Sufficiently cowed, Jared watched his wife whirl in a flurry of skirt. “Alissa,” he called, but the door slammed behind her. He should go after her, he knew, but he was certain she’d throw his explanations and apologies back in his face. Feeling he’d been kicked in the gut, he sank into a chair.
“The girl has spunk,” Edward Braxton stated with admiration. “Haven’t had a woman dress me down like that in a good thirty-five years. Deserved it then, too.”
“What happened?” Jared asked uninterestedly.
“Why, I married the young lady, of course.”
“Mother gave you a tongue-lashing?” he asked, remembering her gentle, soft-spoken nature.
“Only once. It was before the announcement of our engagement. She’d caught me in the gardens with a rather striking blonde. The young woman had complained a lash had fallen into her eye, and still being a bit wet behind the ears, I’d fallen for her story. Your mother came upon us just as the young lady threw herself into my arms. I shan’t ever forget your mother’s fury … beautiful, passionate, she was, her green eyes flashing in anger. That’s when I knew I loved her.” Jared’s father patted his son’s shoulder. “Buck up, lad. She’ll cool off. Turn on that Braxton charm of yours, and she’ll fall into your arms again.”
“I suppose you used your ‘Braxton charm’ on Mother?”
“Naturally.”
“And how long did it take you to convince her the blonde meant nothing to you?”
“A year.”
“A year!”
Edward chuckled. “In your case, it might take two. Your wife’s temperament is far more volatile than your mother’s was. You’d best prepare yourself for a long siege. A few diamonds might help appease her.”
“Not Alissa,” Jared grumbled.
“Then I suggest you discover what it is she really wants from you.”
“If I knew that, I’d offer it to her now.” He jerked to his feet. “Damnation! Nothing goes right of late!” Wanting to be alone to think, he strode to the door, where he turned a caustic eye on his father. “I’ve some things to attend to. You’ll have to entertain yourself for a while.”
The Duke of Claremore watched the door close on his son’s back and shook his head, partially blaming himself for the split between his son and new daughter-in-law. Edward Braxton’s opinion of Alissa Ashford Braxton had changed the instant she’d burst into the room. He’d seen the hurt in her eyes, masked by anger, and he knew it had been caused by his son’s words, more than his own biting remarks.
Apparently, she’d known nothing of his son’s link to the peerage. The contempt in which she held their class had been made quite clear. She’d spoken of deception being an affliction of all nobility. What that was about, he’d have to discover. But she’d not married his son because of rank or title, that he knew. And when he’d suggested appeasing her with jewels, Jared had inferred nothing of a material nature could buy her. That left only one thing, and Edward knew its name.
“You foolish pup,” the duke said to his absent son. “If you’d drop the scales of cynicism from your eyes, you’d see what it is she needs to bring her back to your arms. I could tell you, but you would not believe me. So, until you shed your blinders, you’ll be made to suffer.”
Deciding that talking to the walls did him little good, he thought to visit with his granddaughter, the only heir he might very well have, thanks to his interference. And with a firm stride, the Duke of Claremore quit the room.
CHAPTER
Eighteen
Sweet Honesty crested the hill, Alissa atop her back. “You look like a marchioness.” Jared’s words rang through her head, infuriating her the more. “Have you taken to snooping as a pastime?” The coach! The design had been a crest! “She’s the daughter of the Ma—” The master of Hawkstone? No! Leona had been about to say the Marquis of Ebonwyck! Fool! she berated herself silently. All the signs had been there! How could she have missed them?
Seeing horse and rider bearing down on him across the glade, Ian Sinclair hopped to his feet, then grabbed the winded mare’s reins. “Aha! I see the butterfly has emerged from her cocoon!”
Blue fire crackled in her eyes. “You knew, didn’t you!”
“That you weren’t Agatha Pembroke? Certainly. It was I who’d made certain Jared knew of her. A friend helped—”
“Not that!” She slid from the saddle, Ian catching her waist. “You knew he was a marquis! Why didn’t you tell me?”
Ian chuckled. “You didn’t ask.”
“Ask! Was it necessary?”
“Why should his title bother you?”
“Because,” she said peevishly.
“All is not wedded bliss, then?”
“You know we’re married?”
“Certainly. There’s little I don’t know that goes on at Hawkstone.”
“You’ve placed a spy in our midst,” she accused.
Ian chuckled anew. “Hardly. A member of Jared’s staff is betrothed to a member of mine. I had nothing to do with placing Mary at Hawkstone, but through her, I’m kept abreast of the important happenings.”
“Tell me something,” Alissa said, eyeing him carefully. “Why didn’t you tell Jared I was a fraud when you’d first discovered the fact?”
“Because I knew you would be good for Megan.”
She tilted her head. “And I suppose you hold a title, as well?”
“Actually, I’m an earl … the Earl of Huntsford, at your service, Lady Ebonwyck,” he said, bowing. “Any other questions, my lady?”
As Ian lashed the reins to a tree limb, Alissa viewed him. Yes, there were several, but how to approach them was the problem. Sighing, she finally blurted, “Jared believes you cuckolded him. Is it true … was Celeste your lover?”
“No, Alissa. She was not,” he answered, firmly, truthfully, and Alissa believed him. “When did Jared say this?”
Alissa told him of their disastrous trip to Edinburgh, of Megan’s frightful shock, and of their subsequent suspicions that the child had actually witnessed her mother’s death. But she did not speak of Jared’s command that she not see Ian again. Ian Sinclair was the only one she could confide in at the moment and receive sound advice from in return.
“Is Megan all right?”
“She is improving daily.”
Ian suddenly erupted. “Damn Celeste! She’s caused more problems than she was worth.”
“She died with your name on her lips,” Alissa whispered, watching for his reaction. It was one of complete surprise.
“I have no idea why,” he said, holding her gaze. “Celeste made several advances toward me the last two years of her life. Physically, she was a very tempting woman, but I swear I never encouraged her. Jared was my best friend. I’d never cuckold him.” Then, as he gazed at Alissa, Ian wondered if his statement were completely true. Never with Celeste, he knew. But Alissa? Yes, he admitted, for he no longer viewed her only as a friend. His heart seemed to do odd things, of late, whenever she was near. Great care had to be taken, he knew. “You appear to be in need of a friend. Can I help?”
“No,” she said, deciding it best that Ian not involve himself. “I must face my problems alone.”
“Should you change your mind, the door to Falcon’s Gate is always open.”
“Thank you, Ian. I appreciate your kindness.” She raised on tiptoes and kissed his cheek.
Hidden in the copse, across the clearing, Robert Braxton Hamilton watched the intimate display. “Well, Jared, old boy,” he said, chuckling, his horse’s ears the only ones to hear, “you seem to have the damnedest bit of luck with your wives.” Then he turned the gelding and quietly headed back to Hawkstone, planning to have a friendly visit with his uncle.
Jared left Megan’s room and strode down the hallway in search of his wife. When she’d returned to the house after her outing, she’d gone straight upstairs. At supper, she’d sent word she’d be dining with Megan and attending to the child’s needs. He had not pressed seeing her
, believing the more time she’d had to herself, the more receptive she’d be to hearing his explanations. Then he wondered if the delay had only helped fuel her fiery temper the more.
Entering his chambers, he found them empty. He searched the bath area. Still no Alissa. Where the blazes was she! Then he noticed her brushes were missing from the dressing table. A frown marked his brow and he quickly searched the drawers and the wardrobe. Gone! All her things were gone!
In a firm stride, he hit the hallway again. By God, she’d better not … He stopped in his tracks. Light flowed from under the door to her old room, and Jared released his breath and smiled. Since she hadn’t left Hawkstone, perhaps her anger was only superficial. A few tender words, a gentle touch, and a persuasive kiss might be all that was needed to collect her forgiveness.
His hand on the latch, he found it locked, then backtracked to his room, fetching the ring of keys from his bureau drawer. Silently, he opened the door to see his wife standing by the wardrobe, wearing a sheer nightdress, hanging up the last of her gowns.
“Have you lost your sense of direction?” he asked, closing the door.
Alissa spun toward him. “No,” she snapped. “I know exactly where I am.”
“And where is that, love?”
“In my room. And don’t call me that!”
“Love? Why not?”
“I resent your use of the word,” she said coldly, pulling on her wrapper, the belt left untied. “Now if you’d please leave, I’d like to retire for the night.”
“It makes no difference which bed we sleep in,” he said, starting to unbutton his shirt. “This one is as comfortable as mine.” He bounced upon the mattress, then lay back, his hands linked beneath his head. “Come join me, sweet.”
Rebellion flashed in her eyes. “If you think you’re sleeping here, you’re sadly mistaken, sir. Now get out!”
“I sleep where my wife sleeps,” he answered smoothly, smiling. “And she sleeps where I do.”
“I no longer consider myself your wife,” she said frostily. “So leave.”
Jared swung his legs over the side of the bed, and Alissa breathed a sigh of relief, certain he was about to honor her request. But to her surprise, he stalked toward her, a cunning look in his eye. Hastily, she turned, intending to flee behind the dressing screen. But Jared blocked her path and pulled her against him.
His heated gaze traveling her face, he whispered, “You’re beautiful when you’re angry, love.” And his mouth began its descent toward hers.
Alissa struggled against him, then whipped her head to the side. “I told you not to call me that!” she gritted out between her teeth. “You know nothing of the word.”
“Don’t I?” he asked, his lips traveling near her ear. “I know it is a wasted emotion. It’s the feeling of the flesh that counts, Alissa. My body loves yours each time we are near.” His hand slid down her spine to cup her bottom, pulling her fully against him. “It desires you now, love. Feel it?”
Through the sheerness of her gown, his rigid need made itself evident, and she felt her traitorous body coming to life under his masterful touch. “Stop it!” she demanded, trying to break free. “You care nothing for me! You only want me to bear your children and satisfy your lusts! Let me loose!”
Jared’s lips continued their onslaught, moving across her cheek to her ear, his massaging hand molding her hips to his. “Don’t fight me, love. I can make you forget the things you heard. They were said in the heat of the moment. I—”
“They were said because you believe them. You think of me as a prized mare to stud with, a paid paramour to give you pleasure. I am neither!”
His tongue swirled the delicate folds of her ear; Alissa shivered. Fire leapt in her veins, and she tried desperately to extinguish the desires only he could evoke. Feeling her sudden response, Jared was certain he could break down her barriers. A few more kisses, a few more words, and he’d have her melting in his arms, begging him to take her, love her. During their blissful nights, their bodies eagerly entwined, he’d learned each secret place that, when touched, would heighten her desires. Turn on that Braxton charm, his inner voice told him as he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed.
The instant Alissa hit the mattress, she scrambled to its side, but Jared caught her, dragging her back, his leg and arm clamping over her. “Don’t try to run, love. I want to ask your forgiveness,” he whispered, his lips close to her ear again, his hand moving over her silk-covered breast. Then his mouth traveled to her throat, a vulnerable point, he knew, and his tongue slid over its satiny smoothness, lingering at its throbbing pulse.
His alluring mouth caused the familiar vibrations to erupt deep in the pit of Alissa’s stomach. He knows you too well, she thought, a pleasurable moan escaping her lips, and she heard Jared’s chuckle. Struggling against his mastery, fighting his deliberate seduction, she heard the cautioning words, Jared can charm the fangs from a serpent, and blurted without thinking, “Ian warned me. …” She swallowed the rest as Jared’s face suddenly rose above hers.
“Ian?” His cold emerald eyes stared down at her as his rough hand edged slowly upward from her breast to her throat, pausing a second, then framed her face. “Never mention his name again. Not in my arms, not in my bed, not in my house!” Then his mouth crashed down on hers, hard and angry, his fingers biting into the tender flesh along her jaw. With a growl he released her and sprang from the bed, then strode to the door. “On the morrow, you’ll move your belongings back to my room. And don’t ever lock a door against me again,” he said, removing the keys from the lock, where they still dangled. “When I want you, nothing will keep me from having you … you know that. By our very vows and the laws of Britain, I own you. Take it as truth, love.”
“Don’t call me that!” she cried, but the door slammed before her words were out.
Staring at the wood, she felt a tightening in her chest, like a hand gripping her heart, squeezing it until it would burst. Jared’s hand. He didn’t love her; he never would. He owned her. She was no different than a stick of furniture—chattel. Most likely disposable, as well. On that thought, she rolled to her side, the pillow smothering her tears of pain.
On the far side of the house, in his study, Jared sank into a chair, a brandy glass in his hand, the decanter on his desk. Downing the amber liquid, he poured himself another, then another. He felt sick, but not from the liquor. He had thought he could charm her, woo her into his bed and make her forgive and forget. What conceit, he thought, knowing even if he had made passionate love to her, it would not have settled their differences.
Alissa was exceptional. Bright, intelligent, forthright … not a woman who could be duped so easily. Beautiful, passionate, giving … the woman he wanted. Each time he’d called her love he’d felt himself beginning to believe in the emotion again—until she’d mentioned Ian Sinclair.
Was the bastard trying to cuckold him again? he wondered, slamming his empty glass onto the desk, pouring himself yet another. He’d cared not that Celeste had had a lover. His anger had resulted when he’d discovered the rake’s identity. The dark memory of her cry as she’d crashed through the window, Sinclair’s name ringing like a death knell from her lips, filled his head. Then his mind’s eye saw the book she’d thrown, lying open at his foot. Flames licked at the note hidden within, curling around the words, devouring the sickeningly sweet platitudes and the boldly scrawled signature—Ian. The sight of it had confirmed Celeste’s dying proclamation—his best friend had maliciously trespassed, breaking the bonds of trust. He would not encroach again! Jared decided in anger.
Then, his wits dimmed by the drink, Jared thought of Alissa lying in her bed alone. If he kept her there, day and night, she’d have no time for another. Swallowing the last dregs in his glass, he quit his study and weaved toward his wife’s bedroom, the buttons on his shirt freeing themselves. Inside the darkened room, he stripped from his clothing, then plunged beneath the covers to hear Alissa’s startled cry. B
efore she could move, his muscular arm clamped over her waist. “I’ll make you forget him.” And his mouth lowered, searching for her lips.
His brandy-laden breath repulsed her, and she turned her face away, shoving at his shoulders. “Get off me!” she ordered, sickened by his clumsy attempts to seduce her. “You’re drunk!”
“Only with your beauty,” he whispered, his words slurring, his heavy hand capturing her breast; she pushed it away. “Ah, sweet, I just want to pleasure your body. Don’t be so unsociable.”
“Unsociable!” she screeched, struggling against the slackened weight of his body. “Why, you arrogant buffoon! Nothing you’d do could please me!”
“Not even this?” His hand slipped between her silk-covered thighs, his lax mouth traveling the curve of her neck. He felt her sudden jerk as his fingers began their awkward search. Misinterpreting its meaning, he whispered, “Are you sure, love?”
Love! The word hit her with the force of a violent wave. Angered by his assumption that she’d succumb to his “charms,” whether he be drunk or sober, she pushed his face from her throat, then squirmed from his hold, sliding to the edge of the bed. “Get away from me, Lord Ebonwyck. I warn you now. Leave or pay the consequences.”
The brandy clouding his judgment, Jared chuckled thickly and levered himself onto an unsteady elbow. “Ah, sweet,” he said, his lopsided grin flashing in the moonlight streaming through the window, “you know I have the power to take you anytime I wish. Make it easy on yourself. Don’t fight me. Come here,” he urged, patting the sheets near his waist. “Come here, sweet.”
“No.”
“Do you wish me to force you?” he asked, proudly knowing he held the key to unlock her desires.
While Jared thought to ravish her senses by kissing her with his masterful lips, teasing her with his expert hands, until she was wild with want, surrendering herself to him willingly, Alissa thought the term force meant defilement. Her eyes widened and she froze.
When she did not answer, he reached for her. “Then so be it, love.”
Masque of Enchantment Page 27
