An Impossible Attraction (37 page)

“We will marry, Alexandra, for the sake of the child.”

She was shocked.

“You will not bear my bastard,” he added. Then, “And if this was your plan, it has succeeded.”

She began to shake. This had not been her plan, and while she loved Stephen, and marrying him was beyond her wildest dreams, he was angry with her, cold and distant, and he was suggesting marriage not because of any feelings for her or desire for a future with her, but for their child. How could she accept?

How could she refuse?

Instantly, she thought of Owen, who would offer for her because of the love in his heart.

“You are strangely silent,” he said coolly.

She inhaled. “I am shocked.”

“Really?” His tone was mocking. “I am the greatest catch in the realm, yet I haven’t heard you accept my proposal.”

What should she say? That she loved him too much to marry him this way? Or should she marry him anyway,
because
she loved him? “I am going to have to think about it.”

His eyes widened briefly, and then he smiled dangerously. “I must admit, I did not expect that answer.” His stare hardened and smile vanished. “I expected you to turn me down.”

He was no longer furious, she thought, sickened with dismay, he was simply hateful. “I need to think about it, Stephen,” she repeated.

“Really?” He laughed coldly at her. “Let me make myself clear, Alexandra. I have dreaded marriage for as long as I can recall—I have been searching for a suitable bride for a decade, at least. This will be another arrangement for us—for the sake of the child. I will not bring a bastard into the world.”

She trembled. “Do you hate me?”

He started. Then, “No.”

They had that, at least. She closed her eyes briefly. “I still have to think about it.”

“Why? Because you want to wait and see if St. James will step up?”

Before she could deny that, he said, “Let me rephrase. This was not a proposal, it was a choice. You may choose to marry me, or you may run off with your beloved St. James.” She cried out, but he barreled on. “However, if you decide to run off with your lover, the child stays here, with me, and we will be married first.”

She gasped in disbelief.

His smile was cold. “The child is mine. You have a choice to make.” He turned and started from the room.

She ran after him. “I cannot agree to either choice!”

He whirled, and they collided. He caught her savagely and said, “Oh, no, you will make a choice—it’s me or St. James, and the child stays here.”

Alexandra was too stunned to say a word.

He flung her off and strode out.

A
S
J
ULIA ENTERED
the St. Lucien Hotel, heads turned. She hurried across the spacious lobby, ignoring the stares. Even those who did not recognize her could surmise that she was a lady of wealth and rank—her stature was obvious from her clothing, her jewelry and her comportment. But some clearly knew who she was, for murmurs of “Good morning, Your Grace,” drifted in her wake. She did not look at anyone, nor did she respond. She simply couldn’t think about anything or anyone other than Tyne.

He had kissed her briefly, but with so much passion—and she had kissed him back. Then he had told her he was leaving and pulled away. They had remounted, Julia in a daze, partly from desire and partly from shock. And when she had tried to make conversation as they’d returned to the house, he’d been quiet and withdrawn. He’d left before she could ask him if he wished to return and ride again.

He was returning to America tomorrow. She’d made inquiries.

She was ill with dismay and sick with dread. She hadn’t slept in days, not since their outing—not since his kiss. She was smitten with an American stranger, and she was never going to see him again—unless she did something about it.

Julia had lived most of her life in isolation. While Tom was alive, she’d formed and maintained the appropriate relationships and acquaintances, but never any close friendships. To anyone who chose to consider the question, her life had been centered on her duties as a mother and a duchess. Secretly, her life had revolved around protecting Stephen from his father’s criticisms, cruelty and rages.

After Tom had died, she’d maintained a portion of those relationships, while allowing others to wither and fade. She’d remained close to Stephen, as he was only sixteen, to help him with his new responsibilities. It had quickly become clear that he would manage Clarewood far more astutely and efficiently—and economically—than Tom had ever done. He hadn’t needed her help, only her support.

Exulting in her freedom, she’d begun building a new life for herself, one founded on her love for horses and dogs. New friendships were formed with other horsemen and women. But she was reserved by nature—and none of those relationships had become close.

Consequently, she had no one to confide in.

After Tyne had left, she had sat down by herself, with her Danes, to analyze her situation. She had realized her choices were few. She could do nothing and hope he returned to see her, or she could go to him and take matters into her own hands.

The truth was that she was lonely and wanted to be with Tyne. She wanted to walk with him, talk with him, ride with him—and she wanted to share his passion. She did not want him to disappear from her life. She even thought she might want to share her life with him.

And she knew he might not share her feelings—but there was one way to find out.

Now she paused at the hotel’s front desk. Because it was so early, she was the only patron present. A clerk rushed to attend her.

She didn’t even try to smile. “Is Mr. Jefferson in?”

“I have yet to see him come down, madam,” the clerk said.

“What is his room number?”

He did not blink, merely turned to a ledger and gave her the information. Julia thanked him and headed for the wide wood staircase.

She knew she was being stared at as she went up. She didn’t care, even if it was unheard of for a woman to call openly on a male guest in his room. The gossips would have a field day, she decided. Let them. It was so early that they couldn’t believably accuse her of lechery. They would go mad, trying to decide who she had seen and why she had done so.

She almost smiled, but she was as nervous as a girl of sixteen. Would he be pleased to see her—or would he be dismayed?

If he was clearly dismayed, she wouldn’t even attempt to flirt with him, she thought, her anxiety increasing. She hurried down the corridor, clutching her purse, already breathless. When she saw his room, she inhaled for courage and knocked on the door.

“One moment,” he called.

Suddenly she flushed. What if he was with a woman? She would die of embarrassment.

And then the door opened. He stood there in his trousers and a shirt, the shirt half tucked in, as if he’d been undressed. His eyes widened when he saw her.

She knew her color remained high, and she could not look away from his amber eyes, but instead of reciting the lines she had rehearsed, she said thickly, “You are leaving tomorrow.”

He slowly nodded, his gaze locked with hers. Julia was acutely aware of his powerful body, his heat, his scent. Tension seemed to fill the small space between them. He kept his hand on the door. Suddenly, his gaze never moving from hers, he stepped back, pulling the door fully open.

No invitation could have been clearer.

Breathing hard, trembling, Julia stepped past him, into his suite, and stopped. There was a desk and a sofa, but she saw only the bed. And now he stood just behind her, so close that her skirts touched his trousers.

He closed the door, saying, “I’ve been thinking about you.”

She turned to him; it was impossible to think. She could only feel now, only want. “Tyne,” she murmured.

Suddenly he gripped her shoulders, and his grasp was crushing. For one moment he looked at her, his eyes ablaze. And then he pulled her up against his body, wrapping his arms around her, so she was dwarfed by his huge embrace. She felt every hard inch of him as she breathed in his thick male scent, her cheek crushed against his chest.

His heart was pounding.

He tilted up her chin, and their gazes collided. Julia realized her heart was beating as hard as his, harder than it ever had before. He understood—and he covered her mouth with his.

His kiss was hard and demanding. She caught his shoulders, deliriously excited, as he forced her mouth wide, his tongue going deep. Julia began to whimper. To squirm. Nothing had ever felt as right as his kiss, his touch or his huge body engulfing hers.

They kissed wildly, frantically, moving across the room. The backs of her thighs hit the mattress. Julia caught his shirt as he broke the kiss, fumbling at the buttons. It never crossed her mind not to tear his clothes off. She couldn’t breathe as his bare chest was revealed.

He caught her hands. “Are you sure?” he asked.

She slipped her hands over the shockingly hard planes and muscles of his chest. She inhaled sharply, and he groaned. “I have never been as sure. Make love to me, Tyne.”

He tore off his shirt and flung it aside. Julia took one look at his huge, muscular and scarred torso, and almost fainted from the intense flood tide of desire. He lifted her into his arms and laid her on the bed, his mouth on the swell of her breasts, above the bodice of her grown. His mouth left small, hard kisses there while she stroked his hot skin, his nipples and his hard, rippling arms. She couldn’t stand being apart or feeling so heavy and so hot. “Hurry,” she whispered.

He lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes ablaze, but there was surprise there, too. Then he reached for the buttons at the back of her dress.

She sat up, panting, and suddenly she was the woman she’d once been, the woman she’d forgotten all about. As he unbuttoned the dress, she reached up and removed her hairpins and small hat, and as she slid her hands in her platinum hair, she looked at him. Her dress was unbuttoned, but he hadn’t pulled it down, and he went still. Wanting him terribly, she suddenly lifted her hair, allowing it to spill free, while the bodice of her dress fell, revealing her to him. Her corset was Parisian, the chemise transparent silk. Her nipples had become so sensitive that even the soft silk hurt.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered roughly, reaching for her.

But she stood, breaking his hold, and slid the dress off, revealing her silk drawers and stockings.

Instantly, Tyne grabbed her by the hips. “You’re so tiny.” He sounded almost afraid.

She had never felt as desirable. As they kissed wildly, frantically, they fell to the bed. He fumbled with his belt and trousers, shedding them, and then his hands were all over her. Julia didn’t know how she got out of her underthings, but his hands and mouth were everywhere, in places that hadn’t been seen or touched in decades, and she wept in growing pleasure.

He caught her hips and said something, then settled his tongue low and deep. Julia exploded. Bursting into bright light, she wept in rapture, thanking him repeatedly.

He moved over her, breathing hard. She managed to open her eyes, look at him.
I love him,
she thought. And she wanted to please him, too. She knew what he meant to do, but she reared up, surprising him, to kiss him, wanting him to understand the magnitude of what he’d just given her, the depth of her gratitude. On his knees, his manhood fiercely stabbing at her, he went still, while she kissed him.

She bent low and tasted him.

He shuddered, groaned, and she knew he meant to protest, but she had no intention of stopping, and she moved her mouth over him, new desire making her dizzy and faint. He choked, breathing hard, and then pulled her up into his arms. For one moment they looked at one another with sudden recognition.

He smiled fiercely, and then they were joined. Julia wept as another release took her again, but they were tears of sheer joy. Finally he cried out, and she thought he wept, too.

When she floated back to reality, she was in his arms, their legs were entwined, and he was stroking her jaw with his thumb in the broad light of a weekday morning. She flushed with happiness. The urge to make love with him again returned. She wriggled her toes, smiling, and looked up at him, her small hand on his chest.

He smiled back, and his eyes were warm. “I never would have guessed,” he said softly, kissing her forehead. Then he slid his hand into the waves of her long hair.

“It’s been so long, and I’ve been so nervous about allowing you to see how I feel.”

His smile faded. “How long, Julia?”

She said simply, “Fifteen years.”

He stared for a long time. “You’re so passionate. How could you manage like that?”

“There was no one I wanted,” she said softly.

He went still. Then he tightened his embrace and moved over her, but now he stared into her eyes.

She remembered that he was leaving the next day. Dismay welled in her, accompanied by heartache. “I am going to miss you, Tyne.”

His eyes widened, and she hoped she hadn’t made a terrible mistake.

But he said only, “Do you have to go?”

She stared at him, confused.

“We can have a champagne breakfast in my bed.”

If that was all he was willing to offer, she would accept. Julia clasped his strong jaw, her heart buoyant with her love, refusing to think about tomorrow. And then she lifted her face to his. He went still, and she kissed him slowly, until he pushed her down onto the bed.

H
E COULD NOT ATTEND
the drawings on his desk; the lines and notations swam in his vision, as if crooked and illegible, deluding him. Instead, Alexandra’s image was in his mind, her eyes red and swollen—clearly she had been crying last night. Why?

Why was she upset? Her long-lost lover had returned!

Then he recalled her shock when he’d told her that they would marry.

She had been so surprised; clearly she had not expected that response from him. But then, he had never thought the pregnancy was a scheme to trap him into marriage; it had obviously been an accidental conception.

After all these years, after searching for the perfect bride for over a decade, he was ready to marry the woman he’d pursued, seduced and then rescued, the woman he’d forcibly made his mistress. She had no good name, no means and no rank—she sewed for a living. God, it was an ironic twist of fate. They would marry because of the child, but he wanted to marry her because he was in love. He wanted to give her his good name and his protection, and all the finer things in life.

He cursed.

Several hours later, a steaming cup of tea was at his elbow, a glass of scotch, half-finished, beside that. He’d been trying to work since dawn—since he’d told Alexandra that they would marry, and that if she left him, she would also leave their child behind. His architects, Randolph and his steward had all vanished, clearly realizing he was in no humor to work with them.

Only Guillermo hovered. He’d brought sandwiches, which he’d refused, then eggs and ham, which he’d ignored. The butler’s last attempt to entice him to eat had involved steak and kidneys. He’d sent the tray away.

He covered his face with his hands. He was so damned tired. He’d never expected Alexandra to ask him for time. But he should have guessed. She was intelligent, and clearly she meant to weigh her options. He did not know of a single woman who wouldn’t have leaped at the chance to become his duchess, no matter the circumstances. But her response confirmed what he believed: she did not love him back. She loved St. James.

He looked up, across the large, dark library. Old Tom stood in the corner of the room, his expression one of scorn and condescension. Stephen blinked, and his father was gone.

A soft knock sounded on his door, which was ajar. It was Guillermo, and while his butler never changed his expression, Stephen took one look at him and stood, alarmed. “What is it?”

“I believe that Miss Bolton is leaving with her sisters.”

It took him a moment to comprehend Guillermo’s words. Then he strode past him, through the house and into the front hall.

Alexandra was there with her sisters, wearing one of her old, tired, unfashionable dresses, and they were all putting on their coats. He saw instantly that her sewing bag was on the floor, beside her—and that her wrist was bare. And he knew then that she was leaving him.

She turned, holding her head high, her eyes very swollen now. She walked slowly to him, pausing, her gaze on his. It was filled with what seemed to be sorrow or hurt or both. “I am going back to Edgemont Way.”

Her words knifed through him, causing physical pain. “I see.” He took a breath and spoke so calmly, he knew he surprised them both. “So you have made your choice.”