If only she could become more than that now. Shadowed in the moonlight, his features gave her little insight to his thoughts. A lock of his tousled hair had fallen onto his forehead. His eyes looked hooded, his mouth firm.
“I always noticed you, Alexandra.”
No Lady. She should take offense, she supposed—they weren’t close enough to warrant that sort of familiarity. Not anymore, in any case. But she wanted to be that close. And he’d said…
Had he actually said he’d always noticed her?
“Did you?” she asked breathlessly, even knowing he couldn’t have meant it the way she hoped. I always noticed you. “Probably because I bothered you,” she said with a shaky laugh.
“Not at all. You used to talk about the most interesting things. Deep things.”
She’d always been somewhat of a philosopher, even as a girl. Her sisters were forever telling her she was too serious. She turned to the ledge and stopped, gazing out over the darkened landscape, the fields and the nearby woods. The River Caine glistened in the distance.
She felt rather than saw him come up to stand beside her.
“I hadn’t expected you listened,” she said quietly.
“Alexandra.”
Something in his voice made her turn to him. “Hmm?”
“I listened to every word.”
When he laid a hand over hers where it rested on the ledge, she realized she’d forgotten to replace her gloves after she stopped playing the pianoforte. And he wasn’t wearing gloves, either. His hand felt warm and a little rougher than a true gentleman’s hand should. Not that she’d ever touched another gentleman’s bare hand.
The sensation was thrilling beyond words.
“Tris,” she breathed, the only syllable she seemed capable of uttering.
He grinned, his teeth straight and white in the moonlight. “That’s better.”
Had she really called him Tris? She decided to gloss over that. “I…I don’t think it’s proper for you to be touching me.”
“You’re right. I most definitely shouldn’t be touching you.”
But instead of removing his fingers, he tightened them over hers, and his other hand came up to touch the cameo she wore. Near his fingers, her breasts tingled, and their crests seemed to tauten.
“You kept it,” he said.
“Of course I did.” She wouldn’t tell him she’d put it away for years. “It was the best gift I’d ever received. I was so surprised when it arrived.”
“I promised I’d send you something from Jamaica.”
“No. You were supposed to bring me something.”
“I couldn’t,” he said simply. And then, “Alexandra, there’s something I must tell you.”
“Yes?” she asked breathlessly.
“I’ve listened to you, thought about you, for a long, long time. I wanted you to know that.”
Had he really said those words, the very ones she’d been longing to hear? Her heart seemed to swell in her chest. She was so excited, she barely heard what he said next.
“But I also need for you to know—”
“Oh, Tris! I always noticed you, too.”
He winced, as though her admission had hurt him. “I’m almost sorry to hear that. For you, sweetheart. There are circumstances…”
Sweet heaven, he’d called her sweetheart.
But he seemed to be struggling for words. She waited. And waited.
“We’re not meant to be together,” he said at last. “Your brother would never—”
“This isn’t my brother’s choice.” Now that she knew Tris had noticed her, she wouldn’t let Griffin or Lord Shelton stand in her way. She wasn’t known for being stubborn for nothing. “I shall have a talk with him.”
He shook his head mournfully. “Even in the extremely unlikely event that Griffin might agree, I cannot allow—”
“Hush, Tris.” She turned her hand over beneath his and gripped his fingers, hard. “I won’t listen to this.” She searched his eyes for a moment, looking for understanding and failing to find it. Then, without thinking, she reached up and swept that single renegade lock off his forehead.
His breath rushed out, and all at once, something changed in that deep gray gaze. He stepped closer, and his scent overwhelmed her—that clean-Tris scent she’d noticed earlier in the day. “Alexandra,” he murmured, the pads of his fingertips grazing her cheek.
His warmth enveloped her, warding off the chill night air. He cupped her face in his hand and angled his head as he pressed closer, his large, rangy body all but pinning her against the ancient stone wall. Closer, closer, until she could feel his breath teasing her lips.
She held her own breath. In fact, she wondered fleetingly if she would ever find the strength to draw breath again. Then his lips touched hers, and all thought fled for a long, glorious moment.
His kiss was tender at first, no more than a brush of mouths, his lips softer than she’d expected. Then his mouth settled on hers more firmly, demanding her response.
She sighed and leaned in to him, raising her arms to wind them around his neck, threading her fingers through his slightly too-long hair. His tongue traced the line where her lips met. When she parted them in surprise, he took immediate advantage, sinking his tongue into her mouth.
Shocked, she tensed, but as he probed gently, a languid shiver rippled through her. She’d never imagined such an intimacy. He slid a hand into her hair, cupping the back of her head and tilting it to make their lips mesh more completely, and she allowed herself to relax, lost in a sensual haze.
He explored her mouth as though intent on learning her, on owning her, on claiming every nook and cranny. In turn, she touched her tongue to his, tasting him and letting all the new feelings wash over her.
Had she ever been kissed before? She’d thought so…during her one long-ago season, several overwrought, hopeful men had somehow managed to maneuver a few seconds of privacy, enough to press their lips to hers. But now she knew she hadn’t really been kissed, not a true kiss like this.
None of those kisses had made her heart pound. None of those kisses had made heat gather low in her middle. None of those kisses had made her lean wantonly in to a man as she was doing with Tris now.
Her behavior was scandalous, really. But she couldn’t seem to help herself. And Tris’s obvious response was her saving grace, for surely he wouldn’t kiss her like this without the most honorable of intentions.
Soon, she thought dizzily, his surprising, thrilling words still swirling about in her head…I’ve thought about you for a long, long time …soon, he would be her husband.
He shifted, wrapping his arms around her, one hand against her upper back and the other down lower, drawing her tight against his hard, warm body. He pressed little kisses to her cheeks and chin and neck, pausing in the hollow of her throat, making new, tingly sensations dance along her skin. Close as he was, she was certain he could hear the pounding of her heart.
“Tris,” she whispered.
“Holy Christ,” he grated out.
When his hands fell from her body, her eyes flew open to find his closed. It seemed an eternity before he opened them.
She gave him a trembly smile. “That was nice.”
“No.” He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair raggedly. “It was most certainly not nice.”
“Well, not in that way, perhaps,” she said, confused. She drew a shaky breath and let it out. “But that cannot really matter so long as we…”
“So long as we what?”
“So long as we…”
He hadn’t proposed, and she couldn’t bring herself to do it for him. But as she watched and waited, she saw understanding dawn in his eyes. And then she saw his jaw set as he stepped farther back. “A kiss doesn’t equal a marriage proposal, Alexandra.”
His voice shouldn’t sound so cold and resolute. He’d felt the same feelings she had; she was sure of it. “But I thought—”
“I’m sorry,” he interrupted, lo
oking sorry indeed. “I cannot marry you. There are circumstances…damn, I knew I needed to think about how to explain this.” She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. “Please accept my sincere apologies. What I just did was unforgivable, but I can only promise it won’t happen again. There’s no chance I will ever take you for a wife.”
Chapter Six
*
“I SEE,” ALEXANDRA SAID and immediately turned to leave.
Though he knew he should elaborate, Tristan remained silent as he walked her back to her family. Along the wall walk, down the winding steps of the tower, and across the quadrangle, he cursed himself a dozen times. Alternately, he thought about how he should word his explanation. He needed to make her understand that his inability to offer for her hand fell squarely on his shoulders and had nothing to do with any inadequacy on her part.
And in between all of that, his mind kept flashing back to that one galvanizing moment when she’d reached toward him, when her fingertips had grazed his skin as she swept the hair from his forehead.
When, if ever, had a woman touched him so tenderly?
That single gesture had, quite simply, undone him. He’d been taken by surprise, found himself lost in temptation. Holy Christ, she’d never even been kissed before. The innocent sensuality of her response had devastated him.
He wouldn’t—couldn’t—allow anything similar to ever happen again.
On the steps in front of the double doorway to the castle’s living quarters, he stopped and turned to her. “Alexandra—”
The door opened to reveal Griffin. “My sister doesn’t look happy,” he said flatly.
He—or perhaps Juliana and Corinna—must have been watching them approach through one of the picture gallery’s tall, narrow windows.
Alexandra stepped decisively into the stone entrance hall. “I’m fine.”
Griffin didn’t look like he believed her.
Following, Tristan shut the door behind them. “Alexandra, I can explain.”
“There’s no need.” She raised her chin. “I understand completely.”
As Griffin moved closer to his sister, Tristan looked between the two of them: Alexandra, calm and composed—she would never be flustered for long, nor, Tristan expected, was she the sort of woman to succumb to fits of weeping—and her protective older brother. Theirs was a close-knit family; it seemed to make little difference that Griffin had been gone for so many years. Such closeness was so foreign to Tristan’s own experience as to be nearly unimaginable.
He felt impotent in the face of their united front.
“I must explain,” he repeated.
“You did,” Alexandra said. “I shall have a word with Griffin and straighten this all out. Now.”
Turning to Tristan, Griffin emitted a long-suffering sigh. “There’s more port in the music room. Please help yourself.”
Tristan heard the delicate notes of the harp wafting down the staircase. But he didn’t need liquor or entertainment. What he needed was to go back to his secluded world—the world he should never have left.
“I believe I shall take my leave for Hawkridge,” he said.
“No.” Griffin stopped him with a hand on his arm.
Everyone seemed to be touching him today.
“You’ve promised to help me,” Griffin added. “Stay, please. At least until you’ve seen the vineyard in the morning. I need you.”
It had been a long time since a friend—or anyone not a dependent—had needed Tristan. He could damn himself for his weakness, but he found that irresistible.
“I shall retire, then,” he said with a nod. “It’s been a lengthy day. Good night.” Before he could talk himself into leaving again, he headed for the great carved stone staircase.
Boniface appeared from the shadows. “Allow me to accompany you, my lord.”
“Thank you, but I know the way.”
The butler handed him a lantern. “I shall send a valet to you posthaste.”
Tristan didn’t want a valet. He wanted to be alone. He’d been relieved to escape his own very fine and competent valet that morning and ride to Cainewood in blessed solitude, assuming this would be a day trip. But he was a marquess now. Upon inheriting the title, the world believed he’d forgotten how to undress himself.
What he’d forgotten instead was his head. His manners. His bred-in-the-bone knowledge that Alexandra Chase would never be his.
And he’d made a bloody damn mess of things with his bloody inability to explain the bloody scandal that made any relationship between them impossible.
Holding the lantern high, he mounted the stairs, cursing himself. He cursed himself all the way through the picture gallery, across the arched dining room, and along the impossibly long length of the hammerbeam-ceilinged great hall. At its far end, he stomped down a corridor and slammed into the room he’d been assigned.
Within Cainewood’s thick stone walls, even summer evenings were chilly. The makings of a fire had been thoughtfully laid on the marble hearth. No doubt a chambermaid hovered in the passageway, waiting for his summons to start it. In an act of defiance, he set the lantern on a gilded dressing table and bent to light the logs himself.
Straightening, he looked around and groaned.
With any luck, he’d be leaving in the morning, right after he inspected the vineyard. But in the meantime, this gaudy room was no place to relax.
Seemingly endless rows of guest bedrooms lined this wing, and he’d never been given this one before. Of course, he hadn’t been a marquess before. The Gold Chamber, this room was called, and it was saved, a chatty chambermaid had informed him, for the castle’s most honored guests. Having been decorated for a royal visit in some previous century, it was filled with heavy gilt furniture and draped in golden fabric. It dazzled the eye. And had him tiptoeing his way around.
He sat gingerly on a carved, gold-leafed chair to await the bloody valet. Hawkridge Hall, the mansion he’d inherited, had its share of impressive rooms, including one very much like this. He rarely went in there. He hadn’t been raised among such valuable trappings. He was almost afraid to touch anything.
He shouldn’t have touched Griffin’s sister, either.
*
“SIT DOWN, ALEXANDRA.”
Griffin waved her toward one of the study’s leather wing chairs, then settled himself behind the big desk she still thought of as belonging to her father. Establishing his authority, she thought with an internal sigh. Well, it didn’t matter. Everything had changed today. She was finished being the obedient sister, and she wasn’t going to let Griffin pressure her into marrying Lord Shelton—or anyone besides Tris.
He rested his elbows on the mahogany surface, steepling his fingers. “What happened out there?”
After hesitating a moment, she squared her shoulders. “Tris kissed me.”
“He did what?”
“You heard me. We wish to marry.” Pressing her advantage while Griffin still looked shocked, she rose, moving closer to slap her hands onto the desk and lean toward him. “I don’t want to marry Lord Shelton. I want to marry Tris.”
“Tris,” he echoed pointedly, abruptly leaning back in the chair. She was the only one who’d ever called his friend “Tris.” He rubbed the nape of his neck. “He hasn’t asked for your hand, has he?”
“Not exactly.” Something in Griffin’s eyes, in the tone of his voice, was making her uneasy. She leaned harder on her palms, closer to her brother. “He seems to think you won’t approve.”
“Damn right, and that’s why he would never ask.” He fixed her with a piercing green gaze. “The man’s been accused of murder.”
Chapter Seven
*
“MURDER?” ALEXANDRA’S ELBOWS gave out, and her energy seemed to drain on the spot. With some effort, she straightened. She couldn’t have heard Griffin right. “Murder?”
“Murder. His uncle—the last Marquess of Hawkridge—died under very suspicious circumstances.”
Slowly A
lexandra backed toward her chair. “What circumstances?”
“The man went to bed with a mild fever and failed to awaken the next morning. Poison, it was whispered, and Tristan was with him at Hawkridge at the time. Since his father had recently drunk himself to death and left him in heavy debt, penniless and well nigh desperate, there are those who believe his timely inheritance of his uncle’s title, property, and massive fortune proved rather too convenient.”
“Poison.” She lowered herself gingerly to the leather. “I don’t believe it for a moment.”
“Neither do I,” Griffin said with a sigh. “He was never convicted—there was no solid evidence—but many still think him guilty of the deed. What we personally do or don’t believe has no bearing on the fact that Tristan is unsuitable as a husband.”
Alexandra smoothed her dress over her knees while she tried to remember to breathe. If what Griffin said was true, she had to agree that wedding Tris was out of the question. Although she could live without the social whirl, if her family aligned themselves with him by any bond so strong as marriage, their own good name would be ruined. Juliana and Corinna would find it impossible to make good matches for themselves…and despite Alexandra’s new resolve to be less blindly obedient and traditional, she wasn’t selfish enough to doom her sisters to bleak futures as a consequence of her own marriage.
If what Griffin said was true.
“I don’t believe it,” she repeated. “I don’t believe any of it. How did I never hear of this? It must have been an enormous scandal.”
“It was. So major a scandal that Tristan has remained cut off from the polite world. He never claimed his seat in the House of Lords. He abandoned his friends rather than subject us to society’s criticism. Didn’t you wonder why he ceased coming around for visits?”
“You were in Spain, Griffin. He could hardly have come around to visit me.”
“I came home for short periods over the years.”
She shrugged, though even that small movement seemed exhausting. “The last time I saw him, he was headed to Jamaica.”
Good Guy Heroes Boxed Set Page 68
