An Impossible Attraction (35 page)

“So you will accept this as yours?”

She did not know what to say. Owen would be furious when he learned of the child. “I am so glad,” she finally said, slowly, “that we are still friends. I am sorry, though, that you have returned to town under such tragic circumstances.” She caressed his cheek and then dropped her hand. Too much remained between them, she thought.

Owen said thickly, “I will always be there for you.”

She brushed at a tear. “I know.” And that was when she became aware of a new tension in the room, apart from the tension arcing between them. She glanced at the door.

“I see we have a guest,” Stephen said, his tone mocking. He strode forward. “Do make the introductions, Alexandra.”

A
LEXANDRA FELT HER CHEEKS
heat. She felt terribly guilty, though she had done nothing wrong. She was only entertaining an old, dear friend. And then she knew her own thoughts rang false. Owen was more than that—and she was guilty of having a deep affection for another man. Her gaze locked with Stephen’s.

His expression had become impossible to read. His cool regard moved to Owen, who stood stiffly at attention. “I am Stephen Mowbray, the Duke of Clarewood. Welcome to my home.”

Owen didn’t smile, so to cover the awkwardness she said quickly, “Your Grace, this is Lord St. James, an old family friend.”

Stephen didn’t look at her now. His mouth curved, rather unpleasantly, as he said, “How wonderful for you. St. James? Are you any relation to the viscount Reginald St. James?” His tone was dangerously soft.

“He is my uncle,” Owen said tersely. “How good it is to meet you, Your Grace.” He still didn’t smile, and his eyes were dark and angry. Clearly he did not mean a word he had said. But he kept his tone neutral and polite.

This was impossible, Alexandra thought, alarmed. “Owen was just leaving,” she said quickly.

Stephen turned his searing blue gaze upon her.

She flushed. She had called Owen by his given name—in front of Stephen. She said thickly, “I have known Owen since I was a girl of fifteen.”

Stephen stared, his odd smile fixed in place now.

Owen said, almost belligerently, “We were about to become engaged. My offer was accepted, but then the baroness died. Alexandra decided she must take care of her sisters and father, instead of starting a marriage with me. I was crushed,” he stated flatly.

Stephen’s tight expression never changed. “She has told me all about it, St. James.”

Alexandra trembled, sick with dismay. She’d said almost nothing about it. “Lord St. James has just come to town. He is staying with Lord Bludgeon in Greenwich. I am delighted he has called. I invited him to stay for lunch, which he did.” She realized she was speaking in a breathless rush. “And my sisters are here. They dined with us. It was delicious, was it not?” She smiled falsely at Owen now.

He stared closely at her, and she knew his unspoken thought: Why are you afraid of your lover?

She rushed on. “We had guinea hens stuffed with apricots. And I invited my sisters to stay the night—they are in their rooms, settling in. I did not think you would mind,” she said. “We must plan a special supper tonight.”

Owen continued to stare, and now Stephen was staring at her, too. He said softly, “You are so nervous, Alexandra.”

She tensed, her alarm becoming panic. He had become an indolent but dangerous lion, and she was in his den.

Owen’s already dark expression became darker. He said coldly, “Alexandra wished to make me and her sisters comfortable, Your Grace. She succeeded—she is an exceptional hostess, but then, she always was. However—” he smiled mirthlessly “—she promised me a stroll in your gardens.”

Her alarm intensified as Stephen’s fixed smile hardened. She instantly said, “It is far too chilly to walk outside now, and besides, you mentioned that you have a late tea in town. Don’t you?” she lied, and heard the plea in her tone. He had to leave. Stephen seemed angry. She knew he couldn’t be jealous, but she also recalled the terms of their arrangement—he expected her to be faithful to him. Once Owen left, she could explain, and then everything would be back to normal again.

Wouldn’t it?

Owen looked ready to openly refuse. But with obvious reluctance he said, “I never meant to stay too long, and you are right, I have other obligations.” Suddenly he took her hand and clasped it. “I am so glad we have had this chance to see one another again, after so much time. Thank you for the splendid lunch and the even more splendid company.”

She tugged her hand free. “I am so glad, too.” She glanced uneasily at Stephen. That odd smile remained, but his eyes were black thunderclouds. “I will walk you out.”

Stephen folded his arms. “Bon voyage, St. James. Call anytime.”

“Thank you for lunch, Your Grace,” Owen returned as caustically. “And I may do just that.”

They hated each other
. Alexandra knew her cheeks were crimson now, as she crossed the hall with Owen, acutely aware of him beside her, and just as acutely aware of Stephen standing on the far side of the room, staring at them. Owen lowered his voice at the front door and said, “Will you be all right?”

“I will be fine,” she said breathlessly. “Really.” Her smile felt horrifically fragile.

Owen glanced across the hall at Stephen. “He seems a heartless bastard. Send word if you need me.” He bowed and strode out the open front doors, which the doorman closed after him.

She was trembling wildly now, her knees buckled, and she hugged herself. She felt sick, but not because of the child.
They hated one another!
she thought again, and briefly closed her eyes. What was she going to do—about everything? Only two things were clear: she must explain her relationship with Owen to Stephen, and now was not the time to mention her condition. Then she slowly—reluctantly—looked up.

Stephen’s regard was scathing. Then he whirled and strode down the hall, vanishing from her sight.

She wet her lips nervously and realized she was afraid of him now. She’d seen his temper once and had hoped never to see it again. But there was no avoiding a confrontation now. She hurried after him.

As she entered the library behind him, he flung his coat onto the sofa. “So how is your long-lost love, Alexandra?”

She faltered. “Owen is my friend, Stephen. I am with you now.”

He whirled to face her. “You loved him with all of your heart. You told me so. You planned to marry him. But instead, you sacrificed yourself for your sisters and father. Do correct me if I am wrong.” He was dripping sarcasm.

“No,” she whispered. “You are right. But that was long ago.”

He made a harsh sound—like a mirthless laugh. “What does he want?” he demanded.

She shivered, unable to tell him what Owen had said.

“What does he want?” he repeated, his tone louder now, his eyes ablaze.

“I don’t know,” she said, trembling. “His wife died six months ago, and he decided to call on me so that we might reminisce.”

His eyes widened. He was incredulous.

She turned away, her temples throbbing. Everything was so clear now. Owen still loved her—she knew that now. And she knew why he had come to town—and it wasn’t to reminisce.

Olivia was right. Owen would be her knight in shining armor, if she needed one.

And she still cared so much for him.

From behind, Stephen seized her shoulders roughly, whirling her to face him. “I see,” he said bitterly.

“No.” She shook her head, frantic. “No, you do not see anything! I would never violate the terms of our agreement.”

“And what terms are those?” he demanded, his gaze searing. “Do you love him, Alexandra? Or need I even bother to ask?”

“I would never be unfaithful to you!” she cried desperately.

“Really?” His grasp tightened. A terrible pause ensued. She could not look away—and now she could hardly breathe. “You didn’t answer me.
Do you still love him, Alexandra?”

She gasped. She meant to answer, she did. But no words formed. Instead her heart thundered, in fear, with panic.

“There are many ways a woman can betray a man,” he said harshly. He flung her off, and she stumbled. “And you do not have to bother to answer me,” he spat, stalking to the fire, “because I know the answer!”

She started to cry. “No, you do not know the answer.”

He whirled. “You love him! You loved him nine years ago, and you still do! I am not blind. It is beyond obvious!” he was shouting. “Any fool can see that the two of you are in love!”

The tears flowed. “I love
you,
” she whispered.

“You would lie to me now? Deny that you love St. James?”

She began shaking her head. “Of course I love him, but—”

He started toward her, livid. Alexandra tensed and flinched, thinking he meant to strike her. But he didn’t raise his hand. “And would you have told me about this visit if I hadn’t walked in on the two of you so tenderly in one another’s arms?” He was shaking. “I saw the way you were touching him, Alexandra, so don’t tell me that you haven’t betrayed me.”

She tried to tell him that she would have told him, but all she could do was whisper, “Yes,” as the tears crept down her cheeks.

“How many times will you betray me?” he demanded. “How many times?”

She didn’t know what he was talking about. “I haven’t betrayed you!”

“Really?” He was breathing hard, as if he’d been in a footrace. “And what about the child? My child? For how long did you think to deceive me? Lie to me? Did you intend to leave me before the child showed—and pass it off one day as someone else’s?”

She cringed, horrified. He knew.
Stephen knew about the child
. “How long have you known?” she managed.

“I have known since I picked you up out of the London gutter,” he said vehemently.

She recoiled, and not just from the language he’d chosen—but from the hateful look in his eyes. “Please don’t, Stephen…. I hated the deception!”

“Then why?” he shouted at her.

She shook her head helplessly. How could she tell him that his anger terrified her—that
he
now terrified her?

“I had every right to know that you are carrying my child—
my
child!” His arm swept out—a lamp went crashing to the floor, shattering. Alexandra leaped away, but he seized her arm and yanked her back, this time up against his hard, trembling body. “You have lied to me from the start. I am usually a good judge of character. But the lies will never stop, will they?”

“No!” She wept. “Stephen, I was going to tell you about the child!”

He released her, shaking his head, backing away. “Get out,” he said.

And when she did not move, he roared, “Get out of here!”

Alexandra ran.

I
T WAS TOO LATE NOW
.
He stared out his carriage window, filled with what felt like hatred for a man he did not know, when he had never felt such vicious fury before. He had developed a deep affection for Alexandra. He knew that now—but it was too late, because he had lost her.

I loved him with all of my heart…my mother died, there was no choice….

Of course I love him.

He cursed.

He had lost a woman he cared deeply for to another man.

And it bloody well hurt.

He began to laugh, without mirth, and he drank from his glass of scotch. He was the most eligible bachelor in the realm, the wealthiest, most powerful peer, and he had lost his mistress to another man. One day, he would think the terrible irony funny.

But he had never cared about a woman before. He had never spent hours talking to another woman, even while in bed, and he had never smiled as much as he had recently. Alexandra had brought so much light into his life, and he hadn’t even realized how dark and dreary it had been before she had come into it.

He had been content, but not happy. Alexandra had shown him the difference.

Was he in love?

Did it matter?

She loved someone else. It had been so damned clear. And even though she’d never been with St. James, they looked at one another, silently exchanging their thoughts, as if they’d been lovers for years.

He wasn’t just a suitor, he was my best friend.

He
had never become her best friend. The thought hadn’t occurred to him. He’d wanted to protect her, defend her, take care of her and make love to her. He’d always considered Alexi his best friend and now, damn it all, he wanted to know why he wasn’t
her
best friend!

The jealousy seethed, as hot and angry as the anger.
St. James was her best friend
. He tossed the glass aside and drank directly from the bottle now.

He was jealous—another first. As for the pain in his chest, did that mean he had a broken heart? But that was impossible, wasn’t it? He was cold and heartless, everyone said so. He was just like old Tom.

He closed his eyes in anguish, certain that his father was somewhere close by, laughing at him now.
Dukes do not endure broken hearts. Get on with it
. He could hear him as clear as day.

Except that while Tom had done his best to form him in his mold, to make him into a cold, rational, decisive man bent only on duty, he wasn’t Tom’s natural son; he was a de Warenne.

A de Warenne loves once and forever.

He cursed when he wanted to weep. He had lost a woman he cared for, and if he dared to be honest, he loved Alexandra Bolton. There was no other explanation for his feelings now or for the light she’d brought into his life. He’d never met anyone like her. He’d known that immediately. She was so fiercely courageous, so determinedly strong, so adept and independent. And she was passionate. Amazingly, she had taught
him
passion. He’d never wanted to be with any other woman the way he wanted to be with her. He hadn’t even realized he was a passionate man until he’d made love to her.

How many times had he looked at her while making love to her, wanting to tell her how he felt? And each and every time, old Tom had sat by his side, mocking him for such weakness.

He’d never told her that he cared. But that was for the best, wasn’t it?

He tensed, his gut contracting so tightly it hurt. No man in his right mind would declare love to a woman who did not return his feelings.

He couldn’t help remembering himself as a young boy, wishing so terribly to hear those few words from the man claiming to be his father.

But he hadn’t confessed anything to her. Still, he had thought she cared in return. She had touched him as if she loved him. Her eyes had shone as if she loved him. But she didn’t love him—it had been a pretense, a game.