An Impossible Attraction (30 page)

“Clearly,” she said tersely. And just as clearly, he’d forgotten she did not have the means to shop.

“And tomorrow? Will you be hard at your labors then, too?”

“I hope so.”

He shook his head. “I cannot understand why you would not take advantage of being my guest. I have a suggestion to make. Send word to your clients that you are on holiday. Enjoy your time here. You might even consider inviting some friends for lunch. Perhaps your sisters might join you? My chefs will prepare any meal that you wish.”

Alexandra almost gasped aloud. She would love to have her sisters over for a luncheon. And she recalled how she’d imagined being Squire Denney’s wife, envisioning luncheons with her sisters and him. But the fanciful image had entirely changed. She saw herself with her sisters at the duke’s table now, and he was the one walking into the dining room to join them, his smile wide and warm—and reserved exclusively for her. Shaken, she backed up.

She must never imagine such a scenario again!

“What is wrong?” he asked mildly.

“I am writing to my sisters, as they do not know I am here. I’d like to get the letter out with today’s post,” she managed.

“I’ll have someone deliver it for you,” he said. “But if you invited them for lunch, instead of spending your time sewing, you could explain your visit in person.”

It was so tempting. She said softly, “And when I must return to my humble abode in town? Then what, Your Grace? How will I feed and clothe myself—and pay for my room—if I have lost all of my customers?”

His eyes darkened. “Maybe, by then, you will have a benefactor as well as a protector.”

She knew exactly what he meant, and she flushed, her heart lurching. Her simmering desire intensified.

He smiled, somewhat smugly. “I think we both know that you will only resist me for so long.”

“I think,” she managed, “that my determination might surpass yours in the end.”

His gaze narrowed, and Alexandra felt tension knife between them then.

“We will see,” he said, shrugging. But his eyes gleamed, and she had the feeling that he liked this challenge—when she hadn’t meant to challenge him at all. Then, “I have a great deal to do today. I’m afraid I must excuse myself, even if I am enjoying our debate.”

“I am sorry. I should have gone directly upstairs.”

He reached out and grasped her arm, forestalling her. “Alexandra, you are my guest, and you do not have to hide in your rooms. My staff has been instructed to see to your every wish. I would be appalled if a guest of mine were not perfectly comfortable. If you need something, you merely have to ask Guillermo—or you may ask me.”

She realized that he meant it. But his eyes had that smoldering warmth now, which she understood completely. “Thank you, Your Grace.” She pulled away.

He let her go. After a pause, he said, “In case you aren’t aware of it, I am rarely thwarted in my ambitions, Alexandra.”

Her tension knew no bounds. “I must attend my sewing. Have a good day, Your Grace.” And as she hurried away, almost relieved to have escaped intact, though she felt his eyes on her back.

T
HE NEXT FEW DAYS
passed slowly and had a dreamlike quality to them. She was the Duke of Clarewood’s guest, but it remained hard to believe. When she awoke in the morning in her huge, canopied bed, covered in down, surrounded by the finest furnishings, she was always surprised to find herself there. A tray of chocolate was always outside her door, piping hot, in the finest china. Breakfast was always awaiting her in the breakfast room upon the elaborate buffet.

She now knew she would not see him at breakfast, or even during the day—he was either closeted with his architects, associates or clerks in his study or library, or he was attending meetings in town. She had adopted the habit of reading while taking breakfast alone, perusing the newspapers he’d already read. She spent the rest of her day sewing, taking a simple sandwich in her room at noontime, or delivering the gowns she had repaired.

If he was out, her gaze kept straying to the lawns and the long shell drive—she knew she was watching for his return. If he was in, she strained to hear the sound of doors opening and closing downstairs, and his rich, warm baritone.

And she would bump into him when she was least expecting it—upon turning the corner in a hall, or on the stairwell as she went upstairs, or when returning to the house from the outdoors. The moment their paths crossed he would become motionless, his powerful presence and large body dominating the small space between them. He never failed to politely inquire after her, while his gaze always instantly warmed. He no longer asked what she intended to do that day—instead, she caught him looking at her hands. She usually wore a thimble, and the tips of her fingers had calluses on them. He kept his expression impassive, but she knew he still disapproved.

And every such encounter made her breathless. Every such encounter, no matter how small and how brief, made her yearn for more. Whenever they were close, his body pulled at her, as a magnet might. The urge to leap into his arms grew daily. She was almost certain he felt the same tension.

But he had yet to launch another seduction.

Now she lifted her needle and thread. It was late in the afternoon, and he’d left for the day before she’d even gone down to breakfast. According to Guillermo, he had gone to Manchester and might spend the night there. She shouldn’t be dismayed, but she was.

A moment later Guillermo informed her that she had a caller. She was surprised; who would call on her? She’d written to her sisters five days ago, but there hadn’t been a reply. She stood up eagerly, hoping that Olivia and Corey had come. “Who is it?”

“Your father, the Baron Edgemont.”

She tensed. She’d written to her sisters but not to her father, because she didn’t know what to say to him. She desperately wanted forgiveness—as desperately as she wanted him to love her and be proud of her again—as if they could erase the past.

Alexandra began to tremble, and she took a quick glance at herself in the mirror as she left the room. She followed Guillermo downstairs, praying all would be well with her father now. He had been shown into her favorite salon, and he turned when she paused on the threshold.

She could not move. He wasn’t smiling, but then, neither was she. She wished they’d never had their last conversation, that he’d never thrown her out of the house. “Hello, Father.” She inhaled. “I’m so glad you have called.”

He was grim. “Your sisters finally told me that you are the duke’s guest.”

She cringed. “I
am
his guest—and
only
his guest. I had nowhere else to go.”

He looked at her hands. Then he said, “Why are you still sewing?”

She removed the thimble, and realized she was clutching a needle and thread. “I need the income.”

Edgemont gaped. “Surely that is not the case, seeing that you are living here as Clarewood’s
guest
.”

From the way he spat the last word, she knew he did not believe her. She hugged herself. “I am not having an affair, Father.”

“Then what are you doing here?” he demanded.

“I told you,” she shot back. “I have nowhere to go, and he has been kind.”

“Kind?” he echoed, shaking his head, disgusted.

This wasn’t how she’d prayed their meeting would be. “I miss you, Father. I miss Corey and Olivia.” She wanted to beg him to let her go home. But she didn’t. She started forward desperately. “I am so sorry to have disappointed you. I do not blame you for throwing me out. What I did was shameful—disgraceful. I so need your forgiveness.”

Edgemont trembled. “You’re my eldest, Alexandra. Of course I forgive you.”

She stared at him warily. He did not look as if he meant it. His face was set in harsh, twisted lines. Even so, she wanted to rush into his arms, though she had the feeling it would be awkward, at best, and a disaster at worst.

“You’re my eldest, the best of the lot. You’re the sensible one—the saintly one,” he continued. “And you’re so much like your mother.”

She thought he meant to be loving, but his words felt like a blow.
You’re nothing like your mother.
The words echoed in her mind. “I made a mistake. Mother would never have done what I did.” Elizabeth would have stayed strong; she would never have given in to temptation. “Do you truly forgive me?”

“Of course I do,” he said grimly. “Or I wouldn’t be here.”

But he wasn’t embracing her, and he didn’t seem pleased. Alexandra sat down, shaken. Nothing felt the same. She’d opened up a rift between them, and she could feel it still. “How are you? How is Olivia? Corey?”

“Corey has cried herself to sleep almost every night. She misses you—they both do.” He was blunt, and his words stabbed through her. He added, “Olivia has holes in her shoes—the cobbler has said he cannot make another repair. The boys in town are so rude to Corey that she won’t go into the village anymore.”

Alexandra stiffened. Had he already spent the two thousand pounds? Still, she had not a doubt that her downfall had made things worse for Corey. She could not bear that.

Edgemont looked at her almost balefully. “I believe Denney will court Olivia now. You broke his heart, but that was over a month ago, and he has come by twice in the last week.”

She shot to her feet. “No.”

“It’s too late to decide you want the good squire back.” And he gestured at the room. “You have all of this now, anyway.”

“I am his guest. Olivia must marry for love—someone her own age.”

“And she needs a dowry,” he said. “But you know that.”

Alexandra stood very still. “The two thousand pounds—it was for my sisters!”

“But it is gone, and I am so worried about them,” he said. “I am drinking myself into oblivion every night.”

It was hard to breathe. She was so angry now, but she began to understand where they were going. “You must control yourself,” she said.

“How can I? My creditors come to the house every day now.”

She trembled, sick with dismay. “How much do you need, Father?”

He walked away from her, hands in his pockets. From across the room, he turned and looked at her. “Another thousand would pay the most insufferable of them off. An additional five hundred would buy shoes and clothes for the girls.”

He’d gambled away the the money, she thought angrily, and now he wanted more.

“You’re not wearing jewels,” he said.

She touched her bare throat. “You didn’t come here to see how I am, or to forgive me—or to tell me that you still love me,” she said. There was more pain now, rising in her chest.

“You’re my daughter. Of course I came to see you, and I said I forgive you.”

He’d come for funds. She wet her lips. “I am not his mistress. I am his houseguest.”

“So he is already done with you?”

“That isn’t fair.”

“He wouldn’t have you living here otherwise. Will you help your sisters?”

He could not mean this, she thought, trembling.

He stared at her when she did not answer. “You remain a handsome woman, Alexandra, and I am sure he will reward you well.”

She did not want to become sick now, but it was so hard to breathe, and her stomach churned.

“Well? Will you help us? Or will you abandon your family now?”

It was so hard to speak. “I will try to help,” she said harshly.

Edgemont stared. She stared back, her vision blurred. She wasn’t sure when she had started crying.

“I don’t know why you’re crying. You are living like a queen.”

She was crying because her heart was broken. Her father had asked her to prostitute herself. And she had agreed. “Yes…I am…I don’t feel well, Father. I think I must lie down.”

“You don’t look well,” he said, “and it is a long ride back home, so I should go.”

Alexandra did not know how she managed to show him to the door, then stand there waving, a smile plastered on her face, until he was gone. She vaguely heard Guillermo ask her if she was ill, and if he could get her something. She did not know what she said. Somehow she made it up to her room and crawled into the bed. The anger was gone. There was only heartache. She cried.

“What is wrong?” Clarewood asked quietly.

She hadn’t heard anyone come in. She wouldn’t have let anyone come in, not when she was so undone, so grief-stricken, and especially not Clarewood. She sat bolt upright, wiping her eyes, keeping her back to the doorway where he stood.

“Alexandra? Guillermo said you were ill. I did knock, but you did not hear me, and the door was wide-open.”

She fought to control her heart, to somehow pull the sheared pieces back together, to mend them swiftly, so he would never know what had happened. She used her sleeve to wipe more tears as she heard his footsteps. She somehow squared her shoulders and turned to face him.

He was expressionless, but his gaze was riveted to her tear-streaked face. “What is wrong? Why are you crying? Guillermo said Edgemont was here.”

She choked hard. “I’m fine,” she gasped. “I need a moment, that is all.”

“You are not fine. And I am guessing that your father’s call was not a pleasant one.”

She realized that his gaze had gone very hard—frighteningly so.

“If you tell me what is wrong,” he added, more softly, “perhaps I can fix it.”

She heard hysterical laughter erupt—along with a sob.

He sat down beside her on the bed, clasping her shoulders, his gaze boring into hers.

“He wants me to whore myself out to you,” she said. Tears blinded her. “He needs fifteen hundred pounds.”

His expression tightened. “I see.”

She tried to turn away from him—instead, his grasp tightened. She looked up at him and was surprised by the anger she saw simmering in his gaze.

“I am not angry with you,” he said softly. “But I am disgusted with Edgemont—not for the first time.”

“He is my father! I…Despite everything, I love him.”

His face tightened even more. “Of course you do. It’s your duty to love him. Just as it was your duty to obey him and care for him. I will give you the money, Alexandra.”