An Impossible Attraction (29 page)

Did that make him human after all?

When she did not speak, he said, “Have you been ill again, Alexandra? I expect the truth this time.”

He still held her arm, she realized, and pulled away. “I have not been ill. I have been embroidering this afternoon, and I saw your coach return.” She breathed in. “Mr. de Warenne is as charming as his wife.”

“Yes, he can be a charming rogue—when he wants to be.” He left her side. Alexandra watched him pour a small sherry, then return and hand it to her. She shook her head, but he said, “I insist.”

She took a small sip and realized she was staring into his dark blue eyes.

He said softly, “Have you reconsidered?”

Her heart slammed. He had meant to defend her. He wasn’t entirely unkind. And he was beloved by some—the de Warennes seemed to care for him, at least, so perhaps he was not
such
a beast.

“I cannot,” she said, but even as she spoke, her heart began to pound.

“Why not? You cannot deny that an attraction rages between us, and I wish to take care of you.”

Breathlessly, she asked, “What will you do about Charlotte?”

“She will never utter another word, malicious or otherwise, about you.” His gaze turned searching. “When I said I would be your protector, I meant it in every possible way.”

And she believed him. Her heart lurched, racing all over again. She trembled, aware of the rapid warming of her body and the desire to step closer to him. If she did, he would take her into his arms—and she would be safe, as never before.

“I despise injustice,” he murmured. “There has been injustice, has there not? I was terribly wrong to accuse you of scheming to trap me into marriage.”

Tears arose. “I did not think my innocence important,” she whispered. “I was afraid you would walk away.”

He watched a tear fall. “Why are you crying?”

What could she say? That she had fallen in love with him at first sight? That he had hurt her terribly? That she missed her sisters, her home, and yes, even Edgemont? That she dreaded returning to her hovel of a room? That she hated being whispered about, being scorned?

His expression softened. He slid one large hand up her neck, then covered the side of her face. Holding her head still, he leaned forward. “You cannot deny me now. I want to make this right, Alexandra,” he said, and he kissed her.

A
LEXANDRA FOUND HERSELF
in Clarewood’s powerful embrace. She tensed as his mouth hovered over hers, as his breath feathered her lips. She had never wanted anything as much as she did his kiss—and, frankly, his protection.

As if he knew, she felt him smile, and then he murmured her name. Helplessly she slipped her hands onto his shoulders. He looked at her. She looked back—and his blue eyes were blazing.

She felt his hunger. Desire fisted through her. But even so, she simply could not do this.

As he pulled her impossibly close, covering her mouth with his, claiming it fiercely, possessively, Alexandra hesitated, trying to resist him. But he kept kissing her, and at last she cried out, tightening her grasp on his shoulders, finally kissing him back.

He made a harsh sound.

Their mouths had fused. Now their tongues entwined. Desire made her dizzy, hollow, almost sick. She needed him desperately. His hands moved into her hair, and the thick waves fell down. He turned her and pressed her up against a wall. He pinned her there, every inch of his hard, restless body urgent and demanding against hers.

She had never wanted anyone this way, and in that moment she knew it. Just as she knew she loved him, foolishly, stupidly and, somehow, irrevocably. And that was why this could not go on.

“Stop,” she managed, tearing her mouth from his.

He paused, his eyes widening in surprise.

“I cannot restart our affair,” she gasped, pushing at him now. “Please, let me go.”

He was so surprised, he was speechless. Then, reluctantly, he eased his grasp on her.

Alexandra ducked beneath his arm and moved a goodly distance from him. She was shaking, and her body felt as if it were in flames. But it was her heart that hurt the most now.

“I vow to take good care of you,” he said harshly.

She turned and saw him watching her like a hawk. She truly did not want to resist him, but she had to. He was offering her an affair, and when it ended, her heart would be broken. She knew that now.

“I do not blame you for mistrusting me.”

“I cannot accept your charity or your protection,” she managed.

His gaze was solemn, searching. “I see that your mind is made up,” he finally said. “You are a stubborn woman. But I am a stubborn man.”

She trembled. What did that mean?

“I am also deliberate, determined and patient. Very well. I will respect your wishes—for now.”

She gasped. “Do not think to wage another pursuit!” She already knew she was not strong enough to resist his advances, if he truly meant to continue them.

“You seem dismayed,” he said softly, his eyes gleaming. “And I think we both know why that is the case.”

She began shaking her head. “You must respect my wishes
entirely.
”

He folded his arms. “You are off the hook—for now. But I will make things right.”

“What does that mean?” she asked warily.

“You will stay here—as my respected guest. I insist.” And he smiled.

Her heart leaped. She knew she didn’t want to leave Clarewood, especially not to return to Mr. Schumacher’s room; no one in her right mind would. But still she said, “I cannot accept.”

“You can—and you will.” His smile became warm. “I have houseguests from time to time. It is hardly unusual.”

“Everyone knows what happened between us! My name is already in tatters. They still whisper about me.”

His smile faded. “Didn’t I just tell you that I would protect you—in every possible way? There will be no more gossip. I promise you that. In fact, I will even set the record straight and see to it that the world believes nothing happened between us.”

She was disbelieving. He would tell a few cronies that she was his guest and under his protection. She had no reason to be his guest—Edgemont Way was within two hours’ drive. And though he would tell them that there had not been a seduction…She trembled. “No one will believe you.”

“Probably not. But does it matter?” He was wry. “No one disobeys me, Alexandra—except, of course, for you. If I indicate my displeasure, this chapter ends.”

She inhaled. God, she wanted nothing more than her good name back and the gossip to die! But though he could probably put an end to the worst of the gossip, she doubted that she would have her good name back—and there would still be scorn. Maybe not from everyone, but ladies like Charlotte Witte would always take out their knives when they saw her. Still, this would be a vast improvement. Society was used to all kinds of affairs. “Why are you being kind?”

“I am not an unkind man, Alexandra, nor as heartless as is claimed.” He studied her for a moment. “I have an engagement tonight. Why don’t you tell Guillermo what you wish to have for supper? Now, if you will excuse me—seeing as I have been momentarily rejected, I have some reading to do.”

She simply stared.

He gestured at the door.

Alexandra realized he meant to read there in the library, and that he had just dismissed her. Still stupefied by every moment of their encounter, she rushed for the doors. When she paused to glance back at him, he was already at his desk, reading a stack of papers. He was absorbed, and he did not look up.

Her heart stalled. If only she could have accepted his offer…if only she’d had the courage to do so.

He glanced up.

Alexandra fled.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
Alexandra learned that Stephen was an early riser.

She didn’t know what time he had returned last night, because she’d gone to sleep at midnight, and he had yet to come in. She hadn’t exactly been waiting up for him—she had been reading a novel in bed—but she had been acutely aware of the fact that he was absent. Reading had proven impossible, as he was front and center in her mind. She kept thinking about their conversation and that stunning kiss—and what he wanted from her now. She worried about how she would shore up her defenses against him, when she hardly wanted to—when she had such inappropriate feelings for him. It had been strange going to bed in that luxurious guest room, but it had been wonderful, too. She had almost felt cared for. She had to remind herself that he merely desired her, which was a far different thing.

How could she have fallen in love with him?

Because there was no other explanation for her wild, turbulent emotions, her inescapable memories and her intense, undying preoccupation with him. All told, they had shared a few hours together. In sum, she hardly knew him. And for all the shared good times, there had been so much that was bad and hurtful. On the other hand, love was always inexplicable. One did not ever choose love—love chose its victims. And hadn’t she heard that he’d left a trail of broken hearts across the country? Undoubtedly she was hardly the first foolish woman to take a single look at him and fall headlong in love.

She wished her errant feelings would vanish, but she was terribly aware of them now.

Alexandra started downstairs, trembling with uncertainty and anticipation. It was eight o’clock in the morning. She hadn’t seen him since their last conversation, when he had said he would momentarily respect her wishes, and that she would remain at Clarewood as his guest. Guests would join their host for breakfast and politely chat about any number of mundane subjects. She hoped he expected her to join him. Foolishly, she looked forward to the encounter, even while cautioning herself that he must never know how she felt about him.

The breakfast room was empty, though, and only one place was set.

She tried to contain her disappointment as she sat down and was served another sumptuous breakfast. It crossed her mind that he might not have come home at all last night, and she thought of Charlotte Witte with a deep, wrenching dismay. She suddenly found she had no appetite, even though she’d had her morning sickness earlier, and she was always hungry afterward. She pretended to eat, reminding herself that whatever Clarewood did, none of it was her affair. That choice of words did not help. She told herself that she had plenty to do that day. She had two customers whose gowns were not yet finished, and they were planning to have them picked up tomorrow, in town. She would have to deliver them now. And she had letters to write to her sisters. There was so much to explain.

She didn’t dare think about her father. If she did, it would hurt too much.

Alexandra left the breakfast room, intending to go upstairs, and set up an ironing board and a small sewing table, if she could find one, there. But then she heard voices and thought she recognized Randolph’s, as well as Clarewood’s.
He was home after all
.

After yesterday, she had told herself that she would never eavesdrop again, but she instantly changed direction and found herself on the threshold of a small workroom with two tables and many papers spread across them. Randolph was inside, as was the duke. Clarewood was in his shirtsleeves, which were rolled up. His shirt collar was undone, his tie hanging loose. Two clerks were with them, and all heads were bent over the papers on the longest table. Everyone was speaking at once—except for Clarewood. He stood a bit apart, carefully listening to the others.

Even in such a state of dishevelment, he looked every inch the powerful and wealthy peer he was. He dominated the room. He was handsome, masculine, sensual. Trembling at the sight of him, Alexandra realized that they were discussing windows and lighting. Just as she came to that conclusion, Clarewood straightened and turned. His gaze warmed as it found hers.

She knew she blushed. She felt like rushing forward to greet him. Instead, she did not move. “I beg your pardon, I hope I am not interrupting,” she said quickly. Looking at him had sent a blow right through her chest—a fist not just of desire, but of her newfound love.

He smiled and came forward. “You could never interrupt.”

Her heart was hammering madly now. He could be so charming when it suited him. “That is nonsense. You are very busy, I see.”

“I am always occupied,” he said genially, his gaze moving slowly over her features. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very.”

“And did you enjoy your breakfast?”

“Yes, thank you.” She did not know why she was so nervous. And no one in the room seemed to care that she was present. The two clerks were arguing back and forth over the placement and size of the windows, with Randolph listening carefully to them before he murmured something about costs.

Clarewood glanced at the trio and then returned his attention to her. She had the feeling that he hadn’t missed a word. “I am designing progressive housing for the working classes.”

She started.

“No one should have to live without adequate light, ventilation, plumbing and sewage.”

She looked intently at him.

“There is a textile factory in Manchester in which I own some shares. I am building a model housing project there. If it succeeds, I hope to be able to convince other factory owners to attempt similar projects.” He smiled at her. “Healthy workers will be more productive workers, which will benefit us all.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Alexandra said. It was one thing to have heard about his good works, another to see him in his shirtsleeves, with his architects, his eyes alight with enthusiasm for his good causes. “Why do you care about the working poor?” While it had become somewhat fashionable to espouse such causes in the upper classes, most peers didn’t care about anything except their own purses.

“Because I have been given so much—without lifting a finger for it. It would be remiss of me not to use what I have been given to help those far less fortunate than myself.”

Her heart warmed impossibly.
He truly cared
. “Was your father a philanthropist, as well?”

“No, he was not.” His smile changed. The warmth left his eyes. “I owe a great deal to the previous duke, but he was interested only in the prosperity of Clarewood—and what it could do for him and his progeny. I do believe he might be tossing about in his grave if he knew the sums I’ve spent on those who live in abject misery.”

She studied his handsome face. If Stephen spoke the truth, how did a son differ so vastly from his father? He was a good man, she thought, her heart aching. She hesitated. “I have heard that your father was very demanding.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You have heard correctly. He was impossible to please. He would not be pleased with me now.”

She did not believe that. “I am sure he would be very proud of you.”

“Really? I doubt it.” He was wry.

Alexandra wondered at that. “I am sure your son will be as generous as you, and you will be proud of him.”

His gaze sharpened.

She tensed, thinking of the child she carried, and wishing she hadn’t said what she had.

“I hope so,” he finally said, turning away from her. Then he glanced back at her, but his lashes were lowered. “And what will you do today?” He finally met her gaze, but his eyes were impossible to read. “I have a meeting in town this afternoon, and a supper party after.”

He would be gone for most of the day and evening, she thought, reminding herself that she had no right to feel abandoned or be dismayed. “I have some sewing to do.”

His gaze narrowed. “I find your ability to provide for yourself in these circumstances admirable, but while you are here, you will lack for nothing.”

“I have two customers who are expecting repaired, freshened and pressed gowns tomorrow.”

He folded his arms and studied her. “Pass the cleaning and pressing on to my maids.”

“I would never do such a thing! In fact, I was hoping to find a table to put in my room, one at which I can sew and iron.”

His mouth tightened. Then, “This is absurd, Alexandra. I have a staff of laundresses on hand.”

“I have worked very diligently to acquire a loyal clientele,” she said. “I cannot suspend operations now.”

He was clearly disapproving. “I thought you might like to take a coach and go into town to do some shopping, or I have some amenable riding horses should you wish to hack. But clearly you intend to spend the day sewing.”