The Savage Miss Saxon (15 page)

For some reason (a reason she had no desire to pursue), Alexandra’s hands shook as she opened the box and looked upon a dazzling sapphire- and diamond-studded gold ring of unbelievable beauty. She stared at it unmovingly for so long that Nicholas sighed, “Oh, here puss. Let me help you,” before taking hold of her hand and pushing the ring on her slim finger himself.

“There!” he exclaimed when the job was done. “A perfect fit, if I do say so myself. Now how about a betrothal kiss just to seal the thing?”

Alexandra shook herself back to reality. “If it’s a pretend engagement, Lord Linton, you may just
pretend
we have kissed,” she told him hotly.

“Spoilsport,” Nicholas teased, leering toward her.

“Marplot,” she corrected him, “and the boys have assured me that I am no such thing.”

“Oh yes,” he remembered, settling down beside her on the log, “Billy’s dictionary of the vulgar tongue again.” He shrugged fatalistically. “I can see there is only one way to shut you up.”

Before Alexandra could react, he grabbed her by the shoulders and swept her backward across his lap, leaving her looking up at him in open-mouthed amazement. The smile left his face and he groaned once, as if agonized, before lowering his head to hungrily claim her lips.

Her eyes squeezed closed, then opened to a view of dark branches and blue sky spinning dizzily above her. Hoping to focus her gaze on something more solid, she looked at Nicholas’s forehead—that smooth expanse of skin beneath his coal dark hair, marked only by the thin black silk cord of his eyepatch. Looking lower, all that was visible was the patch itself, and since the sight of that rakish bit of silk filled her with an almost uncontrollable urge to reach up and stroke his face, Alexandra closed her eyes once more.

Now she was free to concentrate on the sensations caused by the movement of Nicholas’s mouth on hers—somehow familiar, somehow even more exciting than before. To keep herself from falling (or so she told herself) she reached up and encircled his neck with her arms, an action that lifted her toward his rock-hard chest and allowed him even greater access to her body.

His hands roved her back with increasing urgency as her fingers slipped into the hair at his nape and began an investigation of their own. Suddenly Nicholas tore his mouth away, crushing Alexandra’s head against his shoulder as he took a number of deep, shaking breaths in order to compose himself. Her close proximity, lying as she was across his lap, did nothing to ease his tension, and he was forced to push her gently away before rising to his feet and taking a few paces away from the log and further temptation.

This left Alexandra free to straighten her riding habit and push some order back into her tangled hair, but it was some time before her breathing returned to a semblance of normalcy. As her passion faded, it was replaced by a deep feeling of shame that took refuge in unjust anger (considering she had been a more than willing participant in the scene just concluded).

His own emotions now once again firmly back under his control, Nicholas turned to face his pretend fiancée. “I apologize, Alix,” he said sincerely. “What happened was unforgivable. I don’t know how it got so—er—
involved
. I had only meant to tease you, you know, that’s all—Jeremy will tell you what an impossible joker I am—but somehow it went beyond a mere joke. Can you forgive me?”

Alexandra was more than happy for Nicholas to take all the blame—it might just keep him from remembering
her
part in the exercise, “Nothing
happened
, my lord—at least nothing of any real importance or lasting damage,” she insisted tightly. “Besides—it won’t happen again.
Will it?
” she ended, her dark eyes boring into his very soul.

All this show of outraged dignity was too much for Mannering. Saluting her jocularly, he snapped his heels together smartly and crowed, “You may have my word as a gentleman on it, ma’am, it will happen only as often as I can catch you!”

Alexandra jumped to her feet, retorting, “I should have known, you jack-a-napes.
Oh!
” she exclaimed in exasperation, “I cannot wait to get back to Billy’s dictionary so that I can make a complete list of foul names for you, you—you chuckle-headed, addle-pated, brazen-faced braggadocia!”

Nicholas put his hands on his hips and threw back his head to laugh out loud. “My stars, just think what the chit will say once she gets past the C’s!” he shouted in great good humor, ducking his head only just in time to avoid the clump of dirt Alexandra had sent whizzing in his direction. “Oh, I say, Alix, sweetheart,
that
wasn’t nice!”

But Alix had already hitched up her skirts and taken to her heels, running down the steep hill to their left as if all the hounds of hell were after her. Mannering, naturally, took off after her, only coming to a halt when he saw that Alexandra had taken up a position behind a wide tree trunk and was holding out her hand to silence him.

“What is it?” he whispered in her ear while casting his eyes alertly about him. “Is it the highwaymen?”

She shook her head in the negative, and putting a finger to her lips to show him he should remain quiet, she pointed down toward the bottom of the hill where a small stream cut through the trees. “It’s Harold,” she mouthed under her breath. “He’s taking a sweat.”

Nicholas looked down the slope, but all he could see that was the least out of the ordinary was a small, cigar-shaped cylinder of dirt approximately three feet wide and six feet long that seemed to lie half in and half out of the hill. He imagined the cylinder, if he were to stand next to it, would only come up as high as his chin. There was no sign of Harold, but Nicholas did notice that there seemed to be a bit of smoke or steam rising from the open end of the “cigar.”

Sliding his arm around Alexandra’s shoulders, Nicholas leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Much as I hate to admit to my ignorance in this matter, my love, could you please be kind enough to explain just what in the blue blazes is going on down there?”

Alexandra looked up at him in exasperation. “Don’t you know
anything
, Nicholas? Harold must not be feeling quite the thing today since he’s already had his usual sweat for the week. Poor thing,” she sighed slightly. “Grandfather keeps pushing drink on him, you know. Indians can’t seem to tolerate spirits too well. Oh, that grandfather of mine—no matter how hard I try, hiding his gin or putting it under lock and key, he always seems to be able to ferret out a new supply. Honestly, the man drinks like a fish?”

“Every man should have a hobby, pet,” Nicholas supplied cheerfully, earning himself a none-too-discreet jab in the ribs from Alexandra’s elbow.

“Lower your voice, you idiot,” she hissed at him, before plunking herself down on the slope so that Harold wouldn’t see her when he came out of his sweat oven. Mannering sat down beside her and repeated his request to have her explain Harold’s action, and mostly to keep his lordship’s mind occupied with thoughts other than their latest bout of lovemaking, she agreed.

She explained that sweat ovens were very much a part of Lenape life, for both men and women. Inside the oven they placed heated stones, making the oven very warm and causing its occupants to sweat. To increase the benefits of this heat, water or medicinal concoctions were poured over the stones, as Harold must just then have been doing, causing steam to rise and envelop the occupant. After a space of time, Harold would throw a blanket about himself and emerge from the oven, his body revitalized and his spirit renewed.

“It’s marvelous, the feeling you get when you first feel the cool air on your skin after indulging in a good sweat,” Alexandra told him earnestly. “If there is snow on the ground they sometimes roll in it before wrapping up inside a half-dozen blankets—
that
is absolutely wonderful!”

Nicholas sneaked a look at Alexandra out of the corner of his eye. “From the way you talk, I’d say you’ve indulged in a sweat or two yourself, imp.”

“What if I have?” she countered, tilting up her chin. “And wipe that grin off your face—there’s nothing funny about it.”

“That depends. I cannot imagine Harold is sitting inside that oven decked out in full ceremonial dress. In fact, I’d bet a guinea to a penny piece the man’s as near to jay-naked as he can get. Imagining you, my love, in the same charming déshabillé state is what brings this leer—never dignify it by calling such a look a grin—to my truly delighted face. Ah-ah,” he cautioned, easily trapping her clenched right fist as it neared his midsection, “you forgot Harold’s teachings. Never do the expected, remember? Obviously you have had much of theory and precious little of practical application.”

Alexandra directed a long stare at her slim wrist—just now held firmly in Mannering’s grasp—and then looked her captor squarely in the face. “I make no doubt you are enjoying yourself mightily, my lord. One cannot help but wonder how quickly your mood would change if you but knew the power I hold over you.”

Nicholas chuckled. “That’s my savage. Here I am, holding the girl by the arm, defenseless, as it were, at my feet, and
she
threatens
me
! You’re a regular Trojan, girl,” he marveled sarcastically, “besides being the most tempting morsel a man could imagine.”

Perhaps Alexandra could yet have refrained from blurting out her information, but that was only before Nicholas was so foolhardy as to actually gloat over their odd situation. Now she was in a towering rage, and far beyond rational thought or prudence.

Nicholas watched in amused fascination as Alexandra, both her hands now free, inched up her riding habit to disclose a leather pouch tied around her calf. “You never cease to amaze me, pet,” was all he said as she untied the pouch and dumped its contents in her lap. “Truly, I own myself astonished.”

“Stop goggling at me, you ignoramous, and clap your eyes on this instead,” she told him with no little satisfaction, shoving the parchment into his hands.

With his amusement still showing plainly on his handsome face, Nicholas unrolled the parchment and began to read. As he read, Alexandra watched the amusement slowly drain from his face until at last he looked up at her, his golden eye darkened and narrowed, his expressive eyebrow poised high, like a question mark on his forehead. “What the devil is the meaning of this?” he asked, his deep voice ominous.

Alexandra shrugged her shoulders, fighting hard to hide her sudden nervousness. “I think it is pretty clear, Lord Linton.”

“Pray don’t be so cryptic,” he drawled, now looking every inch a lord. “I am breathlessly awaiting your interpretation of this bit of scribbling.”

“All right, Nicholas,” she rallied. “I’ll not tippytoe around the issue. Simply, this paper says that your ancestor, the Second Lord Linton, lost Linton Hall and all its surrounding estate in a game of cards to my ancestor, Bartholomew Saxon, Esquire, in 1703.
You
are living on
my
grandfather’s land, my lord,” she added scrupulously.

“This is nothing but arrant nonsense!” Nicholas shouted angrily as he jumped to his feet, sending quite a few birds screeching off into the sky from their perches in the trees.

For two pins Alexandra would have agreed with him and thrown the whole thing up, that distressed she was to see Nicholas so upset. “I have the greatest sympathy for you—” she began placatingly, rising to her feet and resting a hand on Nicholas’s arm, before the air was rent with a fierce yell and Harold sprang into their midst, his blackened face running with sweat while the remainder of his body was covered by only a small breechclout and a thick layer of goosebumps.

“
N’nitsch undach aal! N’tschittanési
!” Harold ejaculated fiercely, eyeing Nicholas menacingly.

“Oh, good grief!” Nicholas said, clearly exasperated. “It needed only this. What in Hades does he want? Is he eyeing up my hair?”

Alexandra lowered her head into her hands, shaking her head in acute embarrassment. “He wants me to come to him—he says he is strong.”

“He certainly is,” Nicholas chuckled, his sense of humor allowing him to see the ridiculousness in the situations “I can certainly see—or should I say,
smell
—the logic in rolling in the snow after a sweat. God, Alix, talk to the fellow—tell him to stand downwind at least. Tell him I promise not to pounce on you.”

Alexandra turned to the protectively hovering Indian and spoke a few phrases, causing Harold to look again at Nicholas, his head tipped inquiringly to one side as if sizing the man up, before he turned on his heel and loped off down the hill.

“He heard the birds, you know. Harold is very wise in such things,” Alexandra supplied by way of explaining Harold’s appearance. “He’s very protective of me. Though I’m sorry if he frightened you.”

“Not frightened, pet, merely startled.” Nicholas’s voice had suddenly taken on an icy quality. Bending to retrieve the parchment, he rose again to say flatly, “I thank you for bringing this to my attention. Naturally, I shall have my solicitors look it over. They’re in London, you understand, so it may be some time until we receive their answer. Until that time, I can only beg your discretion in not discussing the matter with anyone. It wouldn’t do to have Jeremy unduly upset.”

“Of—of course,” Alexandra stammered, suddenly very much aware of the chill in the air. “It may all be a hum, you know,” she offered, one might think, almost hopefully.

“Having second thoughts about your revenge, infant?” he asked, that maddening eyebrow again flying high.

She had been having second thoughts, she realized, hating Nicholas for having pointed out her weakness. “Put it in a hat, Mannering,” she bit out beneath clenched teeth before whirling to stalk angrily back up the hill, Nicholas’s mocking laughter following after her all the way.

That laughter rang in her ears for the entirety of her solitary half-mile gallop back to Saxon Hall, and that night she slept with her pillow clamped down tightly over her head, still trying to blot out the sound.

Chapter Six