An Impossible Attraction (26 page)

Alexandra stared. She hadn’t known anything about his childhood, and she cringed, thinking about any child being so harshly treated. And she wanted to believe that he was compassionate. Just then, she kept recalling the warmth in his eyes as he made love to her—his promises to be generous. And suddenly she recalled how safe she had felt in his presence—and in his arms. She shivered. “There is no right and no wrong here, Your Grace,” she whispered. “And if you are suggesting that Stephen—I mean, His Grace—will champion me or my cause, there is nothing to champion. Sooner or later I will work things out with my father and return to Edgemont Way.”

“Really? Are you refusing my invitation, then?”

Alexandra trembled. She could not imagine accepting, and not only because she was too proud to take charity. She was not about to live with Stephen’s mother. Not under any circumstances, particularly these. “I cannot accept.”

Julia Mowbray started. “You are too proud to accept my offer? You would rather remain here, as a working woman?”

“Yes.”

“You are an unusual woman, Miss Bolton,” Julia finally said. She picked up her gloves, which she’d laid on the table. “I am pleased to have met you, and now…I am not sorry you have turned me down.” Alexandra had not a clue as to what that last remark meant. “And I must say, I am also pleased that you are the one who has come into Stephen’s life.”

Alexandra trembled. “I cannot understand.”

“Oh, I don’t expect you to, not yet. But you will.” And she smiled, as if she knew something Alexandra did not.

“Y
OU DO NOT HAVE TO
announce me, Guillermo,” Julia said, striding briskly past the butler.

His eyes widened. “His Grace has left strict instructions that he is not to be disturbed, Your Grace, and you did not send word.”

Julia was wry. “Yes, he will be put out—I have not made an appointment, and I am interrupting some grand scheme for a new charity. Charity does begin at home, Guillermo.” She did not pause as she crossed the hall, the butler hurrying after her.

“I beg your pardon?”

Though she could hardly explain, she had been referring to Stephen’s former mistress, Alexandra Bolton, of course, a simply amazing young woman. “Is he in the study?”

“Yes, he is. Your Grace, please! Let me at least announce you.”

Julia ignored him, pushing open the door to the study, where Stephen sat at his desk, flanked by two lawyers who also handled her own affairs on occasion.

He looked up, startled. “Mother? This is a surprise.”

“I am sure it is. I’m afraid I have an urgent matter to discuss with you—and that I must interrupt.” She paused, smiling.

Stephen stood warily, coming out from behind his desk. “Is someone at death’s door?” he asked, as the two gentlemen nodded at her and vacated the room.

“I certainly hope not.” She kissed his cheek. “I have just met Miss Bolton.”

His face darkened. Ignoring her words, he said, “I have been thinking about you. In fact, I have decided to begin looking for a husband for you.”

Julia knew he meant to startle her—and change the subject. And he succeeded. Instantly she thought of Tyne Jefferson. It had been almost two weeks since that afternoon when she had learned about the child he had lost. He had called another time, but the weather had been too poor for riding yet again, so they had chatted while touring her stables. And when she had shown him her horses, there had been so much tension between them that Julia knew she hadn’t been mistaken about his interest. Nor had she mistaken his direct male glances.

Her heart thundered. She had been expecting him to call on her as a suitor after that. But he hadn’t—and how could he? She was a duchess, he an American rancher. She was going to have to take matters into her own hands.

And now Stephen thought to come to her rescue—but this was not a rescue, it was a fate worse than death! “I will not marry,” she told her son. “And I mean it, Stephen.”

He stared. “Do not tell me you are still besotted with that American.”

“He calls himself a Californio,” she said, unthinkingly. Her heart raced again. “I do not think I will confide in you again.”

“And that is a confession in itself.” Stephen stared closely. “You seem upset. He does not return your interest?”

“I am not discussing Jefferson with you again,” she said. “Are you aware that Miss Bolton has been thrown out of her home, and that she now lives in a small, dank room, with no amenities, a room not even fit for a vagrant, much less a gentlewoman?”

He stared. “There is no stopping you, is there? I am aware she has taken a room at Schumacher’s Inn.” He folded his arms, scowling. “I cannot believe that you have thought to meddle.”

“She is living in abject poverty, Stephen,” Julia said. “And I believe you are the cause of her downfall.”

He flushed. “That is unfair. If I were the cause, I would make amends. However,
she
tried to deceive
me
. She is a very clever woman, and I am sure she will manage her current circumstances well enough.”

“I am disappointed,” Julia said, meaning it. “And I think you had better call on her before deciding just how well she is managing her current circumstances.”

“Randolph has already called on her! So have Lady Blanche and Sir Rex. Now you have called—I believe she has enough champions. My God, before I even know it, Elysse and Ariella will visit her and blame me for everything.”

“So you will let her starve? Sew by candlelight? Share common bathing facilities?”

He suddenly slammed a fist onto his desk, stunning her. “And what would you have me do? Marry her?”

Her son never lost his temper. She stared, then said, “Is marriage to Miss Bolton on your mind?”

“Of course it’s not,” he snapped. And he returned her regard, finally saying, “You are exaggerating her plight, are you not?”

She was grim. “No, Stephen, I am not. It is miserable—and unacceptable. I expect you to rectify this.”

His only answer was to pace, his expression resigned and grim—and reflective.

A
LEXANDRA WAS BEGINNING
to wonder if she was ill. She was always tired, but then, she was not sleeping very well.

Several days had passed since the dowager duchess’s surprising—and incomprehensible—visit. Alexandra remained shaken by the encounter, and she was trying to forget it—just as she continued to try to forget all that had happened with Stephen. But it was impossible.

She wished the dowager duchess had been mean, unkind and even cruel. Instead, she felt almost certain that if she ever came to the comprehension that she simply could not go on as she was doing, the dowager duchess would open her home to her. And that made no sense.

Alexandra slowly walked toward the inn. She had no funds left—she had just used her last few shillings to buy precious thread and enough groceries for a few days of meals. She was owed payment by several customers, and she was going to have to find a way of driving out to call on the ladies and beg for what was due her.

Two thin dogs ran past her, and Alexandra tripped. She did not want to let go of her sewing supplies, so she fell, letting go of the groceries instead. She landed hard on her knees and elbow, clutching the one precious bag. The other bag landed in a puddle of dirty water, and three potatoes, a cabbage and an onion rolled into the filthy street. Sitting back on her calves, Alexandra cried out as she watched two small children dive upon her groceries. One of the mongrels came up to her and licked her face, wagging its tail.

She looked at the happy black-and-white face, the dancing brown eyes, and she felt tears rise.

“Here,” a child said.

Alexandra saw a small, dirty hand holding an equally dirty potato under her nose. She looked up and saw a solemn little girl, her dark hair in pigtails tied with small scraps of rags. She was razor thin. “You can have the potato,” Alexandra said.

The girl’s eyes widened. Then she quickly turned and ran off with her precious cargo.

Alexandra saw that the rest of the groceries were gone and felt like crying, but she refused to do so, even though she could not afford more, not until she was paid. Then she looked at the dog who was sitting beside her. “If you think there will be scraps at my table, you are wrong.”

Alexandra was about to get up when she caught sight of a beautiful royal-blue silk skirt, just inches from where she sat. The fabric was expensive, and only a lady would wear such a gown. Instantly she prayed that one of her customers had come to offer her payment, but she immediately knew better—her clients paid their bills by sending a servant. She looked up.

Two extremely wealthy ladies stood there looking down at her. One was a matron, wearing far too many jewels, the other a breathtakingly lovely and young blond girl. The matron stared with contempt, the girl, with horror. Certain they knew her, and were, perhaps, new clients, Alexandra got up awkwardly. As she did, the girl reached out to steady her.

The matron said, “Do not touch her, Anne.”

Anne dropped her hand.

Alexandra looked at the matron. “I tripped and fell.”

“Obviously.” The woman inhaled harshly. “You must be the infamous Miss Bolton.”

So, she was infamous now
. Alexandra held the bag of sewing supplies more tightly to her chest. “I am Alexandra Bolton. Are you looking for me?” She desperately hoped they were new customers.

“Yes, we were,” the matron said with absolute condescension. “I had merely wondered if the rumors were true that he had tossed you onto the streets. I wanted to see for myself the trollop he chose and cast aside—when my daughter would make a perfect duchess. Let’s go, Anne.”

But the lovely blonde didn’t move. “Mother,” she whispered nervously.

Alexandra followed her gaze—and her knees buckled. Her heart pounded as shock ran through her. Turning the corner was a huge black coach pulled by six magnificent black horses—the Duke of Clarewood’s red-and-gold crest emblazoned upon the doors.
What was he doing here?

For one moment she could not think, could only stare, horrified. Then coherence began. She did not know what he wanted, but she knew she had to run. Yet still she could not move. Her heartbeat had become deafening.

“I cannot believe this,” the matron said tersely.

From the corner of her eye, Alexandra saw that both women were as riveted to the coach’s splendid approach as she was. And now a crowd had gathered, just as awed and entranced—and she began to think more clearly.

Clarewood hadn’t come, of course he hadn’t. It was a servant, or even Randolph. He would never pursue her, not in any way. He thought the very worst of her.

But then the door opened and Clarewood stepped out.

Alexandra gasped, shocked.

The crowd stepped back, but he just stood there, looking at her. Alexandra felt her cheeks begin to burn as their gazes locked. She did not want him to see her in such misery and poverty. Her humiliation from the last time she had seen him was nothing in comparison to how she felt now.

The two ladies curtsied.

She’d forgotten them. She tensed as he strode forward, the crowd parting for him. His mouth was tight with displeasure, and he never looked away from her.

Her heartbeat continued to deafen her. What did he want? Hadn’t he done enough?

“Your Grace.” The matron smiled obsequiously at him. “This is such a pleasant surprise.”

“Your Grace,” Anne whispered, blushing.

He did not even look at them—nor did Alexandra. As they stared at one another, the tension between them made her feel faint. He was angry, she saw that now.

Suddenly Stephen looked at the two women. “This is very much a surprise,” he said coolly. “Is Miss Bolton taking on your repairs, Lady Sinclair?”

The matron’s smile vanished. “I have heard that Miss Bolton is a highly skilled seamstress. I wished a word with her.”

“Really?” he said, his tone filled with mockery. He glanced at Anne. “This street is not fit for ladies, and I am shocked that you would bring your daughter here.”

Alexandra’s stomach was churning in a way she was now all too familiar with. She prayed she would not be sick.

“We were just leaving, Your Grace. And of course, you are right—I should not have brought Anne. We will take your leave, then.” She smiled.

He didn’t speak, his hard expression never changing, as the two women hurried off. Alexandra noticed their coach, drawn by two dapple grays, for the first time. Then her attention was claimed as, slowly, he turned toward her.

She trembled. Very queasy now, she turned away from Stephen’s intense stare, wondering if she could vanish into the crowd. Why had he come? What did he want? She wanted him to leave her be! Because now all she could think about was the passion they had shared—and how he had accused her of scheming to trap him into marriage afterward. His accusations still hurt terribly. But the worst of it was that a part of her wanted to rush into his arms, where she would be safe—where she would feel loved.

He touched her arm, and she had to look at him. He stared grimly at her. “What happened?”

“I fell.” Her heart stuttered. “Why are you here?” she managed.

“Show me where you are living.”

She stared back, startled. “What?”

“You heard me. You have taken a room in that inn.” He gestured to the building, which was a bit farther up the block.

“I am not showing you anything.” She inhaled. “In fact, I have to go. Good day.”

As she turned, he seized her arm, shocking her, and said, “Edgemont tossed you out because of our affair.”

She inhaled harshly. “I do not want to discuss this.”

His grasp tightened. “But I do.”

She tried to tug free and failed. Desperately, she said, “He heard the rumors, obviously. I’m afraid I do not dissemble well—contrary to what you believe. As you did not start the gossip and have no real part in this affair—” her tone became bitter “—you can leave and go about your affairs without any guilt.” She couldn’t help adding, “I am sure Lady Witte will be thrilled.”