Charlotte affixed her signature below Alex’s. There, it was done. She looked up at him to find him steadily regarding her, the tick of his jaw hinting at deeper emotions simmering inside him than his otherwise inscrutable countenance conveyed.
Calmly, he reached over and retrieved the document from in front of her. He gave it a cursory glance, and then with a tight smile said, “It appears now we are man and wife.”
Yes they were. But what did that mean? “How are we to explain this to everyone?”
“We have been estranged and you’ve only now come home desperate to give our marriage a second chance.”
If only that were true. At least then, there’d be some hope for them.
“And Nicholas, what will you say about him? Won’t people find it strange you’ve never mentioned him?”
“Half my peers do not discuss their children. I won’t be that much of an oddity,” he replied wryly.
Charlotte rolled her eyes. He was deliberately being obtuse.
“Alex, you know this is different. First a wife everyone would swear you did not marry, and then a son—your heir—you never once spoke of? You don’t think people will question that? Even the most trusting of souls will find all this incredulous.”
“They can question it all they like but I’ll have marriage papers to support everything I say.”
How utterly confident he looked and nothing in his voice gave the impression of hesitation or uncertainty. But then the world he’d been born into no doubt led him to believe he could commit marriage fraud with impunity.
“I heard there is talk you were to court the Earl of Cranford’s daughter. Is that true? Had you plans to marry her?” It was a fair question but a small part of her wanted him to know she knew. Which was silly as it wasn’t as if there had been any betrayal on his part.
His lips twitched. “My, my, my,” he said in a deceptively soft voice. “Gossip is becoming more dependable than the papers. And travels ten times the speed of trains.”
“I’m certain my sister did not know it was supposed to be a secret as your mother was said to be quite vocal in her approval of the match. I heard all parties involved hoped for a wedding by year’s end.”
“Heard?” he asked, his voice pitched low. A dark eyebrow rose and a faint smile curled his lip. “Can you truthfully tell me you did not ask?”
Katie, will you tell me about Alex? And now? How is he now?
Of course she had asked.
Charlotte averted her gaze from his too knowing one.
“I thought as much.” The low pitch of his voice thrummed her sensitized nerves.
The tick of the clock had the power to deafen in the ensuing silence. Charlotte could feel his relentless stare. After too long under the crushing weight of his scrutiny, she waved a white flag of surrender and looked him directly in the eye; something she now tried to avoid at all cost.
That was all it took. Desire jolted her with the force of a thunderbolt. Her nipples beaded, her stomach contorted itself into a knot and she felt the relentless throb of desire below.
Tension crackled the air. Her breathing grew ragged, her heartbeat erratic as she devoured him with her eyes. She had never wanted a man more—and couldn’t imagine she ever would.
A look of pure want and need flared so hotly in his eyes, it burned her everywhere it touched: her parted lips, her breasts, her belly, her hips, the apex of her thighs.
For seconds, they hovered on the precipice of something raw and explosive, hot and all consuming. Caught up in a sexual haze, Charlotte stepped forward without conscious thought or will, mouth parted and head tipped back for the kiss she ached for so badly, she could already feel it on her lips. Taste it in her mouth.
But with her advance came his abrupt retreat.
“You want me,” he said softly, running his gaze down her body.
A denial would be ludicrous all things considered and Charlotte was not about to admit to the obvious.
The only thing preventing the smile curving his lips from being completely overbearing was the rapid rise and fall of his chest as if his breathing wasn’t under his control, and not even his mocking words could mask the desire in his eyes.
“I could stand before you now and tell you it gives me no satisfaction to know that you want me.” His gaze lit her on fire as it lifted slowly, lazily, from her rapidly rising breasts to look her in the eye. “But that would be a lie. I want you to want me,” he said, his voice silky and low. “I want you to want me so much you burn every night when you lie in bed and dream of me. Dream of all the things you want me to do to you. The things you want to do to me.”
Fever pitch in intensity, desire coursed through her veins.
Charlotte thought of the five years’ worth of sensual fantasies that often kept her awake at night and then followed her into her dreams.
“If you only knew what I dream of you, Alex, you might cease in your torment of me,” she said in a broken whisper.
A flash of emotion darkened his eyes to the color of smoke. “You have no idea of torment.” His voice became as frigid as the Arctic winds and as dark as a moonless and starless night.
“And you are determined I shall learn it at your hands.”
“It isn’t for me to mete out punishment.”
Was it not? Did he not think threatening to take her child from her was punishment enough to last a lifetime? That his ill feelings toward her didn’t slice at her already bleeding heart?
He cleared his throat and made a show of adjusting his necktie and checking the line of his jacket. When he finally looked at her, he’d fortified the wall of stony indifference around him, treating her to a blank stare.
“I never courted Lady Mary. I have, in fact, courted no one but you. It will suit our purposes if everyone assumes it was our marriage that precluded me from doing so. Now you’ll understand if I do not wait about for my son to awaken from his nap. But I expect you to have him at my residence next morning.” That said, he gave her a curt nod and started toward the door.
“Wait.”
Alex halted mid-stride but kept his back to her. He kept her in suspense seconds longer before turning around, one brow raised in query. “It would appear you’re loath for me to leave.” His statement sounded more self-deprecating than anything else.
“As we are now legally man and wife, Nicholas will have to be told you’re his father. I think I should tell him today.”
His body went rigid. “No,” he snapped.
Not precisely the response she’d expected. “But you agree he must be told.”
All of Reading would know within days. If Nicholas’s cousins hadn’t already heard, she’d no doubt they would soon.
“I want to be there.” Again he eyed her as if she were the enemy. “You will not deny me that.”
As she’d denied him so much else. He didn’t have to say the words aloud for Charlotte to know it was the constant refrain in his mind.
“Then, we shall tell him together tomorrow.” Everything seemed to be moving at staggering speeds.
He glanced at the clock, suddenly looking as if he’d better things to do than converse with her. “Now, if that is all?”
“Alex.” Her voice hitched on his name. “I want you to know I never meant to hurt or deceive you.”
“Indeed?” His wry query was accompanied by a supercilious lift of his eyebrow. “Then I can only imagine how ruthlessly proficient you can be when you make a task of it.”
He then bestowed upon her a bow fit for the queen. “Good day, Mrs. Cartwright.”
Chapter Ten
“Mama, why can’t my cousins come with us?”
Charlotte stared at the wood door in front of her but couldn’t quite bring herself to ring the bell. The thought of facing Alex had her nerves stretched as taut as a tightrope and her body stiff with tension.
“Because Lord Cart—Avondale wishes to see us alone,” she replied for the fourth time in almost as many minutes. She could feel a d
ull throb commencing in her right eye. She’d have a fearsome headache before this was over.
With Nicholas’s small hand clasped tightly in hers, Charlotte stood on the doorstep of Gretchen Manor, unmoving until he looked up at her again, his expression one of growing impatience.
Charlotte sighed heavily and rang the bell. The door was promptly answered by a man of middle age clad in black. He glanced down at Nicholas before his regard returned to her. “Lady Avondale,” he greeted in a formal tone. “His lordship is expecting you.”
Good Lord, Alex had just made her a marchioness and one day she’d be a duchess. It would take some time to not only digest it but accept it. In the meantime, she’d have to stop herself from looking about her like some gauche country girl when people addressed her by her new title.
They were admitted into the foyer. Her son tightened his grip on her hand. He too was nervous.
“His lordship awaits you in the withdrawing room.”
After handing the attending footman her bonnet and cloak, Charlotte took her son’s hand in hers and followed the butler, who announced them with a gravity that tragically suited the occasion.
Alex stood upon their entrance. Her heart leapt at the sight of him. In a word, he looked dashing. And in case her eyes had forgotten what a face as handsome as his could do to a body, her heart reminded her when it went from anxiously beating to furiously pounding. She wouldn’t be surprised if he asked her to keep the noise down.
It appeared he’d spared nothing in his meeting with his son. Not the perfectly tied black necktie or the unadorned, dark green waistcoat, silk shirt and coat. No, today he epitomized the quintessential man about town; dressed to display his illustrious title and considerable wealth and success.
With a curt nod to his butler, Alex sent the man on his way. The click of the door closing was the only sound to be heard for many moments after.
Nicholas’s gaze bounced between them. He too could sense the tension, which would have the opposite effect of putting him at ease.
“Hello, Nicholas.” Alex’s voice sounded impossibly deep but the way his somber expression transformed when he looked at his son squeezed her heart. In that moment she saw the old Alex: charming and engaging, so full of joie de vivre.
“Hullo.” Nicholas’s grip on her hand tightened.
Alex’s eyes narrowed at her. He regarded her in that manner that urged—insisted—she put her son at ease. But he should know that Nicholas would never be at ease if he continued to glower at her as he was doing.
“Are you enjoying England?” Old Alex instantly materialized again when talking to his son.
Nicholas gave a shy nod.
“And do you enjoy playing with your cousins?”
Nicholas gave a much more enthusiastic nod. Several in fact.
“Would you like to sit?”
While Nicholas glanced over at the sofa feet from where they stood like two poor relations upon their first visit to the manor house, Alex shot her an accusing glare condemning her silence.
Pray, what did he expect her to do? This whole situation was difficult enough. He could at least pretend he didn’t absolutely despise the ground she walked on in front of their son.
“Yes, let us sit.” She tried to make her voice light but failed utterly, her words emerging in a strained rasp.
Once they were all seated—she and Nicholas on the sofa, Alex adjacent in a wing chair of Utrecht plush—her son finally relinquished the fierce grip he had on her hand and instead pressed up against her side and hooked his arm through hers.
It was clear from the tightness of his jaw that Alex was taking it all in. This would be no easy task, trying to extricate her son from her if that was his plan. The bond between them could anchor ships in the middle of the ocean. Any attempt to break it would evoke a battle of biblical proportions. And Nicholas, the most innocent in this affair, would be the one most hurt.
Alex cleared his throat. For the first time since she’d seen him again, he looked uncertain at how to proceed. And it was that hint of vulnerability in him that softened her and pushed her to take things in hand.
“Nicholas, do you remember when I told you your father was far, far away and that’s why he couldn’t see you?” She was looking at her son as she spoke, but from her peripheral, she saw Alex’s jaw tighten. He’d never forgive her those lies.
Nicholas nodded mutely.
“Well, that’s because he lives here, in England.”
Her son’s face brightened, a smile splitting his face. “Does that mean I can meet him?”
Charlotte glanced at Alex in time to see another flash of emotion flit across his face. This time she had no trouble pinpointing it. Anguish. She redoubled her efforts.
“Darling, Lord Avondale—Alex, he is your father.”
With her words, a burden of five years in the making lifted from her shoulders only to have nail-biting anxiety set in. She held her breath.
Nicholas’s head whipped around so fast she feared he’d injure himself. Mouth agape, eyes the size of half crowns, he stared at Alex.
The silence was excruciating even if it lasted only seconds. The longest seconds in his life.
Alex eased his mouth into a smile, hoping to reassure and express his pleasure at the same time. His son didn’t have to know that under his mask of calm, his nerves were razor thin and felt stretched to snapping.
Alex wasn’t a poet and never purported to the artistic craft. But the light from the sun on the most beautiful summer day paled to the smile lighting his son’s face. It brightened everything in the room, in the house, in all of England. More than anything, it lit up everything gray and shadowed in his life, giving Alex a sense of purpose he’d never had before. The care of this child—his wonderful son—was his. The notion was staggering and humbling.
“You are my papa?” Nicholas’s voice trembled with excitement.
Alex began to speak but words failed him, caught somewhere between his heart and his throat. When they looked back on this moment, years from now, he prayed his son’s first memory of him wasn’t seeing him reduced to a blubbering mess upon their introduction.
He cleared his throat again. “Yes, I am your father.”
As pleased as Nicholas appeared, he didn’t so much as budge from his mother’s side, although he’d given her back the full use of her left arm. What did he do now? Alex couldn’t remember a time the duke had ever touched him in affection and while he knew his mother loved him, she simply wasn’t the touching sort.
But he wanted to touch—hug—his son. Hold him long enough to make up for all the years they’d lost.
“Go on,” Charlotte said, her voice soothing. “If you’d like to hug him, you can. I’m sure your father would like that.”
Alex didn’t want to feel kindly toward her. But for her, there’d be no awkwardness to overcome. Father and son would have long been acquainted to the sum of four years. However, he grudgingly conceded that she was trying to help. As well she should.
Nicholas slid from the sofa and took a tentative step toward him, his smile wavering. He glanced back at his mother, who nodded her encouragement.
Alex pushed from his seat and dropped one knee to the rug. He opened his arms and that was all the reassurance Nicholas needed, stepping into his embrace. His small arms encircled his neck, and Alex had never been so close to blubbering in his entire life.
“I always wanted a father.”
Emotion constricted Alex’s throat. He squeezed the little body to him and breathed him in. He smelled of soap and baby powder and felt sturdy and fragile at the same time. “No more than I wanted a son just like you.”
Over the top of Nicholas’s head, Alex met Charlotte’s gaze. Tears streamed down her face. She quickly bent her head and snapped open the reticule she had at her side. Seconds later, a handkerchief materialized in her hand, which she put to immediate use sopping up her tears.
When Nicholas removed his arms from around his neck, Alex was
n’t ready to release him. But because he didn’t want to overwhelm him, Alex dropped his hands to his side, resisting the urge to snatch him back, hold on to him for dear life and never let him go.
Nicholas returned to his mother’s side, his smile fairly triumphant and absurdly pleased. Smiling, Alex levered himself up and back into the chair.
That had gone well. Certainly better than Alex had anticipated given the rocky start.
Charlotte sent him a wistful smile and for a moment he was transported. Back to a time of unbridled happiness when the future looked brighter than the sun and was a journey they’d take together as man and wife.
She’d been crying so in all fairness her face ought to be blotchy and her eyes red-rimmed. Instead, her creamy, unblemished complexion and blue eyes defied the ravages of tears as if to punish him. If only he wasn’t still attracted to her, how easier his life would be. But better physical attraction than feel even a fraction of what he’d once felt for her. Loving her that much had nearly destroyed him.
“Mama, I’m hungry.” Nicholas had resumed his seat beside his mother, his feet dangling over the lip of the sofa revealing blue stockings beneath navy trousers. He wasn’t dressed like a proper English boy, a fact Alex intended to remedy straightaway. It was bad enough he spoke like an American, he couldn’t have people mistaking his son for a foreigner, thus encouraging them to treat him as though he didn’t belong.
Alex rose to his feet. “I will have Cook make you something to eat. What would you like?”
“I want to go to my cousins’ home and eat with them,” Nicholas blurted.
Home. A word that should have conjured up images of love, hearth and family instead represented nothing but division and strife. And suddenly Alex was consumed with a blinding anger. Gretchen Manor ought to be Nicholas’s home.
No, this would not do. He, forced to call on his child like some interloper, or dependent on Charlotte to bring him by? He hadn’t been willing to put his son through the trauma of being separated from his mother, but to have to live with her, share a roof with her…the prospect was as enticing as it was disturbing. And he resented her for that. That after so long, she still had power enough over him to entice. Adam had lost that battle with Eve but Alex refused to allow Charlotte to be his downfall.
An Heir of Deception (The Elusive Lords) Page 12
