by Brenda Joyce
He could not mean this, she thought, trembling.
He stared at her when she did not answer. “You remain a handsome woman, Alexandra, and I am sure he will reward you well.”
She did not want to become sick now, but it was so hard to breathe, and her stomach churned.
“Well? Will you help us? Or will you abandon your family now?”
It was so hard to speak. “I will try to help,” she said harshly.
Edgemont stared. She stared back, her vision blurred. She wasn’t sure when she had started crying.
“I don’t know why you’re crying. You are living like a queen.”
She was crying because her heart was broken. Her father had asked her to prostitute herself. And she had agreed. “Yes…I am…I don’t feel well, Father. I think I must lie down.”
“You don’t look well,” he said, “and it is a long ride back home, so I should go.”
Alexandra did not know how she managed to show him to the door, then stand there waving, a smile plastered on her face, until he was gone. She vaguely heard Guillermo ask her if she was ill, and if he could get her something. She did not know what she said. Somehow she made it up to her room and crawled into the bed. The anger was gone. There was only heartache. She cried.
“What is wrong?” Clarewood asked quietly.
She hadn’t heard anyone come in. She wouldn’t have let anyone come in, not when she was so undone, so grief-stricken, and especially not Clarewood. She sat bolt upright, wiping her eyes, keeping her back to the doorway where he stood.
“Alexandra? Guillermo said you were ill. I did knock, but you did not hear me, and the door was wide-open.”
She fought to control her heart, to somehow pull the sheared pieces back together, to mend them swiftly, so he would never know what had happened. She used her sleeve to wipe more tears as she heard his footsteps. She somehow squared her shoulders and turned to face him.
He was expressionless, but his gaze was riveted to her tear-streaked face. “What is wrong? Why are you crying? Guillermo said Edgemont was here.”
She choked hard. “I’m fine,” she gasped. “I need a moment, that is all.”
“You are not fine. And I am guessing that your father’s call was not a pleasant one.”
She realized that his gaze had gone very hard—frighteningly so.
“If you tell me what is wrong,” he added, more softly, “perhaps I can fix it.”
She heard hysterical laughter erupt—along with a sob.
He sat down beside her on the bed, clasping her shoulders, his gaze boring into hers.
“He wants me to whore myself out to you,” she said. Tears blinded her. “He needs fifteen hundred pounds.”
His expression tightened. “I see.”
She tried to turn away from him—instead, his grasp tightened. She looked up at him and was surprised by the anger she saw simmering in his gaze.
“I am not angry with you,” he said softly. “But I am disgusted with Edgemont—not for the first time.”
“He is my father! I…Despite everything, I love him.”
His face tightened even more. “Of course you do. It’s your duty to love him. Just as it was your duty to obey him and care for him. I will give you the money, Alexandra.”
“No,” she insisted. “I can’t take it.”
He caught her face in his hands. “Then I will give it to Edgemont myself,” he said, his gaze searing. “Damn it!” And he kissed her.
She went still. As his mouth moved over hers, some of the terrible grief lessened. The need to be in his arms surged as never before. He was her safest haven. She knew that now. And then he pulled back and looked at her—and his eyes seemed filled with anguish, as if he was sorry for her, as if he understood.
Desire exploded in her, shocking in its intensity. “Stephen.”
He was looking at her, and his eyes blazed, the desire she saw there mirroring her own. He still held her face, and now he kissed her slow and deep and thoroughly.
She closed her eyes and began to cry, even as pleasure washed through her.
“Don’t cry,” he whispered.
Her mouth opened for him, encouraging him now, her hands seeking his shoulders.
He grunted, deepening the kiss. Alexandra threw her arms around him, holding on to him tightly, hoping to never let go. I love you, she thought. I love you so much.
“I have missed you,” he said hoarsely.
She thought she had misheard, but she didn’t care. She touched his high cheekbone, his strong jaw. “Make love to me.”
His eyes blazed, and he moved over her.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SHE HAD FALLEN ASLEEP, and now, as she blinked, she was aware that it was nighttime. She instantly recalled their making love several times, their passion shocking and frenzied. She was Stephen’s lover again.
She sat up, clutching the down covers to her chin. He’d turned two lamps on, and now he stood on the other side of the room, tucking his shirt into his trousers. Her heart leaped wildly. She was so deeply in love, and he had been so kind about her father. She inhaled, not wanting to think about that catastrophic interview. He was facing the mirror, and instantly he turned to gaze at her.
Her heart hammered wildly. She prayed that he would be as kind now as he had been before. From this distance, in the dimly lit bedroom, it was impossible to see his expression. Too well, she recalled what had happened the last and only time they had been together.
He slipped on his silver brocade waistcoat and approached. Although anxious, watching him gave her so much pleasure, and joy burgeoned. She tried to control it.
He paused by her hip. His mouth was soft, his eyes were warm, and his gaze was searching. She let the joy blossom.
She didn’t know what to say, and she was hardly used to being naked in a bed, much less after lovemaking, so she tried to smile. Instantly he smiled back. And to her surprise, he said softly, “Do you wish to remain abed? I don’t mind if you want to sleep.”
She hesitated. The joy was beginning to wash fully over her now. “What time is it?”
“It’s almost nine.” His gaze moved slowly over her features, causing her to warm and blush. “You are a very beautiful sight like this, Alexandra.”
She thrilled. And now she thought perhaps he really had told her that he had missed her. “I am an old spinster, and you know it.”
His mouth curved. “Really? You are younger than I am, and I do not consider myself old.”
She smiled back at him, so oddly happy now.
His smile vanished. “Do you have regrets?”
She tensed, her own smile fading. “Will there be hurtful and hateful accusations?”
“No.”
She sat up higher, holding the covers as modestly as possible. “Then how can I have regrets, Your Grace?” She wanted to use his name but didn’t quite dare, though she’d used it once or twice during moments of the most extreme passion. She blushed now.
“Not ‘Your Grace.’ Just Stephen,” he said softly, sinking down to sit at her hip. “And I believe we have sealed our agreement, have we not?”
She tensed. If he offered her a check now, she would be dismayed—no, horrified—to be paid for what they had shared. Because this did not feel like an agreement or an arrangement—not at all. Yet her father desperately needed money and Olivia must not marry Denney. “I do not think I can go backward,” she said softly.
“Good.” His gaze roamed over her face. “And you feel better…I hope?”
She tensed, afraid he was referring to her father. “Of course I do.”
His smile came, then went. “I don’t want you to worry about anything.” His gaze intensified. “I am going to take care of Edgemont.”
She felt relief—and alarm. “He is my problem, not yours,” she said.
“Really?” His gaze kept moving over her face. “Because when I extend my protection, I do so without parameters or limits.” He slid his hand onto her hip, leanin
g closer. “Surely you must know that,” he murmured.
Desire reared up, sudden, intense and shocking. She could not take anything from him now. If she did, he would not understand that she had come to love him. But at the same time, she was worried about Olivia.
“You remain sad.”
There was no escaping the topic, she thought. “No matter what he has said, or what he has done, he is my father.”
He pressed his mouth against her neck. “I know.”
She wanted to ask him what he meant to do. But he was rubbing his lips over the tense cords of her throat, making her start to forget that afternoon.
“I want you,” he said softly.
Alexandra sighed.
THE CLAREWOOD COACH turned onto a very rutted, ill-kempt drive. Bracing himself against a safety strap, jouncing hard, Stephen stared out the window at the small, two-story house where Alexandra had lived. The grounds were bare and neglected, the front lawns mostly mud, and the barn behind the house was tumbledown and possibly in danger of collapsing. He was certain that once he went inside, her home would be as poorly kept. He had seen much worse—single rooms with no lights or windows, housing extended families, at once so crowded one could not move and so dirty one could not breathe. But his tension escalated anyway.
Alexandra deserved palatial living arrangements, and he was pleased he could provide them for her.
His heart felt as if it had lurched, and it was so oddly warm inside the coach. He had a disturbing suspicion that his heart was trying to tell him something, something impossible and unlikely, and he refused to listen to it. Because it was impossible that he had come to genuinely care for her, wasn’t it? He was a cold, heartless man. He was not capable of love. Not because society accused him of as much, but because he had been shaped in old Tom’s image.
Yet his heart raced, and it felt genuinely buoyant. He couldn’t quite recall ever feeling this way, at once so satisfied, and so pleased—so happy. He wondered if he was smitten—and if so, if he was becoming a besotted fool, like Alexi and his other de Warenne cousins.
A de Warenne loves once and it is forever. He tensed. He was very familiar with that old family adage, but he was certain he was the exception to that particular de Warenne rule.
He did not want to analyze his strange feelings. He was simply glad he had come to his senses about Alexandra and rescued her from that horrid urban slum. He would always feel guilty for triggering the events that had put her in such horrific circumstances, but at least he was making amends.
He softened in a way he once would have considered impossible as he thought about her, even as he stared at the ramshackle house and dilapidated grounds. She was such a proud and responsible woman, and he knew, without having to be told, that living like this, in poverty, with a drunken father and two dependent and unwed sisters, had been a terrible drain on her. Hadn’t she mentioned that she’d turned down a love match in order to care for her sisters? The tension in him grew. That had been a long time ago, but even so, he hadn’t cared to examine how much she had once loved another man.
He was certain that Alexandra had not given her heart lightly. She might even be the kind of woman to love once and forever, like his relations. On the other hand, he was certain she felt something for him.
His heart stirred. He wanted her fiercely attached to him, and fiercely loyal. Perhaps, after a few more nights of excessive passion, she would be thoroughly besotted with him. He intended to make it so.
He did not want her having fond, secret and loving memories of someone else.
His coach had almost reached the front of the house, and he grasped the safety strap more tightly. He wasn’t certain when he had first begun to admire her. Perhaps it had been that first evening at Harrington Hall, when she had held her head high in spite of the vicious gossip. But his admiration for her was growing by leaps and bounds, more so each and every day. In fact, he wasn’t certain he had ever met anyone as strong, adept and determined. They had more in common than anyone would ever suspect.
He rarely had regrets, but he had many of them now. He was sorry he had so badly misjudged her, and that she had suffered so much in direct consequence of that. But that chapter was over now. This was a new beginning for them. If he could institute justice for her, he would. Starting with taking care of Edgemont and her sisters. That was the least that he could do.
The coach had halted in front of the house. Now that she was his mistress, he would give her all that she deserved. He looked forward to showering her with amenities he never even thought about: lavish meals, fine wine, silk sheets and hot baths, a new wardrobe, shopping excursions, vacations in France and Italy. And he looked forward to showering her with jewels.
His footman opened the door, interrupting his thoughts, reminding him to watch out for mud puddles. Stephen thanked him and stepped down from the carriage.
The front door of the house opened.
He met the gazes of her two sisters, who were wide-eyed with shock. He instantly started forward as the younger one, Corey, cried, “Is something wrong? Is Alexandra all right?”
“She is fine,” he called out, increasing his stride. He had treated her cruelly and unfairly, but he was making amends now. On the other hand, his treatment of her was nothing like Edgemont’s. He despised the other man. Having reached the front steps, he bowed to the young ladies. “Good afternoon. Your sister is fine, but I have some business matters to discuss with your father.”
Olivia was staring intensely at him now, her cheeks flushed. “Please, do come in. I am sorry, I do not know what has come over me.” She stepped aside so he could enter the house, obviously flustered.
He smiled at her. “I could have sent word, but I’m afraid I decided the matter is a rather urgent one.”
Olivia’s green gaze was searching. He was a good judge of character, and he knew that she was a sensible, intelligent young woman, in some ways very much like her older sister. He sensed a deep strength of mind and character. The younger one, however, seemed far too innocent for someone so beautiful, and very impulsive. It crossed his mind that both sisters needed husbands.
He stepped into a clean and tidy but very shabby parlor. The upholstered furnishings were tired, torn and worn, as were the draperies. The rug in the center of the sitting area was threadbare. The wood floors were scratched, and a few planks were chipped. The walls needed both paint and plaster. One chair sat on a broken leg.
“Corey, get Father and make tea,” Olivia said, staring uncertainly at him as the younger girl ran upstairs. “Why didn’t Alexandra come with you?”
“I believe she has a great deal of sewing to do today.” Olivia looked disbelieving, but he could hardly tell her that Alexandra remained asleep in his bed. “Why don’t you and your sister call sometime soon? I am sure my chef would be delighted to serve you all a very pleasant luncheon, and I happen to know that your sister misses you both—she would be thrilled to see you.”
Olivia hesitated, wetting her lips, the gesture so familiar. He realized then that she would love nothing more—and suspected that their father had refused to let the girls visit. His temper rose, as it did every time he thought of Edgemont. He reined it in with some difficulty.
Just then the subject of his thoughts came ambling downstairs behind his youngest daughter, clearly having hastily shoved on his jacket. He looked every bit the drunk that he was and as if he’d had a bad night—he was unshaven and unkempt.
Stephen looked at Olivia. “I do not wish to be interrupted.”
She curtsied, took Corey’s hand and hurried down the hall. Stephen closed the door behind them and looked at Edgemont with utter contempt. The baron bowed, however, smiling obsequiously. “Your Grace! I did not expect you. Had I done so, I would have been up and about, and preparations would have been made for your call.”
“Don’t bother trying to placate me,” Stephen said, rigid with anger. “I will get right to the point. You are never to call on Alexandra again. You
are never to speak to her in an unkind manner, you are never to suggest that she must perform any kind of service in order to provide for you—and you are never to ask her for funds. Do I make myself clear?”
Edgemont paled. “You are mistaken, Your Grace,” he began.
He realized his fist was clenched and that he was a mere moment from striking the man. He, who never hit anyone—except, occasionally, Alexi. He trembled and fought for control.
“She is my daughter. I would never be unkind or—”
“Shut up,” Stephen said harshly.
Edgemont shut his mouth instantly.
“She is under my protection, and no one mistreats anyone under my protection. Have I made myself clear?”
The older man nodded, ashen.
“How much do you owe?”
“What?”
“I believe you heard me, Edgemont.” Stephen knew his stare was so hateful that if looks could kill, the baron would have keeled over.
Flushing, Edgemont mumbled, “About a thousand pounds, give or take a guinea or two.”
“You will give me all your bills. I am going to pay them for you.”
Edgemont gaped. “They are in the library, Your Grace.”
“Do not move. There is more. I will be providing an income for you and your two daughters. The funds are to be used exclusively for food, clothing and daily expenses—not for poker games and roulette, for horse racing or for liquor. I am warning you, sir. If I find that you misuse the monthly allowance, I will have you removed from these premises and thrown in debtors’ prison. Do you understand me?”
Edgemont said, “I do, Your Grace, I do, and I am delighted, truly delighted, but surely I will have some small sum with which to go out at night?”
Stephen’s disgust was boundless. The man was sick. He would never be able to restrain himself, but Stephen had no intention of supporting his gaming or drinking. And while he knew he could never put Edgemont in jail, he could remove the sisters from his keeping. And if the man reverted to type, that would probably be for the best, he thought. Still, there was no harm in repeating a good threat. “If you abuse my good will, you will find yourself behind bars.”
