An Impossible Attraction

by Brenda Joyce

  And then she heard galloping hoofbeats coming up rapidly behind her. She twisted to look at the approaching horseman. And even before she could recognize the rider on the magnificent black stallion, she knew it was Clarewood.

  He rode the way he did everything else—with power and authority, as if he were not just a prince but a king.

  Her tension spiraled. He halted beside her carriage so precipitously that shells sprayed its wheels. As she stared, she realized he was even more dashing than usual in his riding clothes. And now that he was beside her, she once again had that odd sense of being safe.

  Alexandra met his intense dark blue stare. It was filled with speculation. “Good afternoon,” he said, his mouth softening. “Are you returning my horse?”

  She trembled, her heart lurching. If she said yes, she would go home holding her head high. If she said no, she would begin a new journey, one that would change her life forever.

  “Miss Bolton?” he murmured, still staring. “Can I entice you to come inside and take tea? Perhaps you can then work on forming the answer I wish to hear.”

  She wet her lips. “I am not returning the horse.”

  He started, and then, slowly, he smiled. “I see.” He was obviously pleased. He gave her a direct look, one that caused her body to tighten impossibly, and he dismounted, leading his horse to the back of the carriage and tying him firmly there. Alexandra didn’t move as he came around to the driver’s side of her small vehicle. She wasn’t sure she was even breathing. She was about to become his mistress, and she was acutely aware of the magnitude of that decision.

  He smiled again. “May I?”

  At first she didn’t hear him, too busy staring at his handsome face, at his high cheekbones, that straight, patrician nose and those brilliantly blue eyes. She felt helpless and lost, a small rowboat churning in the sea of his charisma. Then, when he said her name, his tone more forceful now, she came to her senses, moving over so he could climb up and take the reins. “Of course.”

  But the moment he settled down on the seat beside her, it became even harder to think. Only centimeters separated them now. It was hard to breathe, even harder to pretend he did not affect her so completely. She was acutely aware of his big, male body, so close to her.

  “I am thrilled to have your company,” he remarked, driving the horse forward. “Can I assume the journey over was a pleasant one and that you are enjoying Ebony?”

  She inhaled and realized he’d heard it. “It was very pleasant—in marked contrast to the other day.”

  He smiled, eying her closely now. “You seem overwrought, Miss Bolton.”

  She was not going to tell him how she felt, or why she felt as she did. “You are mistaken. I am…suffering from a mild migraine.”

  One brow arced upward, indicating mild disbelief. “We shall have to remedy that. My housekeeper has some miraculous potions. And how is your father?” he asked politely, as they rounded the fountain.

  My father is furious with me. He continues to drink himself silly and to gamble our means away. She smiled. “Very well, thank you.”

  He gave her a sidelong look. “By the way, I happen to detest trivial speech and rarely find myself in the position of having to instigate it.”

  She turned to look at him, and their gazes locked. It was so hard to speak when he stared at her as he did, with slightly smoldering eyes. “If you must know, it has been years since I have been out in society. I’d forgotten how much casual banter there is. I am afraid I am now lacking in that particular social grace.”

  “Good,” he said flatly, surprising her. “Can we agree that no conversation at all is better than the mundane and the inane?”

  She inhaled sharply, surprised. “Yes, we can.”

  “So you will not mind long silences?”

  She continued to stare, aware of how handsome he was, and now, how powerfully masculine. Did he know why she had come? Was he assuming there would be many more moments like this one? “I will not mind long silences.”

  He seemed amused. “Then you will be the first, Miss Bolton. And may I say that I find you refreshing and original in many respects?”

  Her eyes widened. Surprise became an absurd pleasure. “Have you just flattered me, Your Grace?”

  “I have.” He halted the gelding in front of the house. “I have no patience for coquetry and am frankly bored with coquettes. I am glad you are not one of them.”

  She trembled, shocked. Was he implying that he was not only attracted to her but that he liked her?

  He leaped down from the carriage with impossibly athletic grace, as if a man of twenty. Then, as a stable boy began running over to take the horse, he held up his hand to her. “May I?” He smiled.

  She felt as if the earth were spinning wildly now. The regard he was sending her was so frank and so intimate that it was as if she were the only woman who existed.

  If he truly cared, this would be so much easier, she thought. Alexandra gave him her hand. And the moment she did, a jolt went through her, one very much like lightning. She let him help her down, hoping he hadn’t noticed how affected she was by his praise, his warmth and his touch.

  “You are trembling,” he said softly.

  She jerked and looked into his blue eyes.

  “I am glad.”

  Realizing he still held her hand, she pulled it away. She’d meant to hide her anxiety, but his candor was tugging at her. “I am nervous.”

  His eyes widened. “Then I am sorry,” he said. “Because, in spite of my reputation, I do not bite, and in spite of what is transpiring, I intend to be respectful.” He gestured, and Alexandra preceded him into the house, even more surprised by his last words.

  In the front hall, as she gave her coat to a servant, she said, “Your Grace, I was hoping to have a private word.”

  “I am hardly surprised. Shall I delay tea?” His gaze was searching now.

  She nodded, wanting to get the impending negotiation over with. He touched her waist lightly—a gesture no stranger would ever dare—and Alexandra walked forward, thinking, He knows. He knew why she had come, otherwise he would not be looking at her as he was, or touching her so improperly, as if they were already intimate.

  He guided her into his library, closing the ebony doors behind them. A fire burned in the green marble hearth, and Alexandra quickly went to stand there. There were no more doubts as her mind raced; instead, there was only the question of how to proceed and best protect her sisters’ futures.

  Suddenly his hard body bumped her from behind. She jumped, whirling to face him; he steadied her by clasping her elbows briefly. “You are very anxious. You need not be. Maybe I can make this easier for you.” His gaze remained intent and searching. “You have come to accept my offer.”

  She nodded. “I have rejected the squire. There will be no marriage.”

  His eyes blazed. “Good. I never share.”

  She inhaled, taken aback.

  “Alexandra,” he said softly. “Come, let’s be frank now. You will be my mistress. I expect absolute loyalty from you.”

  “God, it sounds so sordid!”

  He took her arms. “There is nothing sordid about the desire we share. It is natural, my dear. It is hardly as if we are two young innocents.”

  She trembled as the conflagration instantly began, warming all parts of her body. Because she was innocent, and moral, not that he would ever know.

  “What is it? I can see doubt in your eyes.”

  She hesitated, tempted to tell him the truth: that she never had had a lover. Then she could ask him why he had assumed the worst of her. But she was afraid he might change his mind about their affair. It was so ironic. “How can you possibly respect me?”

  His eyes widened. “You are a gentlewoman. It is my duty to respect you.”

  Lovely words, but they would not change her own lack of honor. “So you have respected your previous mistresses?”

  He released her. “That is an interesting question.” He st
ared. “No, actually, I have not.”

  She wondered at that. “But somehow I will be the exception?”

  “Why are we dwelling upon respect?”

  “It is important to me.”

  He was thoughtful for a long moment. “You are an interesting woman, Alexandra, and I find myself constantly intrigued. I am aware that, somehow, you are not like the others. You do not take our liaison lightly, obviously.”

  “No, I do not.”

  His gaze narrowed. “You truly wished to marry the squire and would have done so if I hadn’t interfered?”

  “Probably. It was my intention.”

  “And was it my charm that has changed your mind?” He was wry.

  She trembled. “I believe you know that you are very hard to resist. It is also obvious that you do not take no for an answer.”

  “I do not.” He touched her cheek. “Especially not in your case, when so much desire rages between us,” he added softly.

  She was throbbing acutely in every fiber of her being now. “We must discuss our arrangement,” she managed.

  He became bemused and dropped his hand, but in such a way that his fingers slid across her jaw, sending a spiral of pleasure through her. “Very well, if you insist.”

  “I do.” She stared, fearful.

  “Although I will confess I have never had to do so before.” He was reflective again. “You seem dismayed.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “My previous lovers have eagerly pursued me and vice versa. I have never encountered resistance before. I have never had to assuage or reassure anyone, for any reason. I have never had to discuss the parameters of a liaison.” He paused. “That is what you wish, is it not? To discuss the exact nature of our relationship?”

  Alexandra was ashamed. “Yes. I cannot be like the others, Your Grace.”

  “This is undoubtedly about my promise to be generous. Do you doubt me?”

  “No, of course not.” She knew he would be a man of his word. “But I must know what you require of me—and vice versa.”

  His mouth curved, and he reached out and slowly pulled her close. “So you wish for details?” he murmured.

  She wanted to soften in his arms, but she stiffened, instead, her heart pounding. “There is so much to discuss, even logistics to arrange. But mostly I wish for there to be a contract between us.”

  He released her abruptly. “A contract? Not an understanding?”

  He was insulted, and that had not been her intention. “I do not mean that you must draw up a document, Your Grace, but I should prefer for us to verbally agree to some terms.”

  He stared. “Very well. And what are your terms, Alexandra?”

  She hesitated, aware that her cheeks were on fire now. She wished he hadn’t felt insulted, but there was simply no easy way to ask for what she had to.

  He waited.

  Finally she managed, “There must be discretion. No one can know of our arrangement.”

  He folded his arms and said thoughtfully, “You live at home with your father and sisters—two hours from here. If we are being blunt, then I will tell you that I require your presence in this house on a nearly nightly basis.”

  She flamed. Images danced in her head, of her in his arms in a big, canopied state bed. “That is impossible.”

  His face hardened. “Really?”

  “We will have to settle on the afternoons,” she said thickly, hating this tangent. She added, “And that will be difficult enough for me.”

  He stared, his expression impossible to read now. “I will purchase a house close to Edgemont Way. We will be able to spend evenings there once I have done so. Until that time, we will have to manage with the occasional afternoon.” His eyes darkened. “My time is valuable, Alexandra. Unlike most peers, I am preoccupied with great projects during my waking hours.”

  She shook her head. “I did not mean to anger you, Your Grace. And I do not wish to inconvenience you. But I must protect what is left of my name.”

  His stare remained direct. “I am a reasonable man, and frankly, I cannot fault you for that. You are the first in many regards, Alexandra. Your living at home, and being unwed, presents a difficulty I had not considered.”

  She trembled, this time in relief. He had understood her reasoning. He was no longer angry. “Thank you.”

  “What else do you wish to discuss?” When she hesitated, dreading raising the subject of remuneration, he said flatly, “Might I assume there is the matter of my generosity?”

  She nodded and bit her lip. “I must do well enough to provide small dowries for my sisters.”

  He shoved his hands into the pockets of his tweed riding coat. “And what will that amount be?”

  She so hated what she was doing. She’d intended to ask for more than dowries. The house needed repairs. They all needed clothes, and the pantry was bare. Instead, she decided to forgo those other things. “That is all. Olivia and Corey need dowries.”

  “You do not wish for a dowry for yourself?”

  “No.” She looked at the floor. Her cheeks were so hot she wondered if they were scarlet now.

  “How much will your sisters need, Alexandra?”

  She looked up, trembling. “One thousand pounds each, Your Grace, unless you think that is excessive.”

  His gaze narrowed. “I think the figure a low one.” He shrugged. “Done.”

  She’d secured a thousand pounds for each of her sisters, but she felt no elation. He must surely disrespect her now. Humiliated, and wondering if she should undo what they’d just agreed to, she turned back to the fire. She felt close to tears.

  He came up behind her again, clasping her by her shoulders, his breath warm on her neck and jaw. “No,” he said firmly. “I am not letting you retreat.”

  She tensed, shocked by the feeling of his entire body, hard and warm, against hers. Her heart thundered. Her skin flushed. A terrible aching began.

  He nuzzled her neck and murmured, “This is morally repugnant to you.”

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  He slowly turned her around. “Why? I know I am not repugnant to you.”

  “No, of course not.” If ever there was a time to tell him the truth, it was now.

  He rubbed her shoulders languidly. “I have assumed from the start that you are a woman of some experience,” he said.

  She tensed. If she confessed to her innocence, would he retreat from their arrangement? She looked into his smoldering eyes, her heart thudding with so much desire, and now, with some alarm.

  He gave her an odd look. “I am correct, am I not?”

  Her alarm grew. If she confessed, he was going to walk away from this pursuit. In that moment, she was certain. “There was someone once. I loved him.”

  His eyes widened and his caress stopped.

  “I did not feel ashamed of my passion, because of that love. More importantly, we had planned on marriage.” She searched his gaze, biting her lip. When he did not speak, she added, “Our arrangement is a calculated one, Your Grace. And that is the cause of my hesitation.”

  “Yes, it is. And who was this paragon?”

  “Does it matter? He has since wed someone else. And I am here, concluding an illicit and immoral arrangement—for monetary compensation.”

  “It is to our mutual satisfaction,” he said sharply. “We both benefit, Alexandra. As do your sisters.”

  When he stared, as he was doing now, it was impossible to look away. “Yes, they benefit,” she whispered.

  He released her. “I am sorry you are struggling with your conscience. Perhaps this will help. If I cannot satisfy you—enough to make you pleased with our relationship and content to remain freely in it—I will terminate our contract but compensate you in full.”

  It took Alexandra a moment to grasp what he was saying. She was stunned.

  “I meant it when I said I am a generous man, Alexandra. Perhaps you should start taking me at my word.”

  CHAPTER NINE


  THE NEXT DAY, ALEXANDRA set about preparing the evening meal with her sisters, but she could not shake her encounter with Clarewood from her mind. As she peeled potatoes, she kept recalling their conversation in vivid detail, especially his seductiveness when he’d come up behind her. It was impossible not to feel his hands on her shoulders, his breath on her neck. She trembled and glanced at the kitchen clock.

  It was only half past noon.

  Clarewood had instructed her to return for luncheon on Friday. Tomorrow. She had almost been dismayed, for a part of her had expected him to begin his seduction then and there. But he had been expecting the dowager duchess within the hour, and obviously, there was no getting past that.

  She reached for another potato and realized she had emptied the bowl.

  I shall require your presence on a nearly nightly basis.

  She was already ridiculously tense, and her body had been in a state of fevered arousal since their negotiation. It was shameful. She did not know what was wrong with her. Being in his arms was wrong, yet it felt right.

  She glanced at the kitchen clock again. Only five more minutes had passed.

  “Why do you keep looking at the time?” Corey asked.

  It was almost, Alexandra thought, as if she were looking forward to returning to him and beginning their affair, as if she were counting the minutes until she saw him again. “Am I looking at the clock?”

  “Every five minutes,” Corey said, her hands covered with flour.

  The front door knocker sounded.

  They never had callers; their neighbors were far better off than they were and hardly interested in the disgraceful Bolton family. Alexandra tensed. She had stopped by Squire Denney’s yesterday on her way home to break things off with him. He had been stunned, and then he had been upset—understandably so. She had done her best to explain by telling him that she would never love anyone again, and it would be unfair for her to marry him considering that. He had argued with her, insisting she would become fond of him and that he would make her happy. It had been a highly awkward encounter.

  When she left, he had insisted that she would soon come to her senses. “You are merely having bridal jitters, Miss Bolton,” he had declared. “I am sure of it. But your sister is right. I have rushed you, so I will court you properly now.”