An Impossible Attraction (38 page)

She shook her head in denial. Tears slid down her face. “No. There was no choice to make.”

He did not understand her words, but it was clear that she had chosen St. James over him and their child. He shoved away the pain and said, “I would prefer that you stayed here until the child is born—so you will have the proper care.”

“I cannot stay here, Stephen,” she said, trembling. “Not now, not like this.”

He inhaled, fighting to stay calm, fighting the pain. “What do you mean?”

“Staying here, after what has happened, would be unbearable.”

He tensed. He wanted her at Clarewood, where she would have the best care—and where she would be nearby, where he could see her every day. He spoke carefully again. “Can’t you wait a few more months before you run off with your lover?”

She trembled. “I am not running off with anyone. But I will not stay here. Surely you will not attempt to force me to do so?”

He stared closely, aching in every fiber of his being. “No, I will not force you to stay here.” Somehow, he kept his voice to a monotone.

She seemed relieved.

She was clearly desperate to get away from him. He did not know how they had come to this impasse. “I will send servants to attend you at Edgemont Way, but you will return to birth my child at Clarewood. And we will marry first.” It was a warning. His son or daughter would be legitimate, and would be born here. He would not have it any other way.

He was shocked when she shook her head again. “This is also my child, and I am afraid I cannot give it up, not even to you, the rightful father. Our child will stay with me, Stephen.”

“I will never allow another man to raise my son,” he informed her coldly, meaning it. Pain knifed deeply through him.

She backed away. “Maybe we can discuss the child more calmly when some time has passed—and we are both in better tempers.”

“There is nothing to discuss,” he said, breathing hard. “I will fight you as you have never been fought before, but the child will be raised here, by me.”

More tears fell, and she flinched. “I am going home.” She turned.

He seized her, the action reflexive.

She faced him, her eyes wide. A terrible moment ensued. She said softly, “I do not want to fight with you, not on any account.”

“Then stay here and marry me now.”

She shuddered. “I can’t.”

He released her. He could not breathe properly.

“I am sorry,” she whispered. “So sorry.” When he did not reply, she walked away, picked up her bag, then half turned and said, “The bracelet is on my dresser.”

T
HERE WERE NO MORE
tears left. Alexandra held on to the safety strap of the carriage as it bounced along the ruts of their drive, her small, ramshackle home just ahead. Nothing had changed, she thought dismally. The yard was muddy and unkempt, puddles had turned into ponds, one of the front steps was crooked, and the brick walk was missing pieces. Beyond, the barn looked in dire jeopardy, as if it might cave in on itself at any moment.

She trembled. She had thought herself cried out last night, but she had been wrong. She had spent the past three hours crying, and even her sisters hadn’t been able to comfort her.

As their carriage halted in front of the house, Bonnie now in the traces, the front door opened. Edgemont stepped out onto the porch.

She tensed. She could not bear another difficult and hurtful confrontation now.

Olivia had been driving, and she set the brake and got down from the carriage. “Hello, Father. Alexandra has come home, and you will welcome her with open arms.”

Alexandra looked at Olivia. Her sister had grown up, she thought. But she couldn’t be joyful at that realization, for it was tragedy that had matured her.

Edgemont trembled. He was bleary-eyed, but freshly dressed, and he didn’t say a word.

Corey alighted, and Alexandra followed suit. As Corey led the red mare toward the stable, she followed Olivia onto the front porch, the steps creaking beneath their weight. Her heart lurched as she said, “Hello, Father.” She prayed they would not have it out now.

His gaze was searching. She knew there was no disguising her distress, that he could see she had been crying. “Hello, Alexandra.” His jowls quivered. “What has happened?”

She decided to make light of it as much as she could. “I seem to have made a habit of being tossed out on my rear,” she said, trying to smile.

He did not smile back.

She picked up her sewing bag. “I must come home, and I am begging you to let me return,” she said with all the dignity she had.

He choked. “I am so sorry I threw you out! I was simply distraught to realize what you’d done.”

Alexandra had never been so relieved. “Father, I am ashamed. And I am sorry to have hurt you and disgraced everyone.” Then she thought about her child and realized she couldn’t have regrets. She would love her baby, no matter what happened next—and she feared that would include a terrible battle with Stephen. She would find a better time to tell Edgemont about the child in her womb.

His eyes became moist, and he blinked rapidly. “I am sorry, too. My God, Alexandra, you are the light of this family, and you are so like your mother. I was wrong,
wrong
, to say otherwise. Clarewood is a roué, and the world knows it. He seduced you, didn’t he? The bastard! I’ve heard it said he has left a trail of broken hearts across the land. But I blamed you—when I should have blamed him. Well, I blame the bastard duke now!”

Even now, she wanted to defend him, but it was impossible. He meant to keep her child from her. He thought her a liar—a purposeful one. He’d leaped to the conclusion that she loved Owen, and meant to run off with him. He would force her into marriage! He did not trust her or understand her—or know her—at all. How was that possible? He thought the very worst of her!

She could not marry him if he disliked her, despised her, or, even worse, was indifferent to her. And she would not marry him, loving him as she did, when he so clearly did not love her in return. It remained unbelievable that he would marry her and then allow her to run off with Owen—and keep her child from her. “I fell in love with him, Father,” she managed. “Otherwise I would have been able to fend off his advances.”

She was amazed when he gently touched her cheek. “Of course you did. You would never have carried on otherwise, and I knew it even as I made such horrid accusations. I am so sorry, Alexandra. It was the gin—you know that, don’t you?” he pleaded.

She took him into her arms as she might a grown but mentally impaired or physically defective child. As she held him, he started to cry, and she knew he was suffering from the effects of whatever he’d found to imbibe the night before as much as he was from anguish and sorrow. And it crossed her mind that her father was weak and had become useless long ago. The man her mother had married had died with her. But it didn’t matter. He needed her to take care of him, and she would gladly do so. She would do so until the end of her days.

He sniffed and stepped out of her embrace. “Could you make me some eggs? No one makes an omelet as well as you do.”

She smiled, feeling wan, tired and sad. Nothing had changed. She looked from her disheveled father to her sister, who was the epitome of impoverished grace, and then at the untidy, worn parlor just inside. No, nothing had changed—except that she was an experienced woman now, with a child on the way. She had come home to Edgemont Way to take care of her sisters, her father and now, her unborn child.

She had come full circle.

“W
ORD HAS IT THAT YOU
have been locked in your library for most of this week. I have noticed that you have not returned my notes. I could not decide if things went well with Alexandra or if you remained mired in a lovers’ quarrel.”

Stephen had been engrossed in a proposal for financing a Northern European mining venture in which he was intending to invest. He looked up and found Alexi standing on the threshold of the library, Guillermo behind him. And because every shade was down, every curtain drawn, he was uncertain if it was day or night.

He was not in the mood for callers, and he had made that abundantly clear to his staff. Not even Alexi was to have the privilege of walking in on him unannounced now.

“Elysse insisted I call,” Alexi added, staring very closely at him.

“I told Captain de Warenne that you were not receiving callers, Your Grace,” his butler said. “But Captain de Warenne refused to heed me.”

“I decided to let myself in, as I always do,” Alexi said cheerfully. “I must say, I was rather surprised to find that Guillermo actually intended to bar me, your closest and perhaps only friend, from seeing you.”

Stephen closed the file, annoyed. “I am much occupied, Alexi,” he warned.

“Really? Elysse just heard a rumor—that Alexandra Bolton has returned home, and that she is being courted by a gentleman I do not know, one Owen St. James. I take it, then, that you were correct and I was wrong, and she turned you down?” He sauntered in. “Or did you lose courage and fail to ask her for her hand?”

Stephen stood, somehow managing to smile calmly. Five days had passed since Alexandra had left Clarewood. And the moment she had walked out of his front door, her intentions clear—she meant to keep his child from him and, no matter what she had said, run off with St. James—he had shut her out of his mind and his heart. He did not think about her. He did not feel anything now. And he would not think about the child until the spring, having estimated it was due in early August. In fact, he was feeling very much like his old self again—his life was the Clarewood legacy, as it should be. He rose early to attend his numerous affairs, both of the duchy and the Foundation, and he went to bed late, satisfied with the day’s achievements. Nor did he go to bed alone. An expensive London madam had been providing him with a different courtesan every night. His only requirements were that they were foreign, healthy and did not speak a word of English.

But even though he smiled benignly now, his heart lurched unpleasantly in response to his cousin’s comments. But he was not going to pay attention to Alexi’s words, since he knew Alexi only meant to bait him. “Do come in, as you will not take no for an answer. How are you? How is Elysse?” He walked out from behind his desk, going to the sideboard. When Alexi did not answer, he asked, “Wine or scotch?”

“Actually, it’s a bit early to drink, so I will decline,” Alexi said.

Stephen poured himself a glass of scotch as Alexi came up behind him. “Guillermo, please open the drapes.”

As sunlight began to fill the room, Alexi said, “What is wrong with you, and what has happened? Why did Alexandra leave Clarewood?”

“Nothing is wrong with me, Alexi. I have come to my senses, that is all.” He smiled.

Alexi stared, his gaze filled with speculation. Then, “She refused to marry you—undoubtedly because you demanded a marriage, instead of tendering a romantic proposal.”

Stephen tensed. He had indeed done just that, and he knew it. But he was not going to discuss Alexandra Bolton—nor would he think of her. He sensed Tom nearby—and knew he was pleased. “I am not a romantic, ergo I would never tender a romantic proposal. And the affair is over—I do not wish to discuss it.” He got up and walked away from his cousin. Now, though, he had a slight ache in his chest.

Alexi followed, seizing his shoulder. “She is having your child! Or is it St. James’s bastard?”

Stephen whirled, furious at the allegation, fist clenched, ready to smash Alexi in the nose for daring to insinuate that Alexandra had been unfaithful to him. His anger soared. It knew no bounds. And the moment he met Alexi’s smug eyes, he knew he’d been successfully baited.

As if a dam had been breached, the pain coursed through him in the wake of his anger, and he kept seeing Alexandra leaving his front hall with her sewing bag, her eyes red and swollen, her head held high. “Damn you!” he exclaimed. “The child is mine—and when he is born, he will be born at Clarewood.
I
will raise my son or daughter,” he said harshly. “No matter what she intends. Damn her!”

“Stephen, what is wrong with you?” Alexi grabbed him by both shoulders. “Why won’t you fight for her?”

Stephen wrenched away. “We have been through this before.” Suddenly he could not breathe—he was panting harshly.

“My God, you are a man who has moved mountains to build hospitals and asylums and housing for the working poor, and now one man stands between you and the woman you want, and you are a complete coward!”

Stephen went still. Was he a coward? She didn’t want him. She wanted St. James. Didn’t she? “You don’t know what you are talking about,” he snapped, walking away.

Alexi followed. “But I do. Elysse and I hardly got off to a good start—years of pride and anger kept us apart. I think I know what the problem is. And it’s not about pride—not for you. It’s about love.”

Stephen faced him scornfully. “Are you mad?”

“No. I think it is about the fact that you truly don’t believe in love. And that is because of how you were raised—your parents hated one another, and frankly, I think old Tom hated you, never mind that he decided you’d be his heir.”

Stephen choked in surprise. Hadn’t he wondered, as a boy, if his “father” hated him? Too often it had seemed that way. And it had especially seemed that way when he was being punished.

“I think old Tom resented you because you reminded him, on a daily basis, that he couldn’t sire a child. Every time he looked at you, he saw Julia and Sir Rex. But he would never let the world know that he was impotent, so you were turned into his perfect son, the future duke. He was so hateful, so cruel! I cannot blame you for your distrust of Alexandra—or your own feelings. But you aren’t Tom, and she isn’t Julia. Tom tried to make you in his image, but damn it, you are a de Warenne. And while we are proud and arrogant, we cannot get on without the love of a good woman. Look at me and Elysse. Think about your real father, Sir Rex, and Lady Blanche. I believe they secretly admired one another for years before they managed to find their way to one another. What about Ariella and Emilian? She defied society to be with St. Xavier. Or my father and Amanda? He rescued her at her father’s hanging!” He took a breath and said, “You are a de Warenne, Stephen, and you are capable of a deep and undying love. Whether you know it or not, it is in your blood—and it is your right.”