Tempestuous/Restless Heart (10 page)

She looked down at the smooth dark leather, feeling she’d made a disastrous slip. He’d seen her with her guard completely down. It made her feel too vulnerable.

“Alex?”

“Nothing. I had a cramp, that’s all.”

She fully expected him to drop the topic. No man of her acquaintance had ever wanted to hear any of the gory details of a woman’s life. It was a topic guaranteed to scare them off. But then, most men weren’t Christian Atherton.

“You’re lying,” he said flatly, too upset to be polite. “Good Lord, Alexandra, you reacted as if you thought I was going to attack you!”

Instantly she dodged his gaze, glancing toward the open door, unwittingly answering a question that was only half-formed in his mind. The sudden knowledge was a worse shock than her response had been.

“Oh, my…” His voice trailed off, and his hands fell away from her as a nauseating weakness spread through him. Leaning back against the saddle rack behind him, he ran a hand back through his hair. He thought of every time she’d shied away from him, of the way she’d thrown him that first day when he’d startled her from behind. Finally it all made sense. Terrible sense.

Alex pressed back against the rough wood wall, wishing with all her heart she could melt right through it. The instant Christian had realized the truth, he had taken his hands off her, as if she were unclean, as if he hoped it wasn’t too late to save himself from being tainted. But that was exactly what she had expected.

“Alex,” he murmured, lifting his gaze to hers, anguish plain in the fathomless blue depths. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

What happened now? she wondered. Did they just say their good-byes and go their separate ways? Why hadn’t he just stayed away from the beginning? They would have both been spared the embarrassment of this moment.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Christian asked gently. She looked so alone, so uncomfortable, as if she would have crawled right out of her skin had that been an option. Her shoulders were squared, tensed, pressed back against the wall, her hands splayed against the rough pine boards. She looked like someone expecting a firing squad and no blindfold.

Alex supposed she could have escaped. She doubted Christian would come after her. But she was tired of running. It wasn’t in her nature. Stand and fight had always been her motto. She had stood her ground and fought before and come away battered and bloody, disillusioned by everyone and everything she had ever believed in. The choice now was simple in her eyes. She had nothing left to lose.

“My last name was DeGrazia then,” she began.

“Alexandra DeGrazia,” Christian murmured, the puzzle piece falling into place. “I saw you ride in California.” He stared down at the saddle in front of him as if he could see the whole scene on it. “A three-day event outside of Napa. I was there looking at a mare who showed promise in the show ring but not cross-country.”

“My husband Michael and I were riding for Wide Acre Farm, the Reidells,” she prompted.

“Yes,” he said, but there was no further dawning of understanding.

He didn’t know. How ironic, Alex thought, almost tempted to laugh. She had been so sure her married name would evoke gasps and looks of self-righteous reproach from everyone who heard it. Because she had been the one at the center of the storm, she had been certain every third person in the free world had known about the trial.

Somehow it would have been easier if Christian had known. He would have absorbed the details from the media and formed the same opinion everyone else had—that she was a liar. Now she would have the chance to tell her side once again. But no one else had ever believed her, so why would she think Christian might? Christian Atherton, of all people. A deep depression settled in her heart at the thought that he would leave her life now.

She sighed, conceding defeat, then told her tale in the flat, emotionless tone of a victim who has somehow managed to distance herself from the incident after being forced to relive it again and again.

“We had been working at Wide Acre about six months. It was going well. We got along well enough with Mr. Reidell. His son Greg was about our age, a little younger. I guess he was twenty-two or twenty-three, and I was twenty-five. We were friends—Greg and Michael, Greg and I. At least, I thought he was my friend. He was always making… remarks to me. Personal remarks. I thought he was teasing. I always gave him a sassy answer. One evening when Michael was gone, Greg came to our apartment and told me it was time I made good on all that talk. He raped me.”

Christian felt the words like a physical blow. He hurt for Alex, for what she had been through. To force a woman was unthinkable to him, an intolerable act of violence. And the knowledge that Greg Reidell was handsome and educated and well-off made it all the more despicable.

“I pressed charges,” Alex went on, condensing what had seemed an unending nightmare to the barest of facts. “But I didn’t have any real proof. It was his word against mine, his family’s money and power against a little nobody. He claimed I had been having an affair with him for months, that I liked it a little rough, which discounted the doctor’s testimony. He claimed he told me he was going to break it off, and that I was just trying to get back at him, humiliate him, that I was angling for a big chunk of hush money since I couldn’t sleep my way into the family. Of course, he was too virtuous to pay for something he hadn’t done, so he let the case come to trial to reveal me for the lying, conniving slut I was.”

“The bastard,” Christian muttered, his voice trembling with fury. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and for the first time in his life he knew what it was to want to kill another human being. “The bloody bastard.”

Alex looked up at him with a strange, bemused expression. “You believe me?” she said incredulously.

Christian’s brows pulled together, and he frowned at her. “Of course I believe you. Why wouldn’t I believe you?”

“Because no one else did,” she said simply.

“You mean, no one outside your family.”

“I mean no one.”

Her family had offered minimal token support. They had taken her in after her marriage had crumbled, but they hadn’t been doing her a favor. It had been an obligation. The Gianni men had been inclined to loyalty toward their gender. The Gianni women had been full of reproach about the way she flirted, the way she dressed, the profession she pursued. All of them had been vaguely ashamed. None of them had believed Greg Reidell would have forced a woman. He was too handsome, too wealthy. He didn’t fit their idea of a rapist, and they weren’t inclined to change their preconceived ideas—because then their neatly ordered world would be in danger of tilting on its axis. If a man like Greg Reidell could be capable of rape, then who were they supposed to trust, what were they supposed to believe in?

Their subtle betrayal hadn’t made her angry. Just sad. It had made her see them as ordinary, flawed humans. The idyllic family of her memories had ceased to exist.

“Surely, your husband…” Christian said, looking helpless.

Alex smiled sadly. “Michael tried, but he felt betrayed and he felt guilty, and in the end he just couldn’t deal with it. He was always the jealous type. Reidell’s lies played on that, preyed on his mind.”

She sighed and combed a hand back through her bangs. “I was pregnant with Isabella when it happened. Just a month or so along. I hadn’t told Michael yet. I was waiting for the right time,” she said with an ironic twist to her mouth. “When I did tell him, he wouldn’t believe me when I said the baby couldn’t be Greg’s. I think that was what ultimately ended the marriage. He couldn’t bear the thought of raising another man’s child.”

As her words trailed off into the silence of the tack room, Alex let the last of the tension drain from her muscles. She was so tired, tired of running from who she was, tired of the fear of ridicule, of the speculative looks. She wished Christian would just leave so she could curl up in a corner and shut the world out with sleep.

Christian studied her quietly. He remembered again the laughing, lovely girl he’d seen in California, so full of spirit and youthful innocence, and he mourned her loss. Now he took in the cropped hair, the drab, baggy sweatshirt, the world-weary eyes, and the dark shadows beneath them—the disguise of a woman haunted by her past. And everything inside him ached for her. She’d been so alone. She’d been doubted by the people she had needed most. Now he understood her obsessive self-reliance. Now he understood a lot of things.

Protectiveness, possessiveness, sifted through him. He was so absolutely focused on Alex, though, that he didn’t try to escape them this time. For perhaps the first time in his life his own needs had become secondary.

“I’d take it all away if I could,” he whispered, stepping forward and gathering her in his arms. He pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her temple.

Alex pressed her cheek to his chest, stunned for an instant. She had become so used to the rejection, the doubts. But there were no doubts from Christian. He was holding her the way she had longed to be held, giving her the human contact she had been denied. The people she had loved had treated her like a leper, and this man she barely knew was holding her and sharing her pain and offering his comfort.

For the first time in forever she allowed the tears to fall. They streamed down her cheeks and soaked into the soft cotton of Christian’s knit shirt. All the hurt and the loneliness poured out, leaving her empty and exhausted.

When the river of tears had finally ceased to flow, Christian gallantly handed her a handkerchief dug out of the small zippered pocket of his breeches. Then he bent and swept her up into his arms and started for the door.

“What are you doing?” Alex asked, her voice hoarse from crying. She swiped at the moisture still clinging to her lashes and let out a little yelp as Christian hefted her slight weight in his arms, resettling her. “Put me down,” she demanded weakly even as her arms slid willingly around his neck.

“I’m taking you to the house,” he said firmly. His expression brooked no disobedience. “You’re taking the day off to rest. Look the word up in the dictionary if you need to.”

“But I have work to do!”

“I’ll ride your horses for you.”

“But—”

He gave her a fierce, hawkish look. “No arguments.”

“But your ankle—”

“Is well enough. I’ll manage.”

Alex opened her mouth again but snapped it shut as Christian arched a brow in warning. She felt a ridiculously strong urge to giggle. In fact, she felt euphoric.

They went in the kitchen door just as Charlie was coming out dragging her jacket in one hand. Alex ducked to hide her tearstained face against Christian’s neck, breathing in his warm, clean male scent.

“Blimey, Miss Alex, are you hurt?” the girl asked anxiously, dancing around them like a fractious beagle, her earrings clanging together.

“Nnnnn…” Alex muttered, shaking her head against Christian’s throat.

“She’s not injured,” Christian insisted, trying to brush past the concerned, curious groom. “I simply wanted to carry her.”

“Gosh, gov, that’s a bit Stone Age, isn’t it?” Charlie teased, dark eyes crinkling as she stepped back.

Christian scowled at her. “Go mousse your hair or something, Simmonds.”

Charlie sniffed in mock affront. “Go on. There’s work to be done. Something you wouldn’t know anything about.”

She sauntered off toward the barn, whistling, her rubber chore boots scuffing on the gravel drive.

In the kitchen Christian deposited Alex on an old chrome-and-red vinyl chair and turned to Pearl, who was busy at the stove.

“Pearl, see that Alex eats an enormous breakfast and goes straight to bed.”

Pearl stared at him, spatula in hand. “Have you lost your mind or something, Mr. Atherton?”

Or something, Christian thought, looking down at Alex, who now held Isabella in her lap. The first tremors of fear shuddered through him. Alex was staring up at him, her amber eyes still wet with tears. A soft smile curved her lush mouth. Isabella looked up at him as well, her eyes dark brown and sparkling with wonder. They made a lovely picture—a family, minus one.

Christian’s throat constricted. A chill raced over him. He backed toward the door.

“I’ll check in on you later,” he said, then let himself out into the fresh morning air without waiting for a reply of any kind.

“Good Lord,” he muttered as he wandered away from the house. “I feel weak and hot and cold and rather ill in general. And I’m talking to myself.” He stopped in his tracks, going pale as his eyes widened in the horror of sudden realization.

He was in love!

In love. Gads! He had never meant to fall in love. Love was serious stuff. Love meant responsibility for another person. In his case it meant taking responsibility not only for a lady with a wealth of hurt in her past but with a baby as well. A baby! The very thought made him shudder clear down to his boots.

He closed his eyes and was immediately confronted with the image of Alex and Isabella gazing up at him. His heart melted like butter in his chest. He was well and truly in love. Christian Atherton, heartthrob of the show-jumping set, playboy extraordinaire, was irretrievably in love with an amber-eyed minx and her darling daughter. How the mighty bachelor had fallen.

The question was: Could he get Alex to fall as well? Would he be able to bridge the hurt others had caused her and win not only her trust but her heart in the bargain?

The determination and competitive nature that had taken him to the top of his profession surged to the forefront, bringing with it strength. He straightened his elegant shoulders and lifted his aristocratic chin.

He’d had princesses eating out of his hand. He’d had some of the most wealthy, powerful women in the world beg for his affection. Could he get Alexandra Gianni to fall in love with him? Bloody well right he could!

seven

“HERE COMES ANOTHER ONE, ALEX!” CHARLIE
called from the open end of the barn. She stood with a shoulder braced lazily against the door frame, watching as the blue-and-gray pickup from Quaid Farm bounced its way up the drive. “What do you suppose he’s sent this time?”

“I can’t imagine.” Alex stepped out of the tack room and around her daughter’s walker.

“No, no, Mama!” Isabella squealed and stormed down the aisle after her, chubby arms waving, walker wheels chattering on the concrete. She chanted her favorite new words incessantly, making them into a song of sorts. “No, no, no, no, mine! Mine, mine, mine!”

“He sends any more flowers, an’ you’ll be able to open a bloomin’ green ’ouse.” Charlie slapped her skinny thigh and laughed at her own joke, her eyes squinting into slits.

Alex smiled and wiped the saddle soap off her hands and onto her breeches. In the two weeks that had passed since she had made her confession to Christian, he had done anything but shrink away from her. He had been even more determined in his courtship. He sent her a present every day—a single rose, a bunch of balloons, a clutch of violets. The ones he delivered in person were accompanied by delicious kisses Alex no longer tried to fend off.

Not above bribing a baby, Christian had brought Isabella little trinkets as well and had already completely won over the littlest Gianni. Isabella had gotten to the point where she brightened into unrestrained excitement every time she saw Christian. A sneaky tactic, Alex thought, but an effective one. The way to a mother’s heart was through her baby. The sight of the elegant Mr. Atherton, the galloping playboy, playing with a baby—and thoroughly enjoying it—was downright impossible to resist.

Thanks to Christian’s wooing, Alex found her heart cautiously considering coming out of its shell. Christian Atherton was a wonderful man—charming, sweet, fun to be with. He had brightened her days immeasurably. He had shown her there was a lot more to him than an attractive exterior and a rakish reputation.

They had fought tooth and nail over the issue of Charlie staying on, even though Alex was no longer riding at Quaid Farm. After revealing her past, Alex’s instinct had been to retreat. As soon as she had recovered from a giddy sense of relief once things were in the open, her old caution had returned. She was determined to make her way, to pay her own bills, to accept favors from no one.

Christian had been unshakable, however. He had insisted Alex keep his cockney charge, claiming that only a fool would turn down free help. Alex had relented, albeit reluctantly. She might have been many things, but she had ceased to be a fool some time ago. Finally, she had given in.

Christian had rewarded her with another of his mind-numbing kisses. Residual heat seeped through her at the memory of it. The man had world-class lips. He hadn’t pressed her for a more physical relationship, but he had made it clear that when she was ready, he would be more than willing.

The idea both frightened and excited her. It had been a long time since she’d been with a man. She and Michael had never made love after the rape. He hadn’t wanted to, and she hadn’t pressed him, because she’d been afraid of how she would react, afraid of the possibility that she might not be able to enjoy it or that she might freeze up. In the end she had never had the chance to find out. Her husband had rejected her, unable to bear the thought that she’d been with another man. But Christian was showing no such prejudices. He didn’t blame her for what had happened, nor did he view her as damaged goods.

Maybe it was time to try another relationship. She had come to Virginia to start a new life. There was no reason going out with Christian couldn’t be a part of it. He certainly wasn’t showing any signs of giving up on the idea, Alex thought with a wry smile as the Quaid Farm groom climbed out of the truck with a large brown cardboard box in his hands.

“Mornin’, Ms. Gianni,” he drawled with a shy grin. “Got somethin’ for you from Mr. Atherton.”

“She don’t want it if it ain’t a fur coat, ducky,” Charlie teased, batting her spiky lashes at the gangly young groom. He blushed to the roots of his wheat-colored hair and grinned.

Alex took the box, her mouth dropping open in delighted surprise. “It’s not just a fur coat, Charlie. It’s five fur coats.”

“Blimey!” Charlie exclaimed, abruptly breaking off from her flirting to wheel toward Alex and the box.

Five kittens, each with a blue bow tied around its neck, clambered over one another to get to the edge of the box so they could peer over the side. There was a gray-striped one, an orange-striped one, one that was black and white, one that was black and orange, and one calico. All of them were eager to get out and explore their new home.

Alex put the box down on the concrete, immediately gaining her daughter’s wide-eyed attention. “Look, Isabella, kitties.”

“Tees!” the baby said, bouncing in the seat of her walker. She banged a fist excitedly against the plastic tray as the kittens bounded out of the box. The little girl hurried down the aisle after them, laughing and jabbering. “No, no, tees!”

Alex watched them go, hugging herself as her heart warmed her from the inside out.

“Ma’am? Mr. Atherton said he’d stop by around dinner time,” the groom said.

Alex thanked him, Charlie winked at him and told him to come back anytime. The groom blushed, tipped the brim of his battered baseball cap, and ambled away.

“What do you think of Christian, Charlie?” Alex asked absently, turning back to keep an eye on her daughter.

Charlie snorted and waved a hand with black polished fingernails and too many rings. “He’s a stuffy, pompous, bossy bugger.” Her mischievous smile spread across her face. “And you’d be barmy if you let him get away, a dishy guy like that.”

“Yeah,” Alex said on a sigh, her eyes sparkling as she watched Isabella play hide-and-seek with the kittens. “Maybe you’re right.”

Christian walked into Nick’s Restaurant and was greeted immediately by the delicious aroma of simmering tomatoes and herbs. The restaurant didn’t officially open for business until eleven a.m., but he had a great deal to do before he could put his plan into motion, and he knew Nick would already be hard at work in the kitchen.

He strolled through the main dining room, admiring the antiques and the masculine decor. Maggie Quaid and Nick’s wife Katie—who was also Rylan Quaid’s baby sister—had done the decorating, choosing a soothing color scheme of rich dark green and warm beige. The restaurant was housed in a two-hundred-year-old building that had once been a menswear store, and leftover treasures of that time adorned the walls—bowlers and walking sticks and displays of shirt collars. The overall effect was welcoming and comfortable. The restaurant had quickly become one of the most popular in the Briarwood area.

The sight that he saw as he pushed through the kitchen door brought a smile to Christian’s lips. Nick Leone had his petite wife in a passionate embrace and was kissing her thoroughly. Neither of them noticed the intrusion, so engrossed were they in expressing their feelings for each other. They looked as if they should have been posing for the cover of a romantic novel. Nick was big and muscular. His black hair tumbled across his forehead. He banded his arms around Katie’s slender frame, almost lifting her off the ground. Katie’s fall of silky, waist-long chestnut hair flowed behind her.

Christian cleared his throat discreetly.

“We don’t open yet,” Nick growled in a thick New Jersey accent, his attention still solely on his wife.

Katie, however, turned toward him, her gray eyes glowing, cheeks blooming a becoming shade of pink to match the piping on her Laura Ashley dress. “Hi, Christian. What brings you to town in the middle of the morning?”

“An errand
de amour
,” he said, smiling.

“Ah,
amore
!” Nick grinned, the interruption instantly forgotten. “Who’s the lucky lady? Anyone we know?”

“I don’t think so. She’s new to the area. Alexandra Gianni.”

Nick was visibly pleased. “A good Italian girl.” He nodded sagely. “That’s just what you need—a good Italian girl to make an honest man of you.” He slapped Christian on the shoulder, his dark eyes gleaming with good humor. “And if she can’t do it, her brothers will.”

“What if she hasn’t any brothers?”

He waved the notion away. “She’s Italian. Trust me. She’s got brothers, she’s got uncles, she’s got cousins. At the very least, she’s got a godfather.”

Christian lifted a blond brow, his mouth twitching with amusement. “Like in the movies?”

Nick laughed and shook a finger at him. “You better hope not.”

“Maggie tells me this could be something special,” Katie said with feminine relish for all things romantic. “What can we do to help?”

Lifting the wicker basket he’d borrowed from Maggie, Christian grinned engagingly. “Fit me out with your finest picnic lunch for two.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Alex said half to herself.

She twirled the stem of the tulip-shaped glass between her fingers, watching the sunlight play through the white wine. On the red-and-white checkered cloth beneath her were white china plates strewn with the remnants of a marvelous meal—cold breast of chicken oreganato, tortellini salad, fresh Italian bread with herb butter, two kinds of cheese and grapes. She felt pleasantly stuffed and sleepy as the strengthening spring sun shone down on them.

“I should be working,” she murmured with a minimum of conviction, shifting her position so she was lying back on her elbows. She turned her face to the sun and sighed.

“You know what they say about all work,” Christian said, regarding her over the rim of his own wineglass.

“Yes. It pays my rent.”

“Even you need to break for lunch, darling. We must eat, so why not eat the finest?”

That was Christian’s life philosophy in a nutshell, Alex thought with a wry smile. Driving was necessary, so why not own a Mercedes? Clothing was necessary, so why not buy designer labels? He was an aristocrat through and through, but there was something sweet about his inborn snobbishness. It was never too serious or malicious, more of a front than anything, a shield to hide the sensitive inner man.

“Your friend is a wonderful cook.”

“Yes, he is, and he insists we join him and his wife for dinner one evening very soon,” Christian said, never passing up an opportunity to ask Alex for a date. One of these days she was going to say yes.

Alex stared at him for a long moment, her amber eyes dark with drowsiness and contemplation. At length she nodded slowly and said, “I’d like that.”

Christian nearly spilled his wine. “You would?”

“We must eat,” she said, mimicking him. “Why not enjoy pleasant company while we do it?”

Christian felt his smile grow to idiotic proportions. “Why not, indeed.”

They were passing a critical point in their relationship. He knew Alex was aware of it. He also knew she didn’t want to call too much attention to it. She dodged his gaze almost shyly and played some more with her glass.

Lord, she’s pretty
, he thought, his heart swelling with the love he was slowly growing accustomed to. He let his eyes drink in the sight of her—the sophisticated cut of her dark hair, the delicate lines of her face with its perfectly feminine features. She had traded her breeches for an old pair of jeans with holes in the knees, and her boots for a disreputable-looking pair of white canvas sneakers. She had changed out of the baggy black T-shirt she’d worn riding for an equally baggy olive polo shirt, but as she set her glass aside and leaned back on her hands, the outline of her small, full breasts was clearly visible.

There was certainly nothing fancy in the way she looked, he reflected. She wasn’t wearing a trace of makeup. No cloud of expensive perfume surrounded her. She was dressed like a stable hand. He had dated women renowned for their striking beauty, women who wore one-of-a-kind gowns and jewelry to make a thief swoon with envy. Women with fortunes and women with power. But he had never felt about any of them the way he felt about Alex Gianni.

It was powerful and wonderful and terrifying. Fear seized him at the thought that she might not return the feelings or that she might return them with regrets. He felt like a right proper fool most of the time. And he wouldn’t have traded it for anything.

Gads, I’m sunk, he thought with a rueful smile as he stretched out on his belly, never taking his eyes off Alex. What would Uncle Dicky say?

“This is much nicer than the last time we were here,” Alex said.

Christian laughed. “I dare say.”

They were in the high meadow where Christian had been injured trying to rescue her. The woods all around them was in full bloom, and wildflowers dotted the grass.

Christian had shown up, picnic basket in tow. He autocratically ordered Charlie to see to Isabella’s every need as Pearl was gone for the day and then badgered Alex into eating with him. She was glad that she had come. Now that she’d settled a few things in her heart, it seemed right to spend a lazy spring afternoon with him.

Something warm and wonderful stirred inside her as she looked at him, at his handsome profile, the elegant way his sapphire blue knit shirt clung to his strong shoulders. He wore jeans and sneakers, but even in casual dress he exuded a sense of privilege and breeding. Alex decided it wouldn’t have mattered how he dressed. The power of his personality blazed as strong and hot as the sun. It was the inner man, not his outer trappings, that drew her. She knew better than most that privilege and power didn’t make a man superior. It was what was in his heart that counted. It was what she hoped was in Christian’s heart that mattered to Alex.