“I never said that.” Alex peered left and then right. “How many servants do you employ, and why are they not assembled to welcome us?”
“Oh, they are gathered, as there are just the two—”
“Just the two?” She emitted something between a sob and a sigh. “Are you out of your mind?”
“What?” Confused, he scratched his cheek. “I am one man. My needs are simple, as am I. Must I remind you that I was not born with a silver spoon in my mouth?”
“And do you lack a brain, as well?” And there it was, a flash of his fiery Alex, and he could have cried. “Damn silly fool, you might have given me some warning. I can’t manage a household this size with only two servants. Are you trying to kill me? If you care not for me, have you no concern for our children?”
“Of course I care, but my mother cooked and cleaned, on her own.” How he loved baiting his society bride. “Are you telling me—”
“And did she run a sixteen-room manor?” Alex folded her arms and tapped her foot in an impatient rhythm he remembered with fondness.
“My childhood home more closely resembled the cottage in Plymouth.” A charming flush colored the apples of her cheeks, and he could scarcely resist stealing a kiss. “Now, allow me to introduce our staff.”
“Are you the butler?” Alex stepped to the fore.
“Ah—well, I suppose so.” The tall and lanky codger, with salt and pepper hair, winked at Jason. “I do open the door, from time to time.”
“My lady Alex, meet Gertie and Arnold.” He dipped his chin and chuckled. “They have been friends of mine for years.”
“Gertie?” His wife opened her mouth and then closed it.
“It is short for Gertrude, ma’am. But no one has called me that since I was a wee babe.” The diminutive and chubby maid bowed like a man. “Welcome to Stratfield Manor. May I call you Alex?”
“Gertrude, forgive my forwardness, but may I inquire after your full name?” From the set of Alex’s shoulders, Jason realized he was in trouble.
“Gertrude Mathilda Phipps.” Poor Gertie shuffled her feet. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. I meant no offense.”
“It is all right.” His bride smoothed her skirts and sighed. “Are you the housekeeper, Mrs. Phipps?”
“It is Miss Phipps, ma’am. I never married.” Gertie elbowed Arnold. “We are brother and sister. And as to whether or not I am the housekeeper, I do not rightly know.”
“Mr. Phipps, Miss Phipps, I am so pleased to make your acquaintance. In a proper English residence, ‘your ladyship’ or ‘my lady’ is the appropriate form of address for an individual with my rank, and I shall call you as is appropriate and respectful of your station. To permit otherwise would risk subjecting you to ridicule or censure by our future guests, and I would spare you such embarrassment. And as chatelaine of Stratfield Manor, all decisions involving the estate house management fall to me.” Then Alex walked up the entrance stairs. “Miss Phipps, let us have tea tomorrow, and we will discuss my requirements for an efficient and organized staff. And why are there no flowers in the beds?”
“Do I look like a gardener?” Jason caught the wary glances Gertie and Arnold exchanged. “And I have been at sea these six months.”
“So I must hire gardening staff, as well, given the grounds are in a state of utter disrepair.” Alex came to an abrupt halt in the foyer. “Why are there buckets on the floor?”
“The roof leaks, my lady.” Arnold laughed. “If we forget to put out the buckets, or we are caught unaware, the house will flood.”
“Phipps, show the footmen to the master suite, so they may deposit her ladyship’s trunks.” So the first impression was not the best. No doubt Alex would have the estate in order within a fortnight.
“Right away, Jas—er, what should I call you?” Phipps rubbed the back of his neck and narrowed his stare.
“Captain Collingwood will suffice,” Alex responded. “And Miss Phipps, kindly unpack my trunks, and I shall join you shortly to supervise.” Then his bride pinned him with a heated glare. “May I see you in the study, Jason?”
“As you wish, your ladyship.” He sketched a mockery of a bow and then stood as escort. “May I show you the way?”
“The threadbare carpets must be replaced, along with the worn wallpaper.” Alex wrinkled her nose as he steered her down the hall to the left. “There are cobwebs and dust covering every painting. And I can’t even fathom what it will take to restore the shine to the floors, as they look as if they have not had a good cleaning in the last one hundred years.”
“I am sure you can manage it.” That should provoke the full-fledged return of his spitfire. “And here we have my private domain.”
“Oh, dear. I had hoped for a small measure of improvement.” She sat in a high back chair near the hearth, and a cloud of dust enveloped her. Coughing and sputtering, Alex stood. “Has none of the furniture been covered?”
“Did you expect me to take care of such tedium?” Jason shrugged.
“Then everything is ruined.” Much to his dismay, she cradled her head in her hands and sobbed. “What in the world possessed you to bring me here? I am grateful our babes are yet unborn, as the dangers this broken down shack you call a manor presents to their health and welfare are too disconcerting to contemplate.”
“What is this? Are you afraid of a little dirt and grime?” He had expected a hailstorm of curses, not tears. “Where is my brave Alex?”
For a few seconds, she simply stared at him. And then something caught her attention. She walked to the side wall, drew a handkerchief from her dress pocket, and wiped the white film from an oval mirror. “Do you know what I see when I gaze at my reflection?”
“My beautiful wife?” Although he chuckled, he sensed he had crossed some imaginary line in the sand, and there was no retreat.
“I glimpse a stranger, someone altogether foreign. Her eyes are bereft of spirit, and her face is a blank canvas. A cold, empty shell encompasses and stifles the fire that once burned within Lady Alexandra Seymour, but she is no more.” She hugged her belly, as tears streamed her cheeks. “Unwanted and unloved, she yielded to fate for the sake of her babes. Forced into marriage, a death sentence in her humble estimation, she surrendered her dreams and abandoned everything she thought she knew about herself. The Alex you seek no longer exists. In her place remains a lifeless being, and she is lost, alone, sad, and very frightened.”
Jason’s blood ran cold. “Alex, I had no idea—”
“Have I not tried to tell you?” She inhaled a shaky breath and dried her face. “I offered you everything, and you left me nothing. Shall I describe my shame and humiliation, when I informed Admiral Douglas of my pregnancy? Damian was at sea, I needed help, and the usual channels were barred to me, as an unmarried woman with child, lest I scandalize my family name.”
“I am so sorry, sweetheart.” Without thought, he drew her into his arms, albeit from the side, in order to accommodate her belly. “And you need never be afraid, as I will let no harm befall you.”
“Oh, Jason, you scare me. And I worry we may never recover.” As the magnitude of her heartbreak dawned on him, he held her tighter. “And now I have this wreck of a home to salvage, which I shudder to consider, as everything needs either remodeling or replacing. There is so much work, and I near the end of my pregnancy.”
“Perhaps I should hire someone to oversee the estate, in your stead.” Cupping her cheek, he kissed her forehead. “Would that ease your mind?”
“No.” She sniffed and then burrowed in his chest. “I was bred for just this situation, and I will not fail you, but I should warn you that the restoration will be very expensive.”
“Spend whatever you wish, darling.” Now that was a phrase he had never before uttered. “Make Stratfield a loving environment in which to raise our children.”
“I shall remember you said that.” And then she inched from his grasp. “Now, if you will excuse me, I should instruct Miss Phipps on the proper method
for unpacking and airing clothes.”
“Just a minute.” Jason was not sure why he had done it, but he caught his lady, framed her face, and pressed on her a gentle kiss of which he had not thought himself capable. “Never fear me, Alex, as I would sooner take my life than hurt you again. And I know it is difficult for you to believe me, so I accept your challenge, with no promises on your part.”
“You do?” The surprise in her tone cut him to the core, as she had so little faith in him, yet he could blame no one but himself.
“Aye.” An unfamiliar pain weighed heavy in his chest. “And you should discuss dinner plans with Gertie, as we have no cook, and her kitchen skills are, well, horrible.”
“Do we have any rabbit traps?” She tapped a finger to her chin. “As I could make your favorite stew, the partiality of which your babes share, as I crave it constantly.”
“Sounds delicious.” If it were the last thing he could achieve, he would restore the spark to her eyes. “And I will have Arnold put out the traps, at once.”
“Thank you.” Alex opened the door and then peered over her shoulder. “Can you give me directions to my chambers?”
“Of course.” Wait until she discovered Stratfield Manor had only one master suite. It was that feature, alone, which had persuaded him to buy the rundown estate, along with its decrepit furnishings. “At the landing of the grand staircase, turn right. The master suite is at the end of the hall.”
“Then I will see you at dinner.” She mustered a half-hearted smile that had not fooled him for a second.
As soon as Alex closed the door, Jason rounded his desk and sat in the large chair. When his posterior connected with the cushion, a cloud of dust overtook him, and he suffered a vicious coughing fit. After a couple of violent sneezes, he opened the top drawer and located serviceable stationary, because he had letters to write.
#
Four days later, a courier delivered two much-anticipated responses to Jason’s correspondence. Hugging the envelopes to his chest, he checked the foyer for any signs of his bride before adjourning to his study. Ensconced in the sanctity of his private domain, he locked the door and strode to his desk. Just as he plopped to his seat, he cursed, as the now familiar cloud of dust incited a wicked coughing fit.
Given Trevor’s tenure as a father, and his bawdy proclamation that the production of his third offspring ranked as chief among his concerns, Jason opened Lockwood’s letter first. The dramatic script, typical of Caroline’s husband, contrasted with the elementary information and counsel the missive contained.
“I am to rub her feet?” Jason grimaced. “That is the great secret to wedded bliss?”
Without thought, he slumped in his seat, and another nasty fog engulfed him. Using the parchment as a fan, of sorts, he choked, sputtered, and pondered Trevor’s advice.
So he was to express a sudden affinity for her ankles, heels, and toes—and pretend to enjoy the experience? Why could he not just caress her breasts, as they looked quite swollen? Perhaps Alex would prefer he soothe her hips, her succulent thighs, the luscious undersides of her knees...
Of course, that line of thinking was exactly how he ended up in his current predicament. And he could not fault his friend’s logic, as feet presented safe territory, compared to other more delectable parts.
Then he gave his attention to the second letter, swiped it from the blotter, and ripped open the envelope. To his absolute befuddlement, Everett dispensed identical sage advice. Yet Woverton also expounded on the virtues of back massages, with particular care paid to the lower region, near the base of Alex’s spine, and her shoulders. According to Everett, Sabrina often rewarded his efforts with most passionate appreciation.
“Passionate appreciation?” Jason snorted, propped an elbow on the armrest, and cupped his chin in his palm. “What on earth could Everett mean, as Alex has permitted nothing more than a few pleasurable kisses? I may have destroyed her confidence, but pregnancy killed her licentious appetite, and I would restore both.”
And then he digested the remaining contents of the dispatch. The last recommendation involved hiring a nanny. While Sabrina had suffered the worst symptoms of her condition, Everett had conducted interviews, had arranged for the prospective candidate to meet with his wife, and had settled the contract and wages. In turn, Sabrina had declared Everett the most thoughtful husband and had been generous in her thanks.
“What in bloody hell do I know of nannies?” Then again, he hired sailors to staff the Intrepid, so he considered himself highly qualified to employ household personnel. “All right, I will do it.”
With the best of intentions swirling in his brain, he tugged open the top right drawer, and the bottom fell to the floor. Muttering a slew of invective, he knelt and retrieved the spilt contents. After stacking his stationary atop the desk, Jason dropped into his chair, and the maddening dust cloud provoked another blistering string of expletives.
“My lady, you should rest before the next applicant arrives.” Gertie’s shrill tone sounded in the hall. “You have been on your feet all morning.”
“Could you make a pot of tea, Miss Phipps?” Alex moaned. “And I shall take a short nap in the back parlor.”
“I will see to it, at once, your ladyship,” the housekeeper replied.
In less than twenty-four hours, Alex had earned Gertie and Arnold’s everlasting devotion via their stomachs. And in true Alex fashion, she had charmed a group of local dandies to transport four wagonloads of new furnishings to the house, after a painfully slow coach ride into town, on their first full day in residence.
Yet with Jason she remained blanketed in uncharacteristic reticence and melancholia. No matter how hard he tried to make amends, she kept him at arm’s length, and an underlying hesitance marked her every move. And his heart bled for her.
With a smile, he pushed from his desk and all but ran into the hall. It was time to test the solicited advice, as his bride had taken a break from her busy schedule. Unsure of his welcome, he second-guessed his tack. But he had vowed to win her back, by any means necessary, so he turned the knob and opened the door.
The freshly hung drapes had been drawn, and Alex reclined, dozing on a new chaise, with her feet propped on a pillow. Trevor and Everett, god bless them, had been correct. Moving slow and steady, Jason tiptoed—yes, he deuced tiptoed, on the pristine carpet, but a floorboard creaked and betrayed his presence.
In a flash, Alex jumped. “Oh, Jason. You startled me.”
“Relax, love.” He halted, until she closed her eyes. Just then, Gertie, carrying a tray laden with a teapot, cups, and a plate of biscuits, entered the parlor. “Shh. My wife sleeps.”
“Poor dear.” The housekeeper dipped her chin, as she set the tray on the table. “She will wear herself out, sir. And that is not good for the babes.”
“I will caution her,” Jason replied, in sotto voce. “You may come for her when the next applicant arrives.”
“Yes, Captain.” The housekeeper smiled. “If I may say so, Lady Alex is a very fine woman.”
“Yes, she is quite simply magnificent.” And in a moment of temporary insanity, he had refused to marry her and, in so doing, had destroyed the best thing that had ever happened to him. “But I thank you, just the same.”
Alone, at last, he lifted his bride’s feet, tossed the pillow to the floor, and shuffled to the end of the chaise. After a gentle shift to his left, he positioned Alex’s heels in his lap and removed her slippers. When she sniffed and rolled her head to one side, he froze, lest he disturb her. As her breaths returned to a steady rhythm, he commenced his task.
According to Trevor, the arches required the most attention, so Jason used the pads of his thumbs, tracing small circles in the subtle indentations, and Alex lauded his efforts with a lusty moan that harked back to those sumptuous days in Plymouth. Then he massaged the outer edges of her soles, and she let forth a robust cry of pleasure that summoned the trusty old Jolly Roger, too long neglected, into action.
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br /> Soon, a heady chorus of oohs and ahs brought Jason to the brink of ecstasy, and as he kneaded his magic on her provocative little toes, he lowered her feet and thrust his hips in time with his handiwork, engaging in a naughty caress of his stubborn erection. How he savored her touch, however unintended.
“What are you doing?” Alex inquired in a high-pitched voice.
With a violent flinch, he opened his eyes, gazed at his wife, and cleared his throat. “I am massaging your feet, sweetheart.”
“Indeed?” She arched a brow and frowned. “Because it appears you use my feet to rub your—are you aroused?”
“Do you really have to ask?” He chuckled.
“But—why?” Sporting a charming blush, she licked her lips. “I mean...that is to say, given my condition, what could have stimulated you?”
“You think yourself unattractive, my dear?” Stunned by her question, because it presented another confusing character deviation he had not foreseen, she could have knocked him over with a feather. “Alex, you are pregnant, not dead, and you have never been lovelier.”
“But you think me fat.” And now she pouted, which he could never resist.
“Now I know very well I never said that.” Jason rolled his eyes. “I may be many things, but I am neither daft nor forgetful.”
“Then it appears you suffer selective memory syndrome.” She lifted her chin, and for the briefest second, he glimpsed his Alex, but she retreated beneath her shroud of sadness. “Does rotund ring a bell?”
“You have a mind like a steel trap.” Resuming his massage, he teased her soles with a feathery caress and rubbed his finger between her toes in a repetitive, illicit rhythm. Then he stuck his tongue in his cheek and winked. “Remind you of anything?”
“Jason Collingwood.” Her mouth fell agape. “You are incorrigible.”
“I am your husband, and I want you.” He walked his fingers to her calves. “What is incorrigible about that?”
Their eyes met, held, and the promise of passion ignited, just as it had all those months ago. And so he rode that much prayed for but absent of late tide and inched his palms to her knees. She inhaled a shaky breath and bit her lip, and he damn near spilt his seed in his breeches.
Captain Of Her Heart Page 13
