An Impossible Attraction (13 page)

Both of her sisters jumped in surprise.

Alexandra was grim as a tremendous wave anxiety began to roll through her. “I will return the flowers and the bracelet, and I will make myself clear to the duke once and for all.”

S
HRUGGING ON HIS FROCK COAT
, Stephen left the study, where Randolph was going over some Foundation accounts, to join Elysse and Ariella, who had come to visit at his request. “I am impressed,” he said, entering a smaller blue-and-gold salon with long strides. “I’m impressed that you’ve ventured from town on such a terrible day.” It had begun to drizzle an hour earlier, and now the skies were thunderously black, indicating a turn for the worse.

His cousins were seated on the pale cream-and-gold sofa, Elysse in a green pin-stripped dress, Ariella in watered blue silk, making a striking picture, one any artist would have loved to paint. They leaped up to greet him, Elysse kissing his cheek warmly. Ariella followed suit, neither one caring that Guillermo was witness to their open display of affection. The butler was the epitome of discretion, and he was accustomed to such episodes. Society and staff knew he’d become closely acquainted with the de Warenne family years ago.

“Your note was intriguing,” Ariella said, her blue eyes mirroring her curiosity. “You wrote that you were in dire straits and that only Elysse and I could be of help.” Her tawny brows arched questioningly.

“I told Ariella it is a ruse of some kind. You are never in dire straits. If a hurricane dared to come this far inland, you would point at it and send it away,” Elysse said, laughing. “Meanwhile, I am famished and must eat before you confess your troubles to us.”

He smiled and turned to the butler. “Please bring refreshments, Guillermo.”

“Immediately, Your Grace.” Guillermo left, closing the pale blue-and-gold doors behind him.

Stephen gestured for them to retake their seats, and when they had done so, he sat, as well. Crossing one leg, he said, “I will get right to the point. I wish to find the dowager duchess a husband.”

Both women gaped at him.

“I know. After fifteen years, it seems odd. But I think Julia would be more content with a husband than living alone as she does now.”

Ariella and Elysse exchanged looks. Ariella spoke. “Stephen, what has brought this on? It is no secret that your mother suffered horribly when married to your father. I believe she is very content right now. She has no one to answer to, except for you, and you allow her to do as she pleases. Whenever I see the dowager duchess, she seems in good spirits. I would seriously reconsider a second spouse. I believe she is enjoying her freedom from matrimony.”

Ariella always spoke her mind, and just then, he was glad. “I would never force her into a marriage. And you have missed my point. I want to make a good match—I want to find her someone attractive, witty and noble.”

Both women were silent, staring, eyes wide. Finally Elysse said, “Are you saying you want to find your mother a
love
match?”

He winced. “I want to find her a gentleman whom she can become fond of, and who will be fond of her, as well. If you wish to call it a love match, so be it.” He stood, thinking of Tyne Jefferson and feeling a twinge of guilt. He knew Julia well. She would not be pleased with his scheme, not now. But in the end, if all went as planned, she would be thrilled. “I prefer their relationship to be one of mutual admiration and respect. Obviously the prospective groom must have means, to foreclose any possibility of his interest being in her fortune.”

Ariella and Elysse exchanged looks, and then they burst into smiles. “You are romantic after all!” Elysse exclaimed.

He sighed. “I am
not
romantic, Elysse. But Julia has been acting oddly recently. It has become evident that she is lonely.”

“Really?” Elysse suddenly snickered, the sound unladylike. “She did not seem lonely at Harrington Hall the other night.”

He bristled. “I am sure that in all of Britain, there must exist an older gentleman who might become genuinely fond of my mother.”

Elysse turned to face Ariella with some excitement. “What was his name?”

“Jefferson—like the President. I can’t recall his first name, though.” Ariella turned to Stephen. “She seemed utterly taken with the American. What about him?”

His tension spiraled. “Tyne Jefferson is a rancher from the wilds of California,” he said. “In Britain, those who raise cattle are
farmers!
He also trades—he sells his beef to Midwestern and Eastern markets. He is not suitable for the dowager duchess.” He was firm, and he had even spoken briefly with Cliff de Warenne about the man.

The women exchanged glances. Elysse said flatly, “Alexi trades, and so does his father. Would you deny her someone like Alexi or Cliff?”

“May I remind you of precisely how blue their blood is?” His temper was rising, but he controlled it. He knew he was being a terrible snob.

Ariella stood, frowning with disapproval. “I despise it when you are at your snottiest. America is not Britain—it does not have our class system. It is a frontier society, and an open one. The standards that apply here do not apply there.”

“He is very attractive,” Elysse said, standing, as well. “And he seems to be a gentleman.”

He was annoyed that they had closed ranks against him. “My standards apply everywhere—even in Hong Kong.”

Ariella rolled her eyes. “Of course they do, Your Grace. Because you have inherited a fortune and a kingdom, and you are as controlling as a tyrant. Can you not admit to your prejudice?”

He roiled with anger. “Yet I am accused of being a Whig and a republican by everyone else.”

“No, I am the true liberal, Stephen. In spite of your good works, your values are antiquated.”

Only Ariella—or Elysse—could get away with such a statement. “And you remain impossibly overeducated,” he said with characteristic calm, though inside he was not calm at all. “Must you always refute me? I am amazed St. Xavier allows you the liberties that he does. Do you dispute him, as you do me? For heaven’s sake, the Foundation is at the forefront of social and political reform.”

“I debate my husband when I believe that he is wrong.” Then Ariella sighed. “I do not want to fight with you, Stephen. I am terribly fond of you, hypocrisy and all. And yes, you are at the forefront of reform. But your reforming tendencies have vanished where your mother is concerned. I think she is fond of Jefferson, and I think we should look into that.”

“I agree,” Elysse said flatly.

He was aghast and affronted. “I wish to enlist you to find my mother a suitable
peer
—one who is British and blue-blooded, not an American rancher who sells beef!”

“But what if Julia is falling in love? Would you deny her that?” Ariella asked.

“She is not falling in love. She is lonely, and he has simply turned her head.”

Elysse hurried over. “I would love to help,” she said, seeming pleased by the prospect, and as if she hadn’t heard his earlier words. “Wouldn’t you, Ariella? I have always been fond of the dowager duchess. Let’s find her a
love
match.”

She glanced at Ariella, and he knew they were conspiring against him.

“Very well, Stephen,” Ariella said. “We will do it.”

He put his fists on his hips. “I meant my every word. I will not accept Jefferson, not now, not ever. I want you to find her a respectable, titled Englishman. After you have done your research, you will present me with a list of prospective husbands. You will not arrange an introduction to anyone, not until I have approved it.”

They shared a look. “Of course, Your Grace,” both women chorused innocently.

A
LEXANDRA WAS CHILLED
to the bone, and Bonnie, the poor elderly mare drawing the carriage, was wet and exhausted, too. But Clarewood was finally in sight.

Holding the reins in her gloved hands, Bonnie walking tiredly now, Alexandra stared down the shell drive, past the monumental water fountain and the surrounding front gardens, at the stately four-storied gray stone house. It was palatial, she thought with sudden dismay. It seemed fit for a king, not a duke.

She shivered, and not just from the rain and the cold.

It had been impossible to remain in a state of moral indignation, if she had ever truly been in such a frame of mind. The mare was twelve years old and accustomed to two-mile jaunts to town—not traversing what felt like half of Surrey. Randolph de Warenne might have made the journey between Edgemont Way and Clarewood in an hour and a half, but three hours had surely elapsed since she’d left home. The rain hadn’t helped matters.

The roads were slick, if not muddy, and her roof leaked. The carriage was not a closed one, so the wind had brought gusts of rain inside. Alexandra wasn’t sure she had ever been so cold. She shouldn’t care about her appearance, as she meant to drive Clarewood off, but she knew she must be utterly disheveled and shamelessly bedraggled. Most importantly, she was filled with trepidation now, all moral indignation gone.

What woman in her right mind would confront the Duke of Clarewood?

She almost dreaded the ensuing encounter. But she was proud of being a strong, determined and decisive woman. Now was not the time to weaken and lose her backbone—or her courage.

But he was so terribly daunting.

And she still couldn’t fathom why he’d chosen
her
.

She was so lost in her anxiety that she realized Bonnie had come to a halt. She clucked to the chestnut mare, lifting the reins. “Come on, Bonnie. We’ll be there shortly.”

Her pulse had picked up its beat. Bonnie jogged forward, ears pinned back in annoyance. Ancient and stately elm trees lined the drive, the foliage overhead so thick, it at least provided some shelter from the rain. A few moments later she drove the carriage past the water fountain, and, in spite of the downpour, she gazed around, admiring the huge sculpted hedges that formed an identical mosaic on each side of the house. Alexandra halted the mare in front of the wide stone steps that led to the front door. A number of outbuildings stood off to the right, including stone stables. A very costly black brougham was parked beneath an archway between two buildings, four bays in the traces. The duke had other guests.

Her dread became acute. She hadn’t thought about the possibility that he would surely be entertaining, if at home. But she had no choice now but to proceed, she thought grimly. Except that she had no wish for a conflict of any sort. She did not want to dismay, annoy or even anger the duke. If possible, she wished for some kind of peaceful acquaintanceship to emerge from the impending encounter.

Alexandra took off her gloves and tucked her wet hair back into place, resetting several hair pins more firmly. She then adjusted her once-jaunty blue felt hat. There was no way to dry her navy blue skirts, but at least her wool coat had protected her bodice from the rain. As she pulled her gloves back on, a doorman materialized by the driver’s seat with an umbrella. Alexandra smiled gratefully at him as she got down.

A moment later she found herself in a huge front hall. The ceiling was high, and a massive crystal chandelier hung from its center. It was the size of a grand piano. Black-and-white marble floors were underfoot. Gilded chairs upholstered in dark red velvet and claw-footed tables stood against the walls, which were covered with works of art. Alexandra recognized masterpieces by Titian, Raphael, Constable and Poussin.

Her heart was thudding now.

Her dismay had somehow increased. She wasn’t sure, especially as he had guests and she was so sodden, that her idea of speaking with him now was truly the best one. But she’d come this far, and she would go forward. She handed off her coat and gloves, then swept her hands down her soggy skirts. A tall, narrow mirror in a gilded frame hung on one wall. A glance at it told her that nothing would improve her appearance, outside of a change of clothes.

A dark-suited butler was hurrying across the hall. Alexandra managed to smile. “I am afraid I have forgotten my cards,” she lied. She no longer had calling cards. She hadn’t used a card in years.

His impassive expression did not change. “Whom might I declare, madam?”

“Miss Alexandra Bolton of Edgemont Way.”

The butler left. Alexandra realized she was wringing her hands nervously, the duke’s image now assailing her mind. She did not know him at all, except by reputation, but she was certain he would not be pleased with her response to his invitation. He did not seem like a man who was used to being countermanded.

She wet her lips nervously and wished the encounter over.

The butler returned. “His Grace will see you now.”

Alexandra followed the man across the entry hall, glimpsing a magnificent white-and-gold salon with at least a dozen seating areas. She’d never seen such lavish furnishings, she thought. Her heart rate increased. They passed a large library, dark and masculine, a fire dancing in the emerald marble hearth. She somehow knew it was his favorite room, and she could see him on the sofa there, immersed in the day’s journals. Her temples ached. She could not recall ever being this nervous. She wished she hadn’t caught his attention at the ball.

And then she could see past the open doors of a small, intimate but airy salon, the walls eggshell-blue, trimmed in gold. Clarewood was standing by the handsomely sculpted white plaster fireplace, a lush nude painting over the mantel, as devastatingly handsome as she recalled. Her heart lurched so hard as she looked at him that she forgot to breathe.

He turned his head immediately, and his blue gaze slammed into hers, intense and direct.

For one endless moment his eyes remained locked with hers, his regard penetrating. Alexandra felt her cheeks warm impossibly; she was no longer cold. She had forgotten how intense his regard was, how unnerving. She’d forgotten how his presence could dominate a room.

She’d forgotten how he could ignite the heat in her body, too.

And then he looked her quickly up and down. It broke the impossible moment, and she became aware that he was not alone. Two elegantly turned out ladies were with him, and Alexandra recognized them instantly. All three pairs of eyes were riveted upon her. She should have waited for another day to confront him. Aware of how disreputable and untidy her appearance was, she felt her cheeks heat and her stomach churn. She held her head a notch higher, determined to hide her embarrassment.