An Impossible Attraction

by Brenda Joyce

  To complicate matters further, Edgemont had seen Ebony. Corey had developed the lie. She had baldly told him that the horse was a temporary loan from Lady Harrington, of all people. According to Corey, they’d called earlier to thank her for the ball, and Bonnie had gone lame. Edgemont had believed her, had in fact been pleased. They knew he was thinking about using the horse, himself.

  Olivia reached for her hand. “Maybe they are discussing the races. Please do not worry.”

  Newmarket would close in a few weeks. The last races of the season were on everyone’s mind. “I’m fine,” Alexandra lied.

  “You’re as white as a ghost. And you’re trembling,” Corey said. “If they return to us and declare a betrothal, you must stand up for your rights and refuse.”

  Alexandra was grim. “I will do no such thing,” she began, and even as she spoke, the library door opened and the two men came ambling out, both smiling so widely that clearly they were in vast accord on something. Her heart clenched. She was certain they’d decided on the betrothal, and she reminded herself that this opportunity was a miracle, one that would benefit everyone, including herself. And she was not going to think about Clarewood now.

  “We have news,” Edgemont declared, beaming.

  Alexandra stood up, refusing to look at her sisters now, trying to smile. “I can see that you are both pleased.”

  The squire strode up to her, reaching for her hands. Oddly, today his palms felt clammy. “My dear, I have asked for your hand, and your father has agreed!”

  She looked into his shining eyes and wished he did not love her so much. It was so hard to speak. “How wonderful,” she managed.

  “There hasn’t even been a courtship!” Corey exclaimed, flushing with outrage. “He’s courted her for all of five days!”

  Denney faltered, Edgemont was furious and Alexandra quickly turned. “Corey, the squire indicated that he would move swiftly, and I agreed.”

  “No, you did not!” Corey exclaimed, eyes ablaze. “You wished for a proper suit, and you said so.”

  Alexandra bit her lip, aware that Corey was desperate to prevent her from making this marriage purely because she loved her.

  “One more word and you will go to your room!” Edgemont roared, trembling with rage.

  “Don’t worry, there is no place I would rather be, for I have no wish to see Alexandra sell herself off. She deserves love!” Corey glared at the squire, then ran upstairs. A moment later they heard her door slam.

  A shocked and awkward silence fell. Alexandra turned to Denney, afraid that he would despise her sister and retreat from his previously stated intentions to be generous with her entire family. She was determined to soothe him now. “I am so sorry. My sister is quite young. Please, forgive her this outburst.”

  Denney had paled. Grimly he said, “May we have a private word, Miss Bolton?”

  Dread began. “Of course.” Alexandra waited for Edgemont to escort Olivia into his library, where he shut the door. “I am so sorry,” she said again, meaning it.

  “Is it true? Did you yearn for a proper courtship?” he asked.

  She swallowed. “This is indeed hasty, sir, but I am very fortunate, and I do not intend to quibble.” But even as she spoke, her mind treacherously demanded that she do just that.

  He touched her arm. “I am so eager to wed, Miss Bolton. I simply cannot wait.”

  She tensed. “I am flattered,” she managed, then wondered if he was in such a rush that they would be married by week’s end.

  He touched her cheek, and Alexandra was immediately incredulous, and then she was aghast, for his fingers lingered on her jaw. He said softly, “You do deserve love, Miss Bolton. On that score, I happen to agree with you sister.”

  “Very few marry for love,” she managed, wanting to pull her head back.

  He dropped his hand. “Miss Bolton…I am in love with you.”

  She wanted to cry out in dismay. And damn it, it was Clarewood’s fierce image she now saw, there in her mind’s eye. Shaken, she breathed out.

  “In time, I believe you will come to love me, too,” he murmured.

  What could she possibly say to such a statement? “I hope so.” Now all she could recall was Clarewood’s anger at her rejection and the black horse that was in their stables.

  He clasped her shoulder, smiling gently, and her alarm escalated wildly. His regard was so tender, but his eyes were warm, and she knew he was about to kiss her. Panic began.

  He leaned toward her. Alexandra told herself not to move and reminded herself that there would be many kisses. My God, they would share a bed, there would be intimate relations. And that was as it should be. They were going to be man and wife—it was best for everyone.

  I will be a generous benefactor.

  I suggest you reconsider our involvement.

  His dark blue eyes had been dark with anger, his voice filled with authority. It hadn’t been a suggestion….

  The squire’s mouth brushed hers.

  And because, for one moment, she had been transported back in time, as if standing with Clarewood in the rain, she cried out, surprised. His hands tightened on her shoulders and his mouth firmed, becoming more demanding.

  She pushed at his shoulders, horrified. Her body screamed at her to run away. She hated the feel of his mouth, its taste, his touch. She did not want to do this!

  He pulled away abruptly.

  Alexandra backed up, trembling with shock. She had hated his touching her.

  She would never love this man.

  “Please forgive me,” he rasped. “I was overcome by your beauty, Miss Bolton.”

  She somehow shook her head, wanting to wipe her mouth with her sleeve. “You are forgiven,” she managed.

  “Truly? I can see that I have shocked you. I am so very sorry.”

  “I was surprised,” she somehow said. “It is forgotten, Mr. Denney. Oh! I have a chicken in the oven! Will you excuse me?” With that, Alexandra fled.

  AFTER SUPPER, WHEN DENNEY was gone, Alexandra sat down on her bed, her bedroom door locked. She couldn’t recall the last time she had locked her door; maybe she never had. Now she picked up a pillow and hugged it, staring at the burgundy roses on the bureau. In her mind’s eye, Clarewood seemed mocking now, as if he’d told her so.

  How do you feel about the squire?

  Had he guessed that she could not care for or desire Morton Denney? Had he somehow known?

  I hardly mind a rival.

  Or was it simply that he was so arrogant that he knew there could not be a competition? How could anyone compare the handsome, powerful duke with the kind, elderly squire?

  I am taken with you…I believe you are taken with me.

  I will be a generous benefactor.

  She started to cry. How was she going to marry the squire, never mind that he was so kind and generous, and that he was in love with her? His kiss had repulsed her. But in Clarewood’s arms, she had been in a delirium of rapture. Worse, she had felt so oddly safe.

  She was a shameless woman, that had become clear, to dream about and want a man who wanted only to make her his mistress. It had been different with Owen; they had intended marriage. She had loved him. She didn’t love Clarewood. And there was nothing safe about him. He meant to ruin her—even though he would be financially generous.

  What was she going to do?

  Alexandra lay down and stared at the ceiling, cuddling her pillow, forcing her thoughts of Clarewood aside. Instead, she imagined herself the mistress of Fox Run, the wife of Squire Denney. She tried to imagine living in his handsome home, keeping the household, managing the staff. She saw herself arranging flowers in the grand salon, then sitting down to lunch with her sisters, a meal she had not been forced to prepare herself. And they were served by his two maids.

  Then she imagined the squire appearing during their meal, beaming at her, kissing her warmly and sitting down to join them. Dismay rose up.

  She would pretend to be pleased to see him and have
him join them, when she wouldn’t really care at all. She might even wish he’d allowed her a private luncheon with her sisters.

  Tears leaked again.

  She was not going to feel sorry for herself! There might be children. She’d wanted children once. She loved children and she knew she would be a good mother. So she changed the scene. Now two little girls raced about the dining room as she enjoyed a luncheon with her sisters and her husband. They were so pretty, one brown haired, one blond—they resembled Corey and Olivia as children. Her distress increased.

  She imagined her sisters having handsome husbands and added them to the table. Everyone was smiling and content—the little girls, her sisters, their husbands, the squire. Everyone except herself…

  The luncheon became supper. Everyone was in evening clothes—her sisters were so fashionable now. Olivia even wore pearls. And the supper was over. The squire was sending her warm looks. She was forcing a smile, going upstairs. He followed. And then he came up behind her and wrapped her in his arms, instantly amorous. She simply stood there and let him nuzzle her.

  Alexandra sat bolt upright, clutching the pillow, Clarewood’s roses front and center in her vision now. She could not do this.

  She wanted to go through with it, she truly did, and she wanted to be a loving wife. But she did not love the squire. She would never love him. He was too old, and the only man she’d ever loved and would ever love was Owen. He had been a prince. She deserved a prince!

  Clarewood mocked her now. Even his roses mocked her!

  And she wished her mother were there. “What am I going to do?” she asked the empty room.

  The bedroom had a single window. Outside, the night was black and a few stars were shining. And suddenly Elizabeth was standing in front of the window. She could see her mother so clearly now, as if she were real, and not a warm and wonderful memory. As always, her mother was calm and reassuring. You will do what you have to do.

  She hugged her knees to her chest. Elizabeth had been so happy that she’d found love with Owen. Her sisters were right, her mother would not approve of the squire.

  “But he loves me.”

  You don’t love him.

  She would never love the squire. “I so wanted to save my sisters from destitution.”

  Elizabeth smiled. He is not your prince.

  She looked again at the burgundy roses, thinking of Clarewood, who was as close to a prince as a man could be, in every possible way. He would be generous. He had said so. His fortune made Denney look like pauper.

  Oh, God, what was she thinking?

  What she was thinking was that if she turned the squire away, her sisters did not have to continue on as impoverished young women with no possible future. If she turned the squire away, she could turn to the duke, who would be generous with her.

  Alexandra bit down hard on her lip. He had said he would be generous. And she would not mind being in his arms. To the contrary. She felt as if she needed his embrace, his passion. No, she did not need him; it was only that she missed Owen, who belonged to another now, and it had been so long….

  You deserve love.

  She jumped, looking at her mother, recalling Corey’s words. “He doesn’t love me. It will be merely an arrangement.”

  And it would be short-term. It would not be for life.

  Her mother smiled.

  Alexandra hugged the pillow harder, knowing that if her illicit affair were ever discovered, her fall from grace would irrevocably ruin her sisters. So there were terrible pitfalls ahead—if she really meant to go forward.

  “What should I do?” she asked.

  Elizabeth came forward, touching her hair, the caress a maternal one. I never meant for you to sacrifice yourself for your sisters, Alexandra. And I believe that deep within yourself, you know that.

  Her mother had never meant for her to sacrifice herself, but taking care of her sisters hadn’t been a sacrifice, had it? She smiled tearfully, but suddenly Elizabeth was gone.

  It didn’t matter. One thing was clear. She could not marry the squire. And her relief was overwhelming.

  “YOU LOCKED YOUR DOOR last night,” Corey said, wide-eyed.

  “I needed some privacy,” Alexandra told her, hurrying downstairs. Her mind was made up. She would not marry the squire and spend her life as his wife. She’d spent a very sleepless night, thinking about the duke and the arrangement he had in mind. There was trepidation, but there was also so much relief.

  Alexandra smiled at Corey and Olivia now. “By the way, I have changed my mind. I am not marrying the squire.”

  Their eyes widened.

  Alexandra reached the ground floor; Edgemont had not answered his door, and she assumed he’d fallen asleep in the library. He hadn’t gone out the night before. He’d gotten foxed at supper, instead, drinking several bottles of red wine.

  He was indeed in the library, asleep on the small sofa. Alexandra strode over to him and shook his shoulder. “Father? I am sorry to awaken you, but we must have a talk.”

  He winced, waking immediately, sitting up. “What? What time is it? Did I fall asleep?” The bleary look left his eyes. “You got engaged, by God! This calls for a drink.”

  She clasped his shoulder, restraining him from getting up. “It’s the next morning, Father.” She turned. “Olivia, would you bring Father his coffee?”

  “What time is it?” he groused, now glancing outside.

  “It’s only half past eight,” she said, sitting down beside him. “Father, I have come to my senses. Olivia and Corey have been right all along. I cannot—and will not—marry the squire simply for the means he can provide us.”

  Edgemont seemed confused, and then he was clearly taken aback. “You were engaged last night, Alexandra,” he warned.

  “No, Father, you and Mr. Denney agreed to a betrothal, but no one has signed a contract, and I am not wearing a betrothal ring.” She was firm.

  He stood up; so did she. “We are signing contracts tonight,” he said ominously. “We are announcing the betrothal, as well.”

  She stiffened. “I will not marry him.”

  Edgemont’s eyes widened. “You are the obedient one. You are the giving one. You are, in fact, exactly like your mother—the glue holding this family together. Of course you will marry Denney and save this family from ruin.”

  Guilt began. Clarewood seemed to give her a dark look, in her mind, as if he sensed she was about to back down and retreat. “I cannot marry him.”

  “You can and you will!” Edgemont shouted. “I am your father. I am head of this household. You will obey and respect me, Alexandra!”

  She trembled. “Sign what you will. I am twenty-six years old, and legally, I am my own keeper—I cannot be forced into marriage against my will.”

  He trembled with rage, and Alexandra thought he might hit her, when he’d never laid a hand on her, not once in her life. “You will do as I say!” he commanded. “You will go to that altar!”

  She shook her head, mouth pursed, hating having to refute him this way and reveal that he had no power, none. For, unless he physically dragged her into church, she was not going to marry Denney. They stared at one another, Edgemont trembling with rage, Alexandra grim with sorrow. Then she turned and left the room.

  Her sisters were standing in the hall, Olivia holding a cup of coffee, both of them ashen. “What will you do now?” Olivia asked, her tone hushed.

  Of course she could not tell them that she meant to accept Clarewood’s indecent offer. She could not tell them that she meant to take him as a lover and accept payment in return. It was sordid. It was wrong. But her sisters would have a future, and it was better than a lifetime of pretense and compromise.

  THIS TIME, THE JOURNEY to Clarewood had been a swift and easy one—as far as the logistics of travel were concerned. Ebony had picked up a trot the moment she’d asked him to upon leaving the house, and he hadn’t faltered even once since then. A glance at her pocket watch showed her that less than two hou
rs had passed and they had just turned onto Clarewood’s long shell drive, though the magnificent house was not yet in sight.

  Her pulse raced. Her mouth was dry. She’d never been as nervous, not even the last time she had gone to Clarewood to return the roses and the diamond bracelet. He had won. Of course he had. Had the outcome of their contest ever been in dispute? she wondered.

  And it would not be the end of the world. Some good would come of it. There would be no going back. Alexandra knew she was giving up all self-respect, but it seemed a small price to pay for her sisters’ livelihoods.

  And there was more. She might be losing self-respect, but when she thought of being in his strong arms, her heart leaped and raced, and her tension instantly changed in character. Her heart had been racing ever since leaving Edgemont Way. There was no denying that she felt anticipation as well as dismay. In a few more days she would be the Duke of Clarewood’s mistress!

  Alexandra inhaled. As Ebony trotted up the shell drive toward the fountain ahead, she reminded herself that she had to stay focused on the terms of their arrangement. She wished to have a complete and detailed understanding, one that would protect her interests—which included those of her sisters. She’d already decided to ask Clarewood to provide dowries for her sisters. The question was, how much more should she ask for?

  Her stomach churned with revulsion. Corey had accused Edgemont of selling her off to Denney, but what she was doing now made her father’s efforts to marry her off seem noble. She was selling her body to the duke. There was only one word to describe that. It would be so different if this was a love affair, or even one of purely physical passion.

  She thought about turning back. It wasn’t too late; they could continue on as they had for the past nine years. But Clarewood’s image was so forceful now, compelling her, and her sisters’ future was at stake.

  “Ebony, whoa,” she called, pulling on the reins.