by Brenda Joyce
She felt as if she’d been slapped. She turned away, shaken.
“So we really don’t have anything in common, now do we?” he asked softly.
She blinked back the sudden moisture in her eyes. Something was wrong—she was not imagining it. “Shall we gallop?” she somehow said, managing a bright, false smile.
“Can you control that mare? She looks hot-blooded,” he said.
“Yes, I can control her,” she said tersely, not looking at him. Without waiting for a reply, she urged the mare into a canter. She heard him following and sensed him just behind her, and the humiliation hit her, mingled with sorrow.
She was a fool. She had only imagined the attraction between them.
Then she saw the low stone wall ahead. “You can avoid the jump by veering right, Mr. Jefferson,” she called.
The wide, three-foot stone wall loomed. Julia didn’t look back at him as she collected her mount for the jump. She was aware that he abruptly halted his gelding, but she continued to approach the wall and then soared easily over it. On the other side, she pulled up her horse, and for the first time in her life, she wasn’t exhilarated. She was too distraught.
She gave her mare a quick pat on the neck as she turned back to face the way she had come. Jefferson remained on the other side of the wall, and she gestured to his right.
But he ignored her. And as he cantered toward the wall she stiffened, surprised—he intended to take the jump! She saw instantly that he knew nothing about taking a fence. His mount was out of the bridle, making a good jump difficult, at best. As if he sensed the problem, he urged the gelding to a faster speed—which could be a disaster in the making.
“Put him together!” Julia called. “Pick him up!”
It was too late. Horse and rider soared—badly—the gelding lurching awkwardly without the proper impulsion and then clipping the stone with his hind legs. Jefferson was already off balance, and she saw him lose a stirrup. As the gelding came down, he almost fell off, but he seized the gelding’s mane and managed to right himself in the saddle.
As he dropped to a trot and then a walk, Julia bit her lip, relieved he’d made it to safety. Then she tried to feign indifference to the worst display of horsemanship she had ever seen. She kept her face expressionless as he paused before her, red faced. “Are you all right?”
“How do you do that?” he exclaimed.
“Oh, dear.” She gave up and smiled. “You have never jumped a fence, have you?”
“We try to avoid jumping dead wood,” he said, still red. “Our horses need to turn on a dime, stop on ‘Whoa,’ and push a cow up a fence.”
She found herself genuinely interested, some of her dismay vanishing. “There is a technique,” she said, then asked again, “Are you all right?”
“Other than humiliated?” He gave her a look and dismounted, then knelt to check his horse’s back legs.
Julia slipped off her mare, kneeling beside him. “He’s not even nicked—he’ll be fine.” She straightened.
He stood, too. “Thank God for that. I wouldn’t want to hurt one of your horses.”
And that was when she realized how close they were standing to one another. Instantly she went still, her heart slamming. Mere inches separated them, and it was hard to think about anything other than the man she was alone in the countryside with.
As if he felt it, too, he stared, and his gaze grew dark.
She knew she had to say something to break the moment, but she couldn’t look away from his amber eyes, which were smoldering like coals now.
“You’re full of surprises, Duchess,” he said roughly.
She meant to speak. She truly did. But no words came out as she stared into his beautiful eyes—as he stared back at her.
“Hell,” he muttered.
And then he leaned over her. She was stunned—but her blood roared. His hands settled on her shoulders—and she loved the feeling of his touch. “Julia,” he said thickly.
She inhaled. “Tyne.”
“I’m leaving soon,” he whispered, pulling her closer.
She was in his arms, her thighs pressed against his legs, her bosom crushed by his chest. She looked at his mouth, desperately wanting him to kiss her.
His eyes blazed, and he pulled her impossibly close, wrapping his huge arms around her, as his mouth covered hers.
Julia cried out, stunned by the feeling of his lips claiming hers, and he deepened the kiss. Their mouths fused. His tongue went deep. And she felt every inch of his hard, aroused body. She clasped his shoulders, about to kiss him back. But he tore his mouth from hers and stepped away, breathing hard.
“I guess that was goodbye,” he said.
ALEXANDRA HAD JUST FINISHED giving her sisters a tour of the house. And for that hour, as her troubles almost vanished, receding to the corners of her mind, it was so wonderful to be with them both. She knew she would be despondent when they left to return to Edgemont Way.
They were coming downstairs when Guillermo appeared at the bottom of the staircase. “Miss Bolton, you have another caller.”
She was so surprised that she stumbled, instantly wondering if Ariella and Elysse had returned. But she did not think so—it was quite a trip from their homes to Clarewood, and she had just seen them. “Who is it?” And then, as she finished speaking, she suddenly knew, and not because she recognized the card on the silver tray Guillermo was holding.
She trembled, certain it was Owen. Guillermo confirmed her suspicions, saying, “Lord St. James has called, and he is in the Gold Room.”
On the lower landing, she paused, her hand on the banister. “Please tell Cook that we may be four for lunch,” she said carefully.
He nodded and hurried off. Alexandra crossed the hall, her sisters behind her. No one said a word.
He was standing beside a sofa, not far from the open doors, a tall, elegant figure. He turned.
Alexandra faltered. Nine years had passed. Once Owen had been a beautiful young man. He was thirty now, and he was even more handsome and more dashing—time had weathered him perfectly. She was trembling, but her heart warmed. She began to smile.
He wasn’t smiling as he stared, taking her in from head to toe. “Alexandra,” he finally said. “My God, it is so good to see you.”
She started forward—so did he. They met halfway, instantly clasping hands. His were so familiar—large, warm, strong. And now she saw the dark light in his eyes. “It is so good to see you, too, Owen,” she whispered. And she meant it.
“You haven’t changed,” he said roughly, his gaze slowly traveling across her features, “yet somehow you are more beautiful than ever.”
She smiled again. “I am no raving beauty, and we both know it—and I am an old maid now, as well.”
He smiled for the first time, and her heart leaped a little. His old smiles had been dazzling, and this was a poor shadow, but he had just lost his wife. “If you are an old maid, then I am an old man,” he said. “And you are so beautiful—and it has been so long—that my heart is pounding madly.”
She realized her heart had picked up a swifter beat, as well. She also realized that they still held hands. She gently dislodged hers and said, “I am so sorry about Lady St. James.”
His smile vanished as his gaze met hers. “Thank you. She was a kind, gracious woman, and it happened so quickly that it took me a long time to recover from the shock.”
She touched his elbow. “Will you sit? And will you join my sisters and me for lunch?” She turned. Olivia and Corey remained on the threshold behind her, uncertain. But they both smiled immediately at Owen.
He smiled back at them. “I should love to stay for lunch. Hello, Miss Olivia, hello, Miss Corey.” He turned back to Alexandra. “I can’t get over your sisters. When I last saw them, they were small girls. They are both so lovely—you have raised them well.” But his eyes changed as he spoke, becoming searching as he glanced at her costly raspberry silk dress—and the bracelet she wore.
She flus
hed. She was dressed like nobility—and her sisters were in their ancient, well-mended and very tired gowns. “I did my best.”
He said, “I take it the duke is out?”
“He is in Manchester today,” she said, uneasy now.
He studied her. “We have a great deal to catch up on.”
“Yes, we do.” She smiled firmly. “Why don’t we have lunch, as it is already half past one, and afterward we can stroll in the gardens and reminisce?”
“I would like that…very much.”
THEY HAD FINISHED DINING, ending a superb luncheon of roasted guinea hens with lemon tarts and a fine sauterne. Owen had just pulled back her chair, and Alexandra smiled at him. Being with him again was as natural as being with her sisters. It was as if days had passed, not years. The initial awkwardness was gone. They were best friends—and they would always be best friends, she thought.
But more than that remained. Of course it did—there was the past.
They had talked about the parties and picnics and croquet games they had shared, and moments in Elizabeth’s kitchen, waiting for her sugar cookies to finish baking. They had recalled too many small moments to count—moments Alexandra had forgotten until then. There was the time Corey had vanished during an afternoon of fishing and everyone had thought she’d fallen into the lake, only to find her asleep in the backseat of the carriage, buried beneath the blankets. There was the Christmas when Edgemont had just returned from Paris with thoughtful French gifts for everyone, and the time Owen had sprained his ankle so badly that Elizabeth had insisted he stay and recuperate with them. He had stayed in their guest bedroom, and Alexandra had been the one to entertain him with games of checkers, baccarat and cards. She had read to him, too, only to find out before long that his ankle had been fine, and he had feigned the injury so he could stay. She’d thrown his pillow at his head. He’d caught it and thrown it back at her, and they’d screeched with laughter, ruined all the pillows on the bed and wound up sharing a kiss. Elizabeth had walked in, frowning—but clearly she hadn’t really minded. There had been so many good times….
He had his hand on the back of her chair. Alexandra was very aware of him now. He remained as attractive as ever. She hadn’t stopped caring, in spite of the passage of so much time, in spite of his marriage to another woman. But when he touched her hand, it was familiar, not stunning. It was comforting, not arousing. And throughout the luncheon, Stephen was there in her mind.
She almost felt guilty for being with Owen now.
“I suppose we should start home,” Olivia said, rather despondently.
“I don’t want to go home,” Corey said flat out.
Alexandra shared a look with Owen, and when he smiled at her, she smiled back. She knew he was thinking what she was. “Why don’t you stay the night? Obviously we have many guest rooms, and it has been so long—we have our own catching up to do.”
Corey screeched in glee. “I would love to stay!”
Olivia looked from her to Owen and back again, then said, “Who will take care of Father?”
Alexandra sobered instantly, but Owen touched her elbow. “He can get on for a night or two without you, I have no doubt.”
She looked gratefully at him. He was right. “We pamper him.”
“Of course you do,” he said, staring intently. And he slowly smiled. “You promised me a walk in the gardens.”
She grinned. “I haven’t forgotten.” As they left the dining room, she gave instructions to the staff to get two guest rooms ready. Her sisters were shown upstairs, and she finally found herself alone with Owen. Suddenly nervous, she laid her hand on the smooth wood rail of the banister. Maybe reminiscing while alone was not the best idea.
He said, “I am glad your sisters are staying the night. Clearly you have missed one another.”
She met his gaze and knew there was no avoiding a full confession now. “I miss them greatly. I miss Edgemont Way…. I even miss my father.”
“Even?” He took her by the shoulders, so they faced one another. “What is going on, Alexandra? We have never had secrets, and I must be blunt. Edgemont Way has fallen into such disrepair. What happened?”
She trembled, aware that he was edging carefully into the topic of her residency at Clarewood. “Father drinks obsessively—and gambles compulsively.”
His eyes widened. “I heard something like that, but I had assumed it was vicious, untrue gossip. I am so sorry.”
She inhaled for courage. “I have done the best that I could. It hasn’t been easy. I sew for a living now.”
He was shocked. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. I sew for those ladies who were once my mother’s friends. Now they look down their noses at me, very openly, and gossip about me behind my back.” She stopped, wishing she hadn’t gone off in that tangent.
He flushed.
She looked at the ground, then up into his blue eyes. “We have no secrets, but you would never ask me directly, would you? Why I am living here?”
He was terse. “It seems quite obvious, but I am hoping that my suspicions are wrong.”
She felt tears rise and touched his arm. “Owen, there was a suitor, after all these years, an older, kindly squire. But I simply could not bring myself to marry him. After what you and I shared, the fact that I felt nothing for him was glaring. And his suit brought back so many memories of our love.”
He stared, and it was a long moment before he spoke, his mouth downturned. “You must feel something for Clarewood. I know you too well. You would never accept such an…arrangement, unless you were in love.”
She trembled. “He began pursuing me the moment we first met. I resisted, of course I did. But he refused to take no for an answer.” She hesitated. “Father found out and he—he has disowned me.”
“I cannot believe your father!” he exclaimed, coloring rapidly now. “As for Clarewood…What kind of man stalks and seduces a good gentlewoman?”
“Don’t! Owen—I do love Stephen, and he has been good to me.”
“Really?” His tawny brows slashed upward. “He is wealthy, Alexandra, so do not be fooled. For him, that bracelet is worth a penny. It means nothing, because he is so rich.”
She recoiled. “Please don’t attack him.”
“Why not? Unless he marries you—which he must do—he is the scum of this earth, and I don’t care what his title is.”
She’d forgotten how noble and honorable Owen was. She caressed his jaw. Instantly he pressed her hand more firmly there. Their gazes locked, and he said, “You do not deserve this life. You deserve more.”
“We do not get to choose our fate.”
“So you will accept this as yours?”
She did not know what to say. Owen would be furious when he learned of the child. “I am so glad,” she finally said, slowly, “that we are still friends. I am sorry, though, that you have returned to town under such tragic circumstances.” She caressed his cheek and then dropped her hand. Too much remained between them, she thought.
Owen said thickly, “I will always be there for you.”
She brushed at a tear. “I know.” And that was when she became aware of a new tension in the room, apart from the tension arcing between them. She glanced at the door.
“I see we have a guest,” Stephen said, his tone mocking. He strode forward. “Do make the introductions, Alexandra.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ALEXANDRA FELT HER CHEEKS heat. She felt terribly guilty, though she had done nothing wrong. She was only entertaining an old, dear friend. And then she knew her own thoughts rang false. Owen was more than that—and she was guilty of having a deep affection for another man. Her gaze locked with Stephen’s.
His expression had become impossible to read. His cool regard moved to Owen, who stood stiffly at attention. “I am Stephen Mowbray, the Duke of Clarewood. Welcome to my home.”
Owen didn’t smile, so to cover the awkwardness she said quickly, “Your Grace, this is Lord St. James, an old family f
riend.”
Stephen didn’t look at her now. His mouth curved, rather unpleasantly, as he said, “How wonderful for you. St. James? Are you any relation to the viscount Reginald St. James?” His tone was dangerously soft.
“He is my uncle,” Owen said tersely. “How good it is to meet you, Your Grace.” He still didn’t smile, and his eyes were dark and angry. Clearly he did not mean a word he had said. But he kept his tone neutral and polite.
This was impossible, Alexandra thought, alarmed. “Owen was just leaving,” she said quickly.
Stephen turned his searing blue gaze upon her.
She flushed. She had called Owen by his given name—in front of Stephen. She said thickly, “I have known Owen since I was a girl of fifteen.”
Stephen stared, his odd smile fixed in place now.
Owen said, almost belligerently, “We were about to become engaged. My offer was accepted, but then the baroness died. Alexandra decided she must take care of her sisters and father, instead of starting a marriage with me. I was crushed,” he stated flatly.
Stephen’s tight expression never changed. “She has told me all about it, St. James.”
Alexandra trembled, sick with dismay. She’d said almost nothing about it. “Lord St. James has just come to town. He is staying with Lord Bludgeon in Greenwich. I am delighted he has called. I invited him to stay for lunch, which he did.” She realized she was speaking in a breathless rush. “And my sisters are here. They dined with us. It was delicious, was it not?” She smiled falsely at Owen now.
He stared closely at her, and she knew his unspoken thought: Why are you afraid of your lover?
She rushed on. “We had guinea hens stuffed with apricots. And I invited my sisters to stay the night—they are in their rooms, settling in. I did not think you would mind,” she said. “We must plan a special supper tonight.”
Owen continued to stare, and now Stephen was staring at her, too. He said softly, “You are so nervous, Alexandra.”
