Back in the Headlines

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘Titus? Are you awake?’

  The voice was soft. Melodic. Like sweet balm on his senses. He gave a lazy yawn before rolling over to survey Roxanne’s blue eyes, which were fixed on him, thinking how spectacular she looked in the half-light. Like some kind of wanton goddess. Her fair hair spilled down over her shoulders and her skin was so white it might have been carved from marble. The whiteness was broken by her nipples, which were thrusting towards him in silent invitation.

  If he hadn’t spent two of the last three hours making love to her, he might have been tempted to lean forward and lick one. Or maybe to kiss her instead. He seemed to have spent an inordinate amount of time kissing her during these snatched and highly erotic interludes at her cottage. He seemed to be walking around his estate in a constant state of arousal. Like a teenager who had just discovered sex. He frowned. Every time he saw her, he wanted to drag her off into the nearest darkened alcove and make love to her—a feat not easily achieved when she was usually wielding a feather duster, with the ever-vigilant Vanessa hovering close by. But sometimes they succeeded, like yesterday—when he had found her alone in the boot-room and he had taken one look at her shining blue eyes and had locked the door.

  ‘Titus? Are you awake?’ she repeated.

  He yawned again. ‘I am now.’

  Roxy levered herself up onto her elbow to look at him. Not that there was a lot of room for manoeuvre in this narrow single bed—and certainly not when a man of Titus’s stature was sharing it with you.

  She drifted her fingertips down over his hard torso, tracing little circles over his flat belly and feeling his hips circle automatically in response. For three weeks now, they’d been lovers and he was the best lover she’d ever had. No, scrub that. Titus seemed like the only lover she’d ever had. It was as if she’d come to his bed an innocent and discovered sex through him, and him alone.

  How he did that remained something of a mystery—or maybe that was because he was still something of a mystery. She knew his body so well. She knew how to reduce him to boneless longing with just the tiptoeing of her fingers—it was getting to know the real man which was harder. No matter how great the intimacy which existed when they were in bed together, he always managed to keep something of himself back. His coolly aristocratic air always seemed to kick in and change the subject, just when it was getting interesting.

  She supposed that his reluctance to talk about anything other than the superficial was all to do with his upbringing, because everyone knew that the upper classes didn’t ‘do’ feelings. They kept them buttoned up inside and froze out anyone who dared to enquire. It was just that lately this attitude had begun to frustrate her. She wasn’t stupid enough to read anything permanent into what was happening between them—but knowing so little about him sometimes made her feel as if she were in bed with a ghost.

  She drew in a deep breath. ‘Tell me what it was like, growing up in Scotland.’

  Titus narrowed his eyes and he might have been tempted to bat the question away if he hadn’t been momentarily distracted by the downward movement of her hand. ‘I didn’t grow up in Scotland.’

  ‘But you said that your mother lived in Scotland—after your parents divorced. When you were a little boy.’

  He swallowed as he felt her fingertips brush against his growing erection. ‘And she did. But I stayed here.’

  ‘You stayed here? What, with your father and your stepmother?’

  ‘Right again,’ he groaned as he felt the trickle of her hand over his aching shaft.

  ‘But I thought you said you hated your stepmother.’

  He shot her a dark look as he rolled away from her, reluctant to face an interrogation while her hands were working such sweet magic—because didn’t that feel like a kind of manipulation? ‘We didn’t exactly see eye to eye on most subjects, but I don’t remember actually using the word hate, Roxanne.’

  ‘But that must have been an awful situation,’ she continued, even though his grey eyes were flashing out an unmistakable warning. ‘You must have missed your mother like mad. And she must have missed you, too.’

  He scowled. What a bloody naive thing to say! ‘Of course I missed her,’ he said. ‘But I saw her during some of the school vacations. And anyway, she remarried when I was ten.’

  Roxy sensed another big story behind that flat declaration. ‘And do you get on well with your stepfather?’

  ‘A question which is thankfully no longer relevant, since my mother divorced him as well,’ he returned caustically. ‘My family’s track record for holding down a long-term marriage isn’t great. Which is probably what makes me view it with as much enthusiasm as I would a trip to the dentist. A necessary duty I’ll one day have to undertake in order to secure a suitable succession to the Dukedom.’

  She could hear the caustic note underpinning his flippant comment, obviously trying to put her straight about where he stood. The not-very-subtle warning her off about marriage. Well, she certainly wasn’t fantasising about herself as the next Duchess—she wasn’t that stupid! She just wanted to know him a little better—and why shouldn’t she when they were lying naked in bed together? Surely physical intimacy gave you some rights?

  ‘Then why didn’t you go up to Scotland with her?’ she persisted. ‘That’s what would normally happen. The woman usually gets custody of the child—especially if she’s the one who’s been “wronged”.’

  Titus sighed, but more with exasperation than irritation. Didn’t she realise that the normal rules simply didn’t apply to someone like him? That in his world, the importance of tradition was placed above the close family bonds enjoyed by most people. ‘Because I needed to be here. At Valeo. The estate was my inheritance and I needed to learn how to run it—and I could only do that at firsthand. Not living with my mother was considered a necessary sacrifice in order for me to achieve that.’

  She reached over to coil her fingers in the thick tawny hair. ‘Oh, Titus, that’s terrible.’

  ‘No, Roxy, it is not terrible. It’s just the way things are. My heritage is everything to me. It’s what drives me. My duty is what drives me.’ He saw the softness in her big blue eyes and something made him want to lash out at her. Don’t look at me that way, he thought. Don’t make your voice grow all soft and husky with emotion. Don’t make me examine things which are best kept locked away. His voice hardened. ‘Why, was your childhood the stuff that dreams are made of?’

  Roxy realised that she had walked into a trap of her own making. She was usually the one who clammed up when people wanted to know about her upbringing—but she could hardly do that now. Not in light of her own determined line of questioning. She gave a shrug, which didn’t quite come off. ‘Not unless you dream of having a mother who makes repeated suicide attempts—’

  ‘Oh, God. Roxy, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Why should you be sorry? It isn’t your fault.’

  He knew from the way she’d screwed up her face that she didn’t want to elaborate and normally he would have been only too glad to change the subject, but, inexplicably, he found himself wanting to know. Because he had discovered that Roxy was a woman who kept bits of herself locked away—just as he did. And he was discovering that the elusive was curiously tantalising. ‘What happened?’

  She stared at him, wishing that she’d kept her mouth shut. She was unsuitable enough to be sharing his bed as it was, without admitting to having a mentally unstable mother. But she’d known that all along, hadn’t she? She’d known that she was not the kind of woman the Duke would usually be involved with—he had just implied pretty much the same thing himself. So it didn’t matter which of her secrets she told him. It would have no effect on their future, because they didn’t have a future.

  ‘What happened?’ Roxy allowed herself to remember the patchwork of dramatic incidents which had made up her childhood. ‘My father’s rather liberated behaviour was usually what provoked another failed attempt on the part of my mother. She would discover his latest infidelity and
there would be an enormous scene. Shouts and screams and plates being hurled—finishing up with a call to the emergency services. It was like living on the set of an opera. The doctors kept saying it was a cry for help—and she certainly never took enough pills to kill herself. I used to go with her to the hospital. She couldn’t bear to have my father accompany her because he’d just hurt her again. And more to the point—she hated him seeing her vomiting.’ Her gaze was steady. ‘I became quite good at giving a concise summary of her medical history.’

  He flinched at her deliberate candour—the deadpan look on her face as she recited the facts managing to be much more chilling than a cascade of accompanying emotion. ‘So did she kill herself in the end?’

  Roxy narrowed her eyes. ‘I don’t remember telling you that she was dead.’

  ‘You didn’t have to.’ He shrugged. ‘But you speak about her in the past tense.’

  Roxy was surprised by his perception. ‘Actually, she died in a way which nobody could have anticipated,’ she said slowly. ‘They were going through one of their kiss-and-make-up phases and she’d gone out to buy a new dress. She was doing that sort of dreamy thing which women do when they think they’re loved. She … she wasn’t really concentrating on the busy London traffic and she walked straight out in front of a taxi. The end.’

  ‘Oh, God. Roxy.’

  ‘It was a long time ago,’ she said fiercely. ‘It doesn’t hurt any more.’ And that much was true. The pain had gone away. She’d made it go away in order to ensure her own survival, but it had inevitably left behind its own scar tissue. It had been during those fierce attempts to numb the pain that she’d realised it was easier not to let people close. If you didn’t let people close, then they couldn’t hurt you. Especially men. Up until now, that had never been a problem. She’d never wanted to let anyone close. But now she did. And Titus Alexander was the worst possible man to have chosen.

  ‘So it was just you and your father?’ he questioned slowly. ‘He brought you up?’

  ‘Not really. It was me, my father and whoever his current squeeze was. Until he got bored and dumped her. The women always resented me being around because I cramped their style, although they always pretended to adore me when Dad was watching. But they never lasted long.’ She’d seen for herself how badly men could treat women. And how women let themselves be treated badly because they had clung onto some foolish idea of ‘love’.

  He heard the cynical note which had entered her voice and part of him rejoiced in it. ‘So, like me you don’t have any illusions about “love”?’ he questioned coolly.

  Roxy shrugged—because she recognised it as both a question and a warning. ‘Of course not,’ she said.

  ‘Good.’ His eyes gleamed as he took her hand and guided it down to his groin. ‘Now, can we please stop talking and do something else?’

  She was tempted—oh, how she was tempted. But she was feeling a little bit vulnerable and, more importantly—it was getting late. She pulled her hand away. ‘There isn’t time. Amy will be back from the pub soon.’

  ‘Damn Amy.’

  ‘That isn’t very nice, Titus. She was living here long before I was.’ She hesitated and some rogue spark made her say it, even though she knew it was asking for trouble. ‘Of course, I could always come and spend the night with you in the great house.’

  There was a pause. ‘You know we can’t do that, Roxy.’

  ‘Well, we could,’ she argued. ‘You’re the Duke who can do anything he pleases. You told me that yourself. But clearly you don’t want to.’

  Didn’t he? He studied her blue eyes thoughtfully. Didn’t he sometimes wake in the night in his vast four-poster bed and wish that he could reach for her? Hadn’t he sometimes thought how blissful mornings might have been if he’d just been able to slide straight into her waiting heat and then run his fingers through the silken tumble of her hair? But protocol made that impossible—as did the thought that Roxanne might read too much into such a gesture.

  ‘If we do that, then we might as well make an announcement to the rest of the staff that we’re sleeping together,’ he said.

  ‘Actually, sleeping together is one thing we’re not doing.’

  ‘You know what I mean, Roxanne.’

  ‘Yes, I know exactly what you mean.’ The stupid words came tumbling out before she could stop them. ‘You’re ashamed of me.’

  ‘You’re much too smart to come out with something like that,’ he said softly. ‘I am not ashamed of you—I’m just thinking about your welfare.’

  ‘Ever the solicitous boss!’ she mocked.

  He tilted her chin up with the tip of his finger. ‘Don’t you think it might make life awkward for you if people knew that we were involved?’

  ‘You’re saying they don’t?’

  ‘Why?’ He rolled onto his back and studied her from between narrowed eyes. ‘Have you been boasting about your encounters with me?’

  ‘Titus Alexander, you are a very arrogant man,’ she said crossly. ‘I haven’t said a word to anyone, but occasionally I wonder if Vanessa has some idea about what’s going on. Sometimes I see her looking at me curiously.’

  ‘Oh, Vanessa knows plenty about what goes on in this house,’ he said, with a curious smile. ‘But guessing something is different from being told something. If we were blatant about our liaison then it would undermine her authority—and place you in a potentially awkward situation. It just makes life easier for you this way, that’s all. Now, come here and kiss me.’

  Easier for him, she thought as she shook her head, more from a sense of pride than because she meant it. ‘I don’t want to kiss you.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ He reached out and cupped her breast, his thumb circling the hardening nipple. ‘Are you quite sure about that, Miss Carmichael?’

  Roxy’s mouth dried as she felt the urgent stab of sexual hunger. ‘You are an outrageous man, Titus.’

  ‘I thought we’d established that a while back.’

  ‘We’ll have to be quick,’ she whispered.

  ‘Oh, I can be very quick.’

  She should have resisted, but there was something about Titus which made him impossible to resist. Especially when he was pushing her back against the pillows like that and was moving over her body. She squirmed as he thrust deep inside her, until he awoke the first helpless wave of pleasure. Oh, Titus, she thought helplessly as her back began to arch with senseless abandon. What have you done to me? She had vowed not to let herself feel too deeply—to keep this affair in its proper place—and yet hadn’t she started breaking all those vows as if they’d meant nothing?

  It had begun to scare her when she thought about the future, when all this would come to an end. His birthday party was next Saturday and working here permanently had never been in the cards. She knew that. And Titus had never raised false hopes by making promises which he couldn’t keep. So hadn’t she better be the one to broach leaving, so that at least she’d be able to walk away with her pride intact?

  She watched as he began to dress, wishing that the rest of the world didn’t exist. That they could stay here, locked in their own private little place. But you couldn’t keep a man by locking him up and throwing away the key, could you?

  ‘Was that good?’ he murmured as he observed her gaze following him around the room.

  She pretended to think about it. ‘No, it was absolutely awful,’ she said. ‘But I’m willing to give you another opportunity to get it right, if you play your cards right.’

  Titus smiled as he finished buttoning up his shirt. The least educated woman he’d ever met and she also happened to be the smartest. He thought back to all the ‘suitable’ women who had been trooped out for his approval over the years. He thought about the way they behaved—with all their originality replaced by a breathless acknowledgement of his eligibility. And he thought about his imminent birthday party and the aristocratic crumpet who would have their sights set on changing his single status as soon as possible.

 
; He glittered the watchful Roxanne a lazy smile. ‘I shall do my very best to improve my technique,’ he said.

  ‘Good.’ She sat up in bed, determined to break her wistful mood. ‘Are you getting excited about your birthday party?’

  ‘Who looks forward to a milestone like thirty-five?’

  ‘Thirty-five isn’t old, Titus.’

  ‘Maybe not.’ But in ducal terms, Titus knew that it was. The pressure was on for him to produce a wife and an heir—and the absence of any brothers had meant that the pressure was mounting. Wasn’t there the unspoken fear that, if he didn’t hurry up and produce a son, the estate would pass down to some distant cousin who lived in some remote part of Scandinavia?

  Duty demanded that he start looking seriously to find a suitable woman to provide him with an heir—and stop wasting his time with Roxanne Carmichael. He watched as she leaned back to pillow her head against her arms. Foxy Roxy, the journalists used to call her, describing her as being ‘sex on legs’ and, looking at her flushed face and naked body, it was easy to see why. So how the hell could she be suitable for anything other than transitory pleasure?

  He zipped up his jeans. ‘I wish I could invite you to the party.’

  Roxy shook her head. ‘No, you don’t. Not really. I’d cramp your style. You’ll be expected to dance with all those Honourable Ladies who’ll be dazzling you with their diamonds.’ And she couldn’t bear to watch. Couldn’t bear to keep a smile fixed to her face and pretend that she didn’t care. Because of course she cared when it had been her he’d been making love to—and not some jewel-encrusted fellow aristocrat.

  Because that was the trouble with sex, she decided. Especially sex as good as this. It made you feel close to a man, even when you knew that was a bad idea. It made you start having emotions you didn’t want to have. A little bit of possessiveness had crept into her heart along the way—and more than a bit of resentment, too. She realised that Titus was hiding her away like a guilty secret and lately she had started to mind.