An Impossible Attraction (11 page)

Her heart thundering now, Alexandra looked at Randolph determinedly. “I cannot accept the flowers.”

His eyes widened.

Corey cried out, “Why not?”

“Alexandra, we should discuss this,” Olivia said tersely.

Alexandra trembled, but she took the roses from Olivia and handed them to Randolph, whose eyes widened still further. But he did not take them. “Please,” she said. She tried to smile and failed. “If anything, I am the one who owes His Grace flowers or some other token of my gratitude for his rescue last night.”

Randolph said, “He wishes for you to have them, Miss Bolton. In fact, he specified the exact roses he wished for me to find—the most perfect, the most costly. He even said one dozen would not do. You cannot return them—he would be offended.”

“I cannot accept them.” She heard the uncertain tremor in her tone. She did not want to offend Clarewood; no woman in her right mind would.

“Why on earth not?” Randolph asked sharply.

She wet her lips and glanced at the library doors. “I have a suitor, sir, who has made it very clear that he will soon offer marriage.” She inhaled. “That is, I am being courted.” She pressed the flowers into his arms. “Once he realizes I am practically engaged, His Grace will hardly be offended.”

From behind, Olivia seized her. “I want a private word with you,” she snapped.

As Alexandra turned to face her, she kept seeing Clarewood, and her heart was shrieking at her now. Oddly, a part of her wanted to accept those flowers, as inappropriate as that would be, and cherish them for a while.

Clarewood had sent her flowers
.

“I am in no rush,” Randolph said firmly, clearly determined not to leave with the roses, in spite of what she’d said.

“I’ll make you tea,” Corey said, rushing off into the kitchen.

“I’m going to step outside to cool my horse. May I water him?”

“Of course,” Alexandra said. “The pump is by the stables.” She waited until he was gone and she could see him leading the magnificent hunter past the house. Then, finally, she inhaled.

“Those flowers are too beautiful to return,” Olivia said.

“How can I accept them?” Alexandra pleaded.

“What if his intentions are honorable?”

Alexandra simply looked at her. “It’s impossible.”

“Is it? What if there is the slightest chance that he is interested in you as a wife? If you return those flowers, you are closing the door in his face.”

She stared. He wasn’t interested in her that way, she was certain. She thought of Owen then and hugged herself, missing him and their dreams terribly.

“Just keep the flowers,” Olivia said. “It can’t hurt to keep them, but it
can
hurt to send them back.”

Alexandra’s resistance was rapidly crumbling.
She had never seen such beautiful roses.

“Besides,” Olivia smiled, “I want to paint them in oils.”

Alexandra smiled and gave in.

A
T HALF PAST ONE
Stephen left his architects poring over the changes he’d scribbled on their carefully executed drawings, his mind filled with his visions of the housing the textile workers would soon enjoy. He was running late; he had been immersed in the Manchester project, and he was expecting the dowager duchess at any moment.

Clarewood had been renovated by his father, and it was now comprised of exactly a hundred rooms, with a mostly gothic facade, one of tall towers and pinnacles. Guillermo would most likely show her to the Gold Room when she arrived, if she wasn’t there already. It was the most spectacular salon in the house, where his most significant guests were entertained. He shifted mental gears, now thinking about the American. Investigating him would be a time-consuming matter, because the man lived abroad. By the time he learned anything of interest, his mother’s relationship with the man might have gone too far.

He was grim. Julia was fifty years old, but she remained a beautiful woman, at once trim and slender, graceful and elegant. She was a horsewoman who rode every day, and he felt certain that her activities kept her so youthful. He kept recalling the look he had witnessed. He had not a doubt that Jefferson was attracted to her.

Unfortunately, the man was no doubt just as attracted to her fortune, if not more so.

As he reached the front hall, which was the nucleus of the house, he glanced outside. He could see the huge fountain, and the pale shell drive circling it. Beyond, he saw a portion of the mile-long drive, lined by stately elm trees. He did not see a rider approaching, but Randolph was due to return at any time. He smiled to himself.

He hadn’t slept well last night. He often tossed and turned, mulling over plans, unresolved issues and new ideas. But last night his interest in Alexandra Bolton had kept cropping up. If she’d thought to whet his appetite by rejecting his initial advances, she had certainly succeeded.

Guillermo suddenly intercepted him. He was holding out a calling card. “Your Grace, Lady Witte has just arrived.”

Stephen was instantly grim; he could not delay the inevitable. It was time to inform her that their liaison was over. “Where is she?”

“She is in the Spring Salon with the dowager duchess.”

He nodded, striding swiftly to the salon. His mother was standing in front of the doors that opened onto the terraces outside, chatting pleasantly with Lady Witte. Both women heard his approach, and, in unison, they turned.

His mother’s smile vanished, and he instantly saw that she was distressed. He suddenly recalled how radiant she had been last night, when on Jefferson’s arm. They had made a striking couple. Even he had to admit it.

Then he glanced at his mistress, who was smiling brightly at him. Charlotte was clever and shrewd, and undoubtedly she had come hoping to shore up their relationship. “Good afternoon, Lady Witte, Mother,” he said. He smiled at Lady Witte, but lightly kissed his mother’s cheek.

“I hope I have not called at an inopportune time,” Charlotte said softly.

“I wish a private word with Stephen,” Julia said firmly, her blue eyes dark.

“I am hardly in a rush.” Charlotte smiled. A seductive light was in her eyes.

“Will you give us a moment?” Stephen asked politely, knowing her answer. When she nodded, he led his mother into the adjacent room, dominated by a grand piano and a harp. Two rows of gold velvet chairs faced the musical instruments. “Thank you for coming on such short notice,” he said.

“Even I, your mother, recognize a summons when I receive one.”

He winced and spoke carefully now. “I hardly summoned you, Mother. But it has been a while since we last spoke, and there are some subjects I wish to discuss with you. However, I can see that you are somewhat distressed.”

She smiled tightly. “You did your duty last night, as always, Stephen, by interviewing Jefferson as you did. We both know you instantly decided not to like him. So yes, I am distressed.”

He was oddly tense now. “I know nothing about the man—he is a stranger and a foreigner, and to make matters worse, you seemed terribly happy with him.”

“That makes matters
worse?
” she said. “I cannot decide, even now, if Tom taught you to be so cold and dispassionate or if it is your nature. Yes, I am quite distressed today—I am distressed with
you.
”

He was grim. “Well, as you seem to wish to be brutally frank, I will be frank, too. It is my duty to protect you from charlatans and fortune hunters.”

“Of course it is,” she ground out. “Tom taught you too well.”

He stiffened. They never argued, but they were arguing now. “You believe in duty as much as I do,” he finally said quietly.

She paced away from him, her silk skirts billowing. Then she turned, hands fisted on her slim hips. “Yes, I do. I spent my life fulfilling my duty to Clarewood—and to you. And you always came first—it is why I chose to stay with Tom and suffer his abuses. Everything I have done, I have done for you—so you would be Clarewood’s next and greatest duke.”

He was uncomfortable now. No one knew as well as he how she had suffered as Clarewood’s wife. As far as Stephen was concerned, Tom had been cruelest toward her. He had despised his wife, and in the end, he hadn’t even tried to hide it.

Julia, in turn, had never tried to defend herself from his attacks. She’d cloaked herself in dignity and endured the abuse. She had only become a lioness where her son was concerned. And then her fights with Tom had been vicious and vehement. He’d all too often fled those hateful scenes.

Even as a child, he’d despaired at seeing his mother forced to fight for him as she had. Once he was older, he had begged her to retreat, to ignore Tom when he decided to go on the attack against either of them. She had refused. His mother had been so courageous and determined when battling Tom. And she had also been the ultimate diplomat, because she had always known what was truly at stake: his future as the next duke.

“No one knows more than I do, the sacrifices that you made.”

“Good. Then it is time, is it not, for me to take care of myself?” She stared.

Wariness settled over him. “What does that mean? Because you are, and will always be, the dowager duchess, my mother and my responsibility.”

“It means that Tom died fifteen years ago, and while his death set me free, allowing me to live the life of my choosing, I was always afraid to allow any man too close. I never wanted to be shackled in marriage again, Stephen. And I know you are aware that is why I refused to ever remarry.”

He did not like her bringing up the subject of marriage now. “Go on,” he said tersely.

She suddenly paused, facing him, her cheeks flushed. “There is something about Tyne Jefferson…he is kind, but also manly, solid, like the earth! I know he should be with a much younger woman—we are the same age, I think—but I believe he finds me interesting and…somewhat attractive. Stephen, I like him. I like him very much, but you will try to ruin it, I have realized that now.”

Was his mother thinking of marriage to Jefferson? He was aghast. Or was this merely some kind of middle-aged love affair? “How long have you known him, and why am I only just learning about this affair now?” He controlled his anger. “Is it an affair?”

She stiffened. “I have only just met him—at a supper party—and then we bumped into one another on Pall Mall. And last night was our first chance to really converse. We had a lovely time, in spite of your overbearing behavior.”

“Considering the way he looked at you, it was my privilege to be overbearing,” he said.

“It is my privilege to have this second and maybe last chance!” Julia cried. “I was faithful to your father,” she said tersely. “And God knows that any other woman would have sought comfort and kindness elsewhere.”

Stephen was alarmed. “If you are lonely, I will find a husband for you.”

She started. “Do you know why Tom came to hate me, though he was madly in love with me when you were born? Enough so to accept you as his own child?” When he did not speak, she said, “He came to hate me for my not bearing him a natural son. It is so ironic! He was impotent, yet he directed his anger at me—and at you. Jefferson has made me feel like a young woman again.” She smiled, and he blanched, dismayed. “It was lonely, being the Duchess of Clarewood. And I didn’t realize that I was still lonely, not until I met Jefferson, not until he made me feel so alive again.”

He was uncomfortable with the extent of their intimacy. “Again, it seems to me that you deserve what you seem to wish for now—a husband. I am going to begin a search. But you can do far better than an uncouth American who ranches for his living.”

“When did you become such a snob?” she gasped, paling.

“Is there a difference between ranching and farming?” He knew his mother would never become involved with a farmer, not even a gentleman farmer.

“He is far more than a farmer—he has carved his ranch out of the wilderness with his bare hands,” she said. “And don’t you dare start looking for a husband for me. I am interested in Jefferson, not marriage—there is a vast difference.”

Was his mother telling him that she wished to pursue an affair? He would accept that—as it was the lesser of two evils. “I don’t trust him. And you seem to know as little about him as I do.”

“Which is why I am pursuing a friendship. I wish to learn more. And that is why you must mind your own affairs now, and leave Jefferson be,” Julia said flatly.

He simply could not do that, so he was silent. Then, “Do you want to stay and have an early supper? I will cancel my evening plans.”

She stood up. “I am going to go. I have plans for tea. I hope I was clear, Stephen. As much as I love you, if you ruin this for me, I may never forgive you.”

“I will see you out,” he said, taking her arm, knowing he would do what was best for the dowager duchess, even if it meant losing her trust and her love. As they left the salon, he added, “I am merely asking you to proceed with caution.”

She suddenly smiled, her blue eyes sparkling. “It is hard to be cautious, Stephen, when someone makes your heart race so madly you can hardly think straight. But you wouldn’t know the feeling, would you?”

Suddenly he thought of Miss Bolton. She certainly made his heart race, but he was having no problem being careful and pragmatic in his pursuit of her.

Guillermo already had his mother’s coat and gloves in hand when they entered the gracious, high-ceilinged front hall. His doorman rushed to open the front door while Guillermo helped her on with her coat.

“Just promise me,” she said, “that you will be polite the next time you meet. In fact, I am asking you to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

“I will do my best,” he said, aware that he was lying.

“By the way,” Julia added, “it was gallant of you to help that young lady with her inebriated father. Miss Bolton seems like a rather interesting woman.” She turned a questioning gaze on him.

He smiled indifferently. “I can be gallant, Mother. I am a gentleman, after all, never mind the gossips.”

“You could have sent Alexi and Randolph de Warenne to her aid without your having to bother at all.”

“They did come to her aid.”

Julia stared closely. “You went out of your way to attend her. She seems like a proud young woman, Stephen. She is very different from the kinds of young ladies you are normally introduced to.”

He simply smiled. And when the dowager duchess was ensconced in her carriage a moment later, he returned to the Spring Room. Charlotte was seated on a settee, at once tiny and lovely, reading a weekly magazine. He knew her pose was contrived, as it revealed every lush curve she had. She smiled at him and stood up as he came inside.

He did not smile back.

“You should close the doors,” she said softly, walking to him, her movements languid now.

She had proven to be a highly experienced lover. “We had an arrangement,” he said. “And I do not recall sending you a note asking for your presence today.” He had been very clear from the first—he did not like unexpected calls, and he preferred to manage their schedule of trysts.

She paused before him, reaching for the lapels of his waistcoat. “I never liked that stipulation, Stephen,” she murmured. “You can summon me, yet I can never summon you. I have passions, too. It has been a week.”

“I will not argue with you,” He clasped her hands and removed them. “I am sorry, Charlotte. I have been very distracted with my projects, and I remain preoccupied.” He intended to be as polite as possible.

Her face hardened. “Preoccupied with your projects, Stephen, or with that gawky seamstress you rescued twice last night?”

He was in disbelief.

She flushed. “I beg your pardon, but of course I noticed your gallantry. You never go out of your way for a woman—unless you are interested in her.”

“I have no intention of discussing Miss Bolton with you. I am very sorry, Charlotte, but I am ending our affair.”

Her expression tightened. “So you can pursue
her?
Or is there someone else, as well?”

“I have very much appreciated your favors. But there is no point in continuing if my passion has waned.” He stepped aside, a gesture indicating that the interview was also over.

She did not move. “I do not mind your wandering. I have little doubt you will tire of her after a night or two.”

He had no intention of debating this particular subject. “I am afraid I have many affairs to attend to. May I see you out? I will send your things on.”

She trembled. “You may call at any time, Stephen. I know you will come to your senses.”

He sighed. “You may think as you wish, obviously.”

She widened her eyes innocently and said, “I’d like to get my things.”

He knew she was scheming—he saw it in her eyes—and that was worse than insisting they were not over, or even a display of hysterics. “Fine. I will ask Guillermo to help you.”

“I’d like a moment,” she said softly, her eyes now shimmering with unshed tears.

He wasn’t moved; he knew theatrics when he saw them. He nodded, leaving the salon, instantly relieved. His interest had been dying for some time, and he only realized that now. And perhaps that was why he was so keenly aware of Miss Bolton. He preferred that conclusion to the notion that she somehow stirred his desire as no previous woman had managed to do.