to refute him. But she did not do any of those things.

  He tilted up her chin. “You are sodden, even disheveled, but even so, you are capable of taking my breath away.”

  “Stop,” she tried to say, but she wasn’t sure she’d even spoken aloud.

  His long, thick lashes lowered, and then his face moved closer to hers.

  He was going to kiss her.

  She went still, her mind going blank. She forgot about everything, including why she’d come to Clarewood that afternoon. All she knew was that he was about to kiss her, and her body exploded in a frenzy of excitement

  Clasping her shoulders, he brushed his firm mouth over hers, not once, but several times.

  Alexandra did not move, stunned by the sensation of his lips on hers, her entire body a sudden conflagration of desire and urgent need. She caught his massive shoulders. She felt him smile. She softened in response.

  Why was she denying him?

  He made a sound and claimed her mouth, opening it, hard.

  She cried out, throwing her arms around him, pressing close as he wrapped her tightly in his embrace, their tongues instantly entwining. He was hard and stiff against her hip. Excitement blinded her. She desperately need to be in this man’s powerful arms, just as she desperately needed his mouth on hers and his hard, aroused male body pressing insistently against her.

  Alexandra kissed him back.

  Not softly, not gently, and not as a genteel woman might. She kissed him wildly, urgently, demanding he open for her, trying to drink all of him in. He grunted, the sound one of triumph. His grasp on her tightened, every inch of his body straining against her now. She did not know how long they stood there that way, in a fierce, deep kiss, his tongue questing against the back of her throat, his manhood massively aroused against her pelvis. She wanted to shout his name and weep in pleasure—she wanted to demand more, beg for more. There was desire, and there was relief. There was joy.

  How had she managed, these past nine years?

  And then he broke the shocking kiss.

  His handsome image swam before her as he held her so she would not fall, regarding her closely, his eyes ablaze. Alexandra clung, dazed. Sanity slowly returned.

  And when her vision became focused and she saw how fiercely aroused he was—and how pleased—when she felt her own aroused body, and knew what it signaled, she released his shoulders. Shock washed through her.

  Dismay rapidly followed.

  What had she just done?

  “You will stay for supper,” he said flatly.

  She shook her head and tried to back away. For one moment he did not release her, his eyes widening with surprise. “No. I cannot. Let me go…please!”

  She did not know if he released her or if she broke free. Their gazes remained locked, his now dark with what appeared to be anger. “If you are playing games, Alexandra, then you are a superb player, the best I have encountered.”

  Now he thought her the sort of woman who would toy with a man. She turned and ran for the door, horrified by his indictment and her own moral failure. She was too distressed to think clearly or hear if he was following her. She ran through the house, so intent on escape, she did not pause in the front hall to ask for her coat. She reached the door before the startled doorman, now fighting tears. What was wrong with her? As she wrenched the handle, the doorman opened it for her, and she ran outside and down the front steps, into the rain.

  Her carriage was not in sight. She realized the mare had been taken to the stables at her own request. She choked down tears. What had she done?

  “Miss Bolton.” Clarewood’s tone was like the lash of a whip. He held an umbrella over her.

  She refused to turn and look at him; instead, she started resolutely for the stables.

  He followed, holding the umbrella over her head.

  His strides were longer than hers, and he seized her arm as he came abreast of her, his face hard with anger. “Stop.”

  “Let go.”

  “You remain soaking wet, and your nag will never make it back to Edgemont Way.”

  She finally looked into his piercing blue eyes, wrenching free. “So what would you have me do?” she asked hysterically. “Remain here with you, give in to your needs, satisfy your desire, your command?”

  In spite of his anger, he spoke quietly now. “I am sorry you are in such a moral dilemma. And I will hardly hold you captive, Alexandra. Leave the mare. She can rest here. I will send you home after you have dried off. And I will leave you to your own devices while you do so.”

  She stared at him.

  He stared coldly back. “But I suggest you reconsider the benefits of involvement with me, especially in light of what just happened.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “ALEXANDRA,” HER FATHER said jovially the next day. “Did I tell you? The squire will be coming to dine with us tonight.”

  It was half past ten the following morning, and Olivia was preparing Edgemont’s breakfast, as she always did. Their father could not rouse himself any earlier, due to his late hours and his consumption of alcohol. Alexandra had set up her ironing board in one corner of the kitchen and was pressing the last ball gown from the Harrington Hall birthday party, having stayed up virtually all night. “No, Father, I do not think you told us that,” she said calmly, when she was anything but.

  Clarewood had been true to his word. He’d returned her to the front of the fire in the blue-and-gold salon, and then he had vanished. It had taken her a good hour to dry off, and in the interim she had been served a hot meal, which she had tried to decline, but then she had thought the better of it—the journey back to Edgemont would be a long, wet and cold one. But she had been wrong; his coach was well equipped, and as dry as a summer cupboard. Hot bricks had been placed on the carriage floors, furs on the backseat. The roof did not leak. The windows had glass. The return trip to Edgemont Way had been so pleasant that she had eventually managed to fall asleep—in spite of her distress and despair.

  Now she carefully concentrated on the task at hand—she would have to replace a costly gown if she ever ruined one. But no matter how hard she stared at the gown and the iron, it was Clarewood’s dark blue eyes that she saw. No matter how tightly she gripped the iron, it was his muscular shoulders she felt. Her despair was complete. All she wished to do was forget he even existed.

  Last night Edgemont had been out when she had returned. It was the day’s one saving grace. She had not been able to form a reasonable or believable explanation for why she was coming home in the duke’s magnificent coach. Fortunately, she hadn’t had to deliver one.

  But Corey and Olivia had been speechless. Then they had pestered her with questions.

  Refusing to answer a single one, she’d stumbled upstairs, where one of his burgundy roses sat on her dresser in a big vase, and her distress was renewed all over again.

  It was impossible to b
e fully diverted by her father’s declaration now. She had a meal to plan, and very few funds with which to do so. Carefully pressing a raspberry-red silk sleeve, she said, “Did you explain to the squire that we dine at seven?”

  “He plans to come a bit earlier, for a sherry. He said he wishes to have a private discussion with me.” Edgemont was obviously pleased.

  Alexandra felt her heart lurch with dismay as she set the iron down on the wood cutting board by the sink. Clarewood’s powerful image remained front and center in her mind; when she looked at her father, it was the duke that she saw. And his eyes were filled with anger.

  He had hated being rejected.

  But there had been no other possible recourse.

  Her mind tried to veer to the passionate kiss they had shared. Moisture welled in her eyes, and it was suddenly hard to breathe. She did not know why she was so sad. She must never allow herself to remember, not even for an instant, that shockingly passionate encounter.

  “I wonder what he wishes to say.” Edgemont grinned.

  She faced her father and tried to smile in return. Surely Denney would not offer for her now. It was too soon, no matter that he had said he intended to make haste with his suit. “I hope he won’t mind a roasted chicken.” It would be a respectable main course, and not a costly one.

  Olivia set a plate down on the kitchen table, one containing a single poached egg and two slices of toast. Ham, sausage and bacon had vanished from their pantry long ago.

  “He is so besotted with you, I’m sure you could serve him gizzards and he’d be pleased.”

  Absolutely dismayed and confounded, Alexandra turned away. She carefully turned over the dress, then retrieved the iron. But it had already cooled.

  “Alexandra, you already did that side,” Olivia said softly, her gaze worried.

  Alexandra dared to meet her sister’s eyes, incapable of summoning up even a false smile. “You’re right. Silly me.”

  It was over now. And there was no reason to be so distressed.

  But it was as if she’d gone back in time to the days when she’d trysted with Owen—except that she wasn’t certain she had ever felt such an explosion of desire.

  She missed Owen so much. It had become painful all over again.

  Edgemont was wolfing down his egg and toast. He’d already stated he would be gone for the day. Alexandra had no idea where he was going, nor did she particularly care. She carried the dress from the room, Olivia following on her heels.

  Edgemont called after them, “Make certain you serve a fine meal tonight, Alexandra. Spare no expense!”

  She did not answer, carefully hanging up the dress in the hall.

  Olivia said, “Why won’t you talk about whatever it was that happened yesterday? I am so worried.”

  Alexandra did not want her sisters worrying about her. She placed the hanger on the coatrack and turned. “There is nothing to worry about. I explained my situation to the duke. There will be no more inappropriate advances.”

  “You are near tears,” Olivia pointed out. “You cannot even form a smile. What happened? Was he unkind? Cruel? All kinds of terrible imaginings are dancing about in my head!”

  Alexandra put her arm around her. “Oh, Olivia. He was so very angry. He did not take my rejection lightly. But it is over, and there is no valid reason for me to remain upset.”

  “Yet you are upset!”

  She would never tell Olivia about the kiss. And she could not tell her that she missed Owen and what they had shared, and thought about him now as she hadn’t in years—while his image faded in and out, being constantly replaced by the duke’s. Olivia would use that as ammunition against the squire and his suit. “I am just overtired,” she said, and it was partly the truth. She forced a smile. “At least Bonnie is on a holiday. She is probably in the finest stall she has ever known, with more hay than she knows what to do with.”

  Olivia did not smile. Her gaze was searching. “Something happened at Clarewood, and you are not telling me. We have never had secrets before.”

  Alexandra bit her lip. Tears formed. “He kissed me.”

  Olivia gasped.

  “I am sorry,” Alexandra said, leaning against the wall. “I’d forgotten what it is like to be kissed by a young, handsome man.”

  “He isn’t young. He is thirty or so,” Olivia said. “What a despicable cad.”

  “Yes, he is despicable.” But the moment she spoke, just as she heard her father approaching, she was aware that she didn’t believe her own words. The two sisters shared a look and smiled at him as he ambled past, reaching for his coat. “Have a good day, Father.”

  “Spare no expense, Alexandra,” he admonished, beaming. “And wear something pretty.” He walked out of the house.

  They waited until the door had closed and then looked at each other again. Olivia shook her head. “So I was wrong about his intentions. I am sorry, Alexandra.”

  “It’s all right. It is over.” She was firm. Nothing felt over, really, but she had to think about the evening to come. There was so much to do. “We need to start housecleaning. Where is Corey?”

  “I’ll get her,” Olivia said.

  For the next hour or so, the sisters swept, mopped and dusted the house in preparation for their dinner guest. Alexandra still could not shake Clarewood from her mind. Nor could she understand her sudden despondence. And she continued to miss Owen terribly. It was as if Clarewood had taken a knife and sliced open all her old wounds.

  Alexandra and Corey began to polish the wood furniture. Olivia was sweeping the front steps, the new day a bright, cold and sunny one, when she came rushing back into the house. “Alexandra, come quickly!”

  Alexandra felt her heart lurch in alarm. She had the immediate and odd notion that Clarewood had sent her another gift; instantly, she told herself that she was wrong. She hurried outside, Corey on her heels. And she saw that Clarewood had sent her carriage home, but Bonnie was not in the traces. A beautiful, young, powerful black horse was pulling the carriage, instead.

  “Where is Bonnie?” Olivia whispered.

  “Look at that horse!” Corey exclaimed.

  The gelding was part draught horse, clearly. He could undoubtedly go back and forth to Clarewood several times in a single day without even tiring, and probably pull a wagon filled with mortar and bricks the entire time. And now she saw Randolph’s splendid hunter tied behind the carriage, and instantly realized he was driving it. He waved at them.

  What was Clarewood up to now?

  She was alarmed. She was dismayed. She was also oddly breathless.

  Randolph halted the carriage and braked it, leaping easily out as only a young man can do. He sauntered up the brick path to where they stood, just in front of the house. “Good day, ladies,” he said gaily.

  Alexandra hugged herself, while Corey asked, “Where is Bonnie?”

  “Your mare remains at Clarewood. I am afraid she is lame, but do not be alarmed, His Grace has a singular veterinarian, and rest assured the mare will be ready to return home in five or six weeks. Apparently she has bowed a tendon.”

  “Five or six weeks!” Corey exclaimed in open dismay. “She’s our only carriage horse! How will we get on?”

  She turned to Alexandra, who inhaled. “Father will have to give up his mount, that is all. It is only temporary.”

  “He will never do such a thing,” Olivia said softly.

  “Ladies, have no fear,” Randolph interjected, smiling. “His Grace wishes for you to have use of Ebony until the mare can come home.”

  Alexandra looked at him in astonishment. “I beg your pardon?” She looked at the powerful black gelding again.

  “You may borrow Ebony until the mare returns,” he said firmly. “His Grace insists.”

  She jerked her gaze away from the striking horse. Randolph was staring at her—as if expecting a debate. Clarewood had sent them a horse. It was a thoughtful gesture, a generous one.

  I will be a very generous benefactor.
<
br />   I suggest you reconsider our involvement.

  “He is lovely,” Corey whispered. “He is the most beautiful horse I have ever laid my eyes on. Can he go under saddle?”

  Randolph looked at her. “Yes, he hacks very well. Do you like to ride, Miss Bolton?”

  “Of course I do, but it has been years since I have done so.” She shrugged, the gesture feminine and helpless. “I have never had a mount of my own, sir, but as a child, I used to gallop Bonnie bareback all over the countryside.”

  “Corey,” Olivia rebuked.

  Alexandra barely heard them. She was shaken. Was this gesture an act of consideration and kindness? Or did it mean that he intended to continue his pursuit after all?

  She looked at Randolph, breathing hard—as if she’d run back and forth to the house several times. “We appreciate the offer. It is very thoughtful and terribly magnanimous. But I am afraid we cannot accept even the temporary use of such a horse.” But what she really wanted to say was that she could not accept the use of his horse, not now and not ever.

  “Why not?” Corey screeched at her.

  Randolph’s eyes were wide, but he seemed to be restraining a smile. “Miss Bolton, His Grace insists. Why not humor him?”

  She stared. It was so very hard to think clearly. “May we have a private word, sir?”

  Before he could answer, Corey seized her arm, her green eyes blazing. “Alexandra, I love that horse. We need that horse. We cannot get on, even for six weeks, without a carriage horse. Look at him! If you send him back, I am never speaking to you again.”

  Olivia took Corey’s arm. “Let’s step inside.” She looked at Alexandra meaningfully before she left. “I am siding with Corey, Alexandra. We do need a carriage horse. It is only a loan. Do not send him back.”

  Alexandra refused to speak. She waited until they were gone before turning her gaze back to Randolph. “I believe I have explained my situation to you, sir.”