An Impossible Attraction (39 page)

Stephen cursed as he sat down on the sofa, hard. His heart clamored at him, all the while breaking apart. He kept remembering his parents in heated and bitter arguments, while he turned and ran away, not wanting to see or hear them, as they fought one another as if to the death. He saw old Tom’s livid expression as he raised his hand to strike him across the face, though he could not recall his transgression. Hatred had sparked in the man’s eyes.

He covered his face with his hands. Was Alexi right? Because he had never believed in love until St. James had returned from the past, making him confront his feelings for Alexandra. Damn it. He did love her. But he remained impossibly hurt—no, devastated.
She had walked out on him. She had chosen someone else. Like old Tom, she didn’t love him back.

He felt raw and vulnerable, powerless—like a boy of ten, not a grown man of thirty-one who all but commanded an empire.

Alexi sat down beside him. “If you go after her, you might live in a home filled with warmth and laughter, not cold silence, and damn it, I am not leaving until I have convinced you to go climb this particular mountain.”

Stephen breathed hard, trying to hold back the bone-deep pain of rejection. In his mind, old Tom leered at him, pleased that Stephen was undone. Of course he was—he had despised love, and embraced hatred and bitterness. He did not want Stephen to be anything other than the cold, calculating eighth duke of Clarewood. He wanted him to wander its cold, silent halls alone.

Stephen slowly looked up. “I have a confession.”

Alexi waited.

Stephen saw old Tom standing behind the sofa, his face furious now. “My father couldn’t even express his affection for me on his deathbed. I was desperate, even at sixteen. Just once, I wanted him to say he was proud of me, and that he cared.”

Alexi laid his hand on Stephen’s shoulder, but only briefly. “I’m sure Tom couldn’t say those words, nor could he care about anything or anyone—except the duchy. He was a cold, heartless bastard. But what about Sir Rex? He came into your life when we were nine. I heard Sir Rex praise you many times—he was always kind and attentive. You are every bit as much, if not more, Sir Rex’s son as you are Tom’s.”

And suddenly Stephen recalled how Julia had been desperately determined to bury the past—how she never wanted to visit the mausoleum again. And he suddenly felt the same way.

He was sick and tired of having those talons in his back. He was sick and tired of looking up and seeing old Tom in the corner of the room, mocking him, ridiculing him.

He rubbed his neck. Blood was thicker than water, and he was a de Warenne—and he had fallen in love. There—he had admitted it. It hurt terribly. So now what should he do? Was Alexi right? Should he fight for her?

Why shouldn’t he fight for Alexandra? He wanted her,
needed
her, and he did not want to fight her for their child—because he would win, and she would be destroyed.

He could never do that to her, he realized, sitting straighter.

“What is it?” Alexi asked.

Stephen inhaled, the pain vanishing. What had happened to him? He always got what he wanted—he was Clarewood. He had pursued her once and won. Of course he would pursue her now. But this time, he would not make mistakes. Too much was at stake.

He turned to Alexi. “Is it true? St. James is now courting her?”

“I believe he calls on her daily.” Alexi stared far too blandly now, trying to contain what Stephen knew was a satisfied smile.

Stephen wasn’t sure Alexi was telling the truth, but it no longer mattered. He stood, deeply determined now. He was going to lose Alexandra if he didn’t do something about it. “I have had it with St. James,” he said softly. “Enough is enough.”

Alexi stood, grinning. “And when this is all over, you will thank me properly, won’t you? Because I believe you will be vastly in my debt.”

Stephen ignored him, leaving the room.

“Advice is rarely free,” Alexi called after him, laughing.

“Y
OU SEEM TO BE
in better spirits today,” Owen said softly.

Alexandra smiled at him, but she was tense as she sat with him in the front seat of his gig. It was a sunny day, although cool, so she’d bundled up, and they’d taken a drive in the country. The leaves were red and gold, and soon the trees would be dark and bare. They’d brought a basket lunch with them and had eaten in a roadside meadow, not far from a herd of grazing sheep. It had been a lovely, lazy afternoon, though she should have been sewing. They would be home in a few more minutes.

Very carefully, she said, “You have lifted my spirits, but that has been your intention all along, hasn’t it?”

He smiled. “Of course it has. I hated seeing you so glum.”

She glanced away, keeping her smile in place. Owen had called every day. She anticipated his visits because his presence was warm and reassuring, and she enjoyed his company thoroughly. Chatting with him was so much better than hunching over her sewing, her thoughts dark with despair and her heart heavy with loss, her every moment filled with images of Stephen. Her heart was broken, and though she felt as if it would never heal, the truth was that she knew better. Once before, nine years ago, she’d suffered such heartbreak. Broken hearts did mend—eventually.

They had not discussed her return home or the cause for it. But he had told her that he was fiercely glad she had mended things with her father—and returned to Edgemont Way. Alexandra couldn’t recall what response she had made. But she knew that Owen was aware that her affair with Stephen was over, and that he was pleased. Not a visit went by that he didn’t offer up a remark that could lead to a very frank discussion of the affair and her feelings, but she had grown adept at steering clear of all such conversations. She could not, and would not, discuss her relationship with Stephen with him.

And it had become obvious that she was right—he was still deeply in love with her. His eyes shone when he looked at her, he often made jests to make her laugh, and his gestures were affectionate and flirtatious. But when he touched her, she flinched or even pulled away. She wasn’t ready for a suitor—not yet, not now, and maybe not ever.

She cared deeply for him, but everything had changed—it was Stephen Mowbray whom she loved.

And Owen didn’t know about the child, either.

Alexandra clasped her gloved hands together, deciding not to reply to his remark about her recent despondency.

In response to her silence he said, “We used to talk about everything.”

She turned to face him, her eyes wide. “We can hardly talk about everything now.”

“Why not? I am concerned about you.”

“I know, and your loyalty has meant so much to me.”

His gaze was searching. “When you are ready, Alexandra, I will listen. But you might feel better if you talk about Clarewood and what he has done to you.”

Amazingly, she bristled, wanting to defend Stephen, even though his actions were inexcusable. “Owen, I accepted his proposition. We were both in the wrong.”

His face hardened. “As much as I hate to say it, he should marry you and make things right.”

She inhaled, looking away.

He took her hand instantly. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve said as much before, and I swear I won’t say it again. But I despise him, Alexandra. You deserve so much more.”

She wanted to tug her hand free, but she didn’t. And she wasn’t going to argue about her lack of qualifications to be Stephen’s wife and duchess, not when she no longer believed them. Olivia had been right. Noblemen married commoners for love—not often, but it did happen. He simply didn’t love her. Love and lust were
not
the same thing.

“I hate seeing you so brokenhearted,” Owen growled.

She did pull her hand away then. “I am fine—really.”

“You are not fine, but you are incredibly brave and resilient.” He then added, glancing ahead, “You have company, Alexandra.”

She had already seen the coach in her drive—and recognized it. Elysse and Ariella had called, much to her dismay. Why had they come now? She wasn’t with Stephen anymore, and they were his friends, not hers. Had they come to berate her for the falling out? Surely they had not come to comfort and console her.

“Who is it?” Owen asked softly, halting the gig beside the larger black lacquered coach.

“Elysse de Warenne and Ariella St. Xavier. They are recent…acquaintances.”

He gave her a puzzled look.

Alexandra did not explain as they alighted and went inside, too overcome with new nerves. Olivia and Corey were entertaining them, a fire burning in the hearth, hot tea and scones on the table. Both callers leaped up as she came inside with Owen. They were smiling, as if pleased to see her once again, but they looked Owen up and down with great circumspection and speculation.

Alexandra took off her coat, coming forward. “This is a pleasant surprise,” she said cautiously.

Elysse hurried over and hugged her warmly. “Do not stand on formality now—not after the wonderful outing we shared! We heard rumors, and we are so worried about you.”

Alexandra looked into the other woman’s kind, concerned eyes and was shocked. Elysse de Warenne did not have a mean bone in her body.

Ariella had also come close, and she patted her shoulder. “Are you all right?” she asked with concern, her gaze soft and warm.

Alexandra was undone by her concern, as well. They seemed to truly care. Her broken heart screamed for mercy. They were Stephen’s friends from childhood, and maybe they could explain his behavior. Maybe, somehow, they could help. “I am fine,” she lied.

“You do not look fine,” Ariella said flatly. “Trust me, Stephen does have a very human heart beating beneath that cold exterior, but he can be impossible when he believes he has been crossed.”

Alexandra trembled. “He is so angry with me,” she whispered.

Ariella and Elysse exchanged looks. Elysse wrapped her arm around her again. “You have turned his very proper and perfectly ordered life upside down, Alexandra, simply by coming into his life and waking him up. Alexi tells me he is in dismal spirits.”

Alexandra pulled away, glancing at Owen, who was looking grim and unhappy as he listened to them. “I haven’t made the proper introductions,” she said. As she made them, she was surprised to see how pleasant and polite both women were to Owen, when he was obviously a suitor and Stephen’s rival, if such a word could be used. She paid little attention to their exchange, however. She kept thinking about what Elysse had just said—that Stephen was in dismal spirits. Why? Did he miss her? Was it possible? Or was he simply worried about the child?

Ariella and Owen were chatting, and Elysse took Alexandra’s hand and dragged her into the front hall. “You cannot give up on him!” she exclaimed.

Alexandra bit her lip. “You do not understand. He thinks the worst of me. And he…” She stopped. She couldn’t tell the other woman the truth. “He offered marriage, but for all the wrong reasons, and I refused him.”

Elysse looked at her without surprise, and Alexandra realized she knew about the offer of marriage. Of course, her husband was Stephen’s closest and oldest friend—and Alexandra immediately wondered what else she knew. As if reading her thoughts, Elysse took her hand and squeezed it. “Men can be such fools,” she said softly. “How do you know that he offered marriage for the wrong reasons?”

Alexandra didn’t know how to reply. “I love him,” she finally said. “He doesn’t love me back.”

Elysse smiled. “Are you sure?” Then she said, in a whisper, “There is something you must know. Stephen is not an expressive man. He never shows his affection. He doesn’t know how. He was raised by the previous duke, a cruel, difficult, harsh and hard man. An example was set, Alexandra.”

“The dowager duchess said as much, but he can be tender,” she whispered.

“And that is only because of the depth of his feelings for you,” Elysse spoke with certainty now. “There is more. Stephen is very sensitive on the subject of fathers and sons—due in part to the horrid relationship he had with old Tom. But it is more than that. Are you aware that he has sworn never to allow himself to sire a child out of wedlock?”

Alexandra went still. “No, I did not know. Why? Many noblemen have bastards.” She was certain now that Elysse knew about her pregnancy.

“I’m afraid he will have to tell you that himself. But this is a subject that can arouse him as no other.” Elysse studied her.

Alexandra’s mind was racing now. She knew she was being given important clues, and that solving them would somehow shed light on what had happened, but she couldn’t fathom how to put them together.

“You should ask Stephen about his father—and why he has vowed never to allow another man to raise his child.”

Alexandra began to tremble. If this was Stephen’s Achilles’ heel, it began to explain so much. “Are you certain?”

“I am very certain.” Elysse smiled. “There is hope, dear. Unless, of course, you are in love with the oh-so-dashing St. James?”

“I love him, but I am in love with Stephen,” Alexandra said. Was there truly hope? Because if there was, she would fight for her love,
their
love, and a future together with their child.

“I thought so.” Elysse sounded triumphant.

They returned to the parlor, where Owen instantly caught her eye, his gaze concerned. She smiled at him to reassure him, but she was hardly all right. Her mind was racing. Stephen had an issue when it came to illegitimate offspring. She could not imagine why. Perhaps he had bastard siblings who had somehow suffered and it had affected him greatly. It was the only conclusion she could draw. But now she thought about his rage when she had refused to give him their child—and when he thought she would marry Owen, that she and Owen would raise that child.

She must explain things to him again, but more carefully, now that she knew he was so sensitive to the subject, she thought, feeling frantic.

A few minutes later Owen’s expression changed. It became dark and grim, and he walked over to the parlor window, his hands in his jacket pockets. Alexandra turned to see what had caught his eye. As she did, Corey squealed in excitement. Olivia rushed past her, and Ariella said, her tone satisfied, “Well, I wonder what that is?”

As everyone rushed past her to look out of the window, Alexandra, too, stared outside. Randolph de Warenne was in the driver’s seat of a farmer’s wagon. The back was filled to overflowing with red hothouse roses. And Ebony was tied to the back fender, whinnying.

Alexandra’s heart began to race madly.

Randolph leaped to the ground and started for the house. Corey looked at Alexandra, smiling, and then she ran from the parlor to open the front door.

The parlor had fallen frighteningly silent—the only sound Alexandra could hear was her heart thundering.

What had he done? What did this mean?

Randolph strode into the room, going directly to her and bowing. “Good day, Miss Bolton.” And then he grinned.

She trembled—she could not breathe. “What is he doing now?”

“I believe he has sent you flowers, Ebony and a small token of his affections.” Randolph smiled and produced a jeweler’s box from his breast pocket. “I believe you know I am not allowed to return to Clarewood with the flowers, the horse or the jewelry.”

She stared at the velvet box.
He had returned the bracelet
. “Why is he doing this?”

Randolph’s brows lifted as he snapped open the box, holding it up for her to view the contents. “I believe His Grace is most insistent that you take this, Miss Bolton,” he said, then added, “I believe he is finally smitten.”

Alexandra could do nothing but stare at the huge diamond engagement ring.

J
ULIA LOOKED AT HERSELF
in the mirror over the handsome mahogany bureau in Tyne’s hotel room, morning light sneaking in past the curtains. He had stepped outside to allow her to dress. They’d spent the entire day and night since her arrival in his hotel room—making love, then talking about their lives, then making love again. They’d ordered room service for supper. And then they’d made love once more.

He was leaving today.

Julia trembled. She knew that she had never before looked so radiant, but she couldn’t smile now, and her eyes were filled with despair. He was a strong, determined man, but a simple one in many ways. And his life was the homestead he had fashioned on the harsh California frontier over the course of two decades. Now she knew what that had entailed. She had seen the physical scars, and he’d shared the mental ones. He’d told her a dozen stories of miraculous escapes. It was amazing that he was even alive.

She trembled. Her life was a dutiful round of teas and balls, her horses and her dogs. Stephen hadn’t needed her advice or guidance or even her support in years; he was a grown man, and a very successful, driven and accomplished one. And while she was sorry he wasn’t settled yet, she felt certain that day was rapidly approaching. He was so obviously head over heels in love with Miss Bolton. Everyone seemed to know it except for him.

She knew that Tyne would love for her to visit, and she intended to do just that. But she couldn’t bear the thought of his leaving now, when they’d just begun such an impassioned friendship, nor could she bear the probability that she might not see him for six months or even a year.

He knocked softly on the hotel-room door.

Julia managed a smile. “Come in.”

He slipped inside, his smile brief, his eyes dark.

“I need help with the back of this dress,” she said softly.

“Of course you do.” He studied her as he approached. She gave him her back, and as he did up the last few buttons, she closed her eyes. Even his fingers skimming across her back felt so terribly right.

He clasped her shoulders and turned her around. “You don’t seem happy today.”

She met his unusually somber gaze. “Neither do you.”

“What man in his right mind would want to leave now?” he asked simply.

She gasped. Then she seized his hands. “Then don’t!” she said. “Stay a little longer—so we can further our friendship.”