He had changed for the trip, and Alex quietly admired the way his tight-fitting biscuit breeches and shiny brown boots emphasized his long, muscular legs. His cream shirt was open at the neck, displaying a glimpse of tanned throat, and his coffee-colored jacket set off his powerful shoulders to wonderful advantage. She uttered a silent prayer that someday he might find her as pleasing to look at as she found him, then she decided that some form of pleasant conversation might be in order.
“Your mother’s wedding gown was very beautiful,” she ventured softly. “I was worried that some harm might come to it, but nothing happened.”
He flicked a glance in her direction. “You needn’t have worried,” he said dryly. “I’m certain you are far more worthy of that symbol of chaste purity than my mother was when she wore it.”
“Oh,” Alexandra said, aware that she had just been complimented, though in the context the compliment was given, “thank you” seemed highly inappropriate.
When he made no attempt to converse further with her, Alexandra sensed that he was grappling with some sort of weighty problem, and she let the silence continue, content to watch the lush, rolling landscape pass the windows.
At three o’clock in the afternoon, they finally stopped for dinner at a large, rambling inn with ivy covering its mellowed brick exterior and a neat, white fence enclosing its huge yard.
One of the outriders had obviously been sent ahead, because both the innkeeper and his wife greeted them and then promptly ushered them through the common rooms, into a cozy private dining parlor where a sumptuous meal in covered trays was already laid out.
“You were hungry,” her husband remarked later, as she laid her knife and fork down and sighed with relief.
“Starved,” Alexandra agreed. “My stomach is not yet accustomed to the town hours you keep at Rosemeade. When you are eating your supper at ten o’clock, I am normally in bed.”
“We’ll be stopping for the night about eight o’clock, so you won’t have to wait as long as that for your next meal,” he volunteered politely.
When he seemed to want to linger over his wine, Alexandra asked, “Would you mind very much if I waited for you outside? I’d love to walk around a bit before we get into the coach again.”
“Fine. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”
Alexandra strolled outside, enjoying the sunshine beneath the steady, watchful eye of Jordan’s coachman. Two more coaches pulled into the innyard, both of them handsome and shiny, but not nearly so magnificent as her husband’s wonderful traveling chaise with its silver seal and shiny silver harnesses on the horses. Hostlers ran forward to take charge of the horses, and for a few moments Alexandra simply watched, savoring each sight.
Jordan’s horses were being put to when Alexandra noticed a young boy crouched on his haunches near the corner of the fence, apparently speaking to the ground. Curious, she wandered over, then smiled when she saw that he was talking to a litter of frolicking, long-haired puppies.
“How cute they are!” she exclaimed. The puppies’ heads and front legs were white, their hindquarters brown.
“Would yer like t’buy one?” the boy said eagerly. “I could let yer have th’ pick o’ the litter fer a good price. They be pure bred.”
“What kind are they?” Alexandra asked, laughing delightedly when the smallest of the balls of white and brown fluff detached itself from the others, scampered over to her, and clamped its tiny teeth onto the hem of her skirt, tugging playfully at it.
“Fine English sheepdogs,” the boy provided, as Alexandra bent down to separate the puppy from her hem. “Very smart, they be.”
The moment her hands touched the thick, silky fur, Alexandra was enchanted. Long ago she’d had a collie, but after her father died, food had been too precious to waste on any animal that didn’t earn its keep, and she’d given her collie to Mary Ellen’s brother. Scooping the puppy up, she held it at eye level while its tiny legs flailed the air and a small pink tongue eagerly licked her hand. She was still holding the puppy, discussing its merits with its enthusiastic owner when her husband came up behind her and said, “It’s time to leave.”
Alexandra never considered asking her new husband to let her have the puppy, but the unconscious appeal was there in the large eyes and soft smile she turned up to him. “I had a collie once, a long time ago.”
“Did you?” he asked noncommittally.
Alexandra nodded, put the puppy on the ground, patted it, and smiled at the boy. “Good luck finding homes for them,” she said.
She had not taken three steps before she felt a tug on the back hem of her skirt. She turned, and the puppy she’d been holding let go of her skirt and sat down, its pink tongue lolling, its expression comically worshipful.
“She likes me,” Alexandra explained helplessly, laughing. Bending down, she turned the puppy back toward the litter and patted its backside, urging it to go back to the boy. The puppy stubbornly refused to budge. Left with no other choice, Alexandra cast an affectionate, apologetic smile at the small ball of fur, then she turned her back on it, and let Jordan escort her to the coach.
After pausing to issue instructions to his driver, he climbed in and sat down beside her. A few minutes later they were off.
“This stretch of road must be much less smooth than it was to the north,” she remarked a little nervously an hour later as the heavy traveling chaise again swayed sharply, pitched to the left, then righted itself and continued on.
Sitting across from her with his arms folded imperturbably across his chest and his legs stretched out, Jordan said, “It isn’t.”
“Then why is the coach lurching and swaying like this?” she asked a few minutes later when it happened again. Before Jordan could answer, she heard their coachman shout “Whoa” to the team and pull over to the side of the road.
Alexandra peered out the window into the woods alongside the road. A moment later the door of the coach was pulled open and a harassed, apologetic coachman’s face appeared. “Your grace,” he said contritely, “I can’t handle the horses and keep control of this perpetual-motion machine at the same time. I nearly put us into a ditch back there.”
The “perpetual-motion machine,” which he was holding in the crook of his right arm, was a squirming ball of brown-and-white fur.
Jordan sighed and nodded. “Very well, Grimm, put the animal in here. No, take it for a walk first.”
“I’ll do it,” Alexandra volunteered, and Jordan climbed out of the coach, too, walking with her into a little clearing in the woods beside the road. Turning, Alexandra lifted her shining eyes to her husband’s amused grey ones. “I think you must be the very kindest of men,” she whispered.
“Happy birthday,” he said with a resigned sigh.
“Thank you—so much,” she said, her heart swelling with gratitude because it was perfectly obvious he had a low opinion of the gift she’d wanted so much. “The puppy won’t be a bit of trouble, you’ll see.”
Jordan directed a dubious look at the puppy, who was now sniffing every inch of ground it could put its nose to, its stubby tail wagging excitedly. Abruptly it seized a twig and began tearing at it.
“The boy told me she’s very smart.”
“Mongrels frequently are.”
“Oh, but she isn’t a mongrel,” Alexandra said, bending down to pluck some of the pink wildflowers blooming at her feet. “She’s an English sheepdog.”
“A what!” Jordan demanded, thunderstruck.
“An English sheepdog,” Alexandra explained, thinking his surprise sprang from a lack of knowledge about the breed. “They’re very smart and they don’t grow very large.” When he stared at her as if she’d taken complete leave of her senses, Alexandra added, “That nice young boy told me all that about her.”
“That nice, young honest boy?” Jordan asked sardonically. “The same one who told you this is a pureblood?”
“Yes, of course,” Alexandra said, tipping her head to the side and wondering about his
tone. “The very same.”
“Then let’s hope he also lied about its pedigree.”
“Did he lie to me?”
“Through his teeth,” Jordan averred grimly. “If that dog is an English sheepdog, it will be the size of a large pony with paws the size of saucers. Let’s hope its father was actually a small terrier.”
He looked so disgusted that Alexandra turned quickly away to hide a smile and knelt to pick up the puppy.
The skirt of her cherry traveling dress created a bright circular splash of color against a carpet of mossy-green grass as she knelt down, scooping the wriggling puppy into her arms, holding the pink wildflowers she’d picked in her free hand. Jordan looked at the child-woman he had married, watching the breeze tease her hair, blowing mahogany curls against her alabaster cheek as she knelt in the clearing, holding a puppy in her arms and flowers in her hand. Dappled sunlight filtered through the trees above, surrounding her in a halo of light. “You look like a Gainsborough portrait,” he said softly.
Mesmerized by the husky sound of his voice and the strange, almost reverent intensity in his grey eyes, Alexandra slowly stood up. “I’m not very pretty.”
“Aren’t you?” There was a smile in his voice.
“I wish I were, but I fear I’m going to be very ordinary.”
A slow, reluctant smile tugged at his sensual lips and he slowly shook his bead. “There is nothing ‘ordinary’ about you, Alexandra,” Jordan replied. His decision to stay away from her, until she was a few years older and able to play the game of romance by his rules, was suddenly overpowered by a compelling need to feel those soft lips beneath his. Just one more time.
As he walked slowly, purposefully toward her, Alexandra’s heart began to hammer in expectation of the kiss she sensed he was going to give her. Already, she was learning what it meant when his eyes turned sultry and his voice became low and husky.
Cradling her face between his palms, Jordan threaded his fingers through her dark curls. Her cheeks felt like satin, and her hair was crushed silk in his hands as he tipped her head up. With infinite tenderness, he took her lips, telling himself he was a thousand kinds of madman for what he was doing, but when her lips softened and responded to his, he ignored the warning. Intending to deepen the kiss, he started to put his arms around her, but the puppy she was holding let out a sharp, indignant bark of protest and he abruptly pulled back.
Alexandra was still trying to suppress her disappointment over his abbreviated kiss when she climbed into the coach.
Jordan, however, was vastly relieved that one kiss hadn’t led to another, which in turn would have undoubtedly led to another declaration of love from the romantic girl he’d married. He didn’t think “thank you” would satisfy her as a reply the second time, and he didn’t want to crush her with silence or shatter her with a lecture. He would wait a year or two to take her to bed, he decided firmly—wait until she’d been out in Society and would be more realistic in her expectations for their marriage.
The decision made and reinforced by his experience in the woods, his mood lightened tremendously. “Have you thought of a name for it?” he asked when the coach was again moving smoothly ahead.
He was eyeing the puppy, who was busily sniffing about the floor, happily exploring its new surroundings.
Alexandra looked fondly at the soft white ball of fur. “What do you think of Buttercup?”
He rolled his eyes in masculine disgust.
“Daisy?”
“You must be joking.”
“Petunia?”
His eyes gleamed with laughter. “He won’t be able to hold up his head among the other dogs.”
Alexandra stared blankly at him. “The boy told me it’s a ‘she.’ ”
“He most definitely is not.”
Unwilling to believe she’d been so completely duped by a mere child, Alexandra longed to lift the puppy up and see for herself, but she was not bold enough to do it. “You’re quite certain?”
“Positive.”
“No!” she said sharply when the puppy clamped small teeth on the hem of her skirt and began to tug. Its only response was to tug more violently.
“Cease!” commanded the duke in a low, booming voice. Instantly sensing The Voice of Authority, the puppy let go, wagged his tail, and promptly curled up at Jordan’s feet, laying his head on one brightly polished brown boot. This unwelcome show of affection earned from Jordan a glare of such excruciating distaste that Alexandra gave in to a helpless fit of laughter. “Don’t you like animals, my lord?” she asked, swallowing a fresh onslaught of giggles.
“Not untrained, undisciplined ones,” he said, but even he was not proof against the infectious gaiety of her musical laughter.
“I shall call him Henry,” Alexandra decreed suddenly.
“Why?”
“Because if he’s going to be a great hairy beast, he’ll resemble Henry VIII.”
“True,” Jordan said, chuckling, his mood improving with each moment in her cheerful company.
They spent the rest of the journey talking about anything and everything. Alexandra discovered to her pleasure that her new husband was extremely well-read, intelligent, and deeply involved in the management of his vast estates, as well as a myriad of business interests which were completely beyond her ken. From that, she gathered that he was a man who shouldered responsibility quite effortlessly, and well. She was, in fact, well on her way to developing an extreme case of hero worship.
For his part, Jordan confirmed what he had already guessed about Alexandra—she was sensitive, intelligent, and witty. He also discovered that she was even more hopelessly naive about lovemaking than he would have imagined possible. The proof of this came later, when they had finished a highly satisfying meal in the inn where they were to spend the night. The longer Jordan lingered over his port, the more nervous and preoccupied Alexandra seemed to become. Finally, she leapt up and began carefully smoothing the wrinkles from her gown, then she made a great show of turning around and examining a perfectly common little oak table. “Excellent workmanship, is it not?”
“Not particularly.”
Almost desperately, Alexandra continued. “When I look at a piece of furniture, I always wonder about the man who labored to make it—you know, whether he was short or tall, grim or pleasant . . . things like that.”
“Do you?” he asked blandly.
“Yes, of course. Don’t you?”
“No.”
With her back still turned to him, Alexandra said with great care, “I think I’ll go get Henry and take him for a walk.”
“Alexandra.” The word, spoken in a calm, no-nonsense tone, stopped her in her tracks, and she turned.
“Yes?”
“You needn’t work yourself into a fever of anguished terror. I’ve no intention of sleeping with you tonight.”
Alexandra, whose only concern had been a need to use the inn’s facilities, looked at him in surprise and unconcern. “I never imagined you would. Why ever should you want to sleep in my room when this inn is so very large, and you can afford a room of your own?”
This time it was Jordan’s turn to look blank. “I beg your pardon?” he uttered, unable to believe his ears.
“It isn’t that you aren’t welcome to share my room,” she amended cordially, “but why you would wish to do so, I can’t imagine. Sarah—our old housekeeper—always said I flail about like a fish out of water at night, and I’m sure I’d make you very uncomfortable. Would you mind terribly if I went upstairs now?”
For a moment Jordan simply stared at her, his wineglass arrested partway to his mouth, then he shook his head as if trying to clear it. “Of course not,” he said in an odd, choked voice. “Go ahead.”
Chapter Nine
JORDAN CALLED TO his coachman to pull up at the next clearing beside the road, and Alexandra sighed with relief. They’d been traveling at a fast pace since lunch, and she longed to walk about and work the kinks from her body. Her husband, howev
er, seemed perfectly comfortable and relaxed in the confines of the coach—probably, she decided, because his clothing was far more sensible than hers.
Clad in buff-colored breeches, shiny brown boots, and a wide-sleeved, peasant-style shirt that was open at the throat, Jordan was more suitably attired for a long coach journey than she was. She, on the other hand, was wearing three petticoats beneath the wide skirt of her bright yellow traveling costume and a white silk shirt beneath the tightfitting yellow pelisse that was trimmed in dark-blue braid. A scarf of yellow, white, and blue stripes was tied at her throat, her hands were encased in yellow gloves, and a pert straw bonnet trimmed with yellow ribbons and silk roses was perched upon her mahogany curls and tied beneath her ear. She felt hot, confined, and rather resentful that fashionable young ladies were evidently required to dress so foolishly, while fashionable gentlemen, like her husband, could apparently dress as they wished.
As soon as the coach came to a complete stop at a wide place in the road and the steps were let down, Alexandra scooped up Henry and bumped into Jordan in her haste to escape. Instead of preceding her, as he would normally have done, Jordan shot her an understanding look and relaxed against the squabs. Allowing her a decent interval in which to take care of personal needs, which he assumed was the reason for her haste, he then climbed down and strolled through the bushes at the side of the road into the pretty little clearing.
“Doesn’t this feel marvelous, Henry?” She was standing in the center of the clearing, stretching, her hands linked high over her head, her puppy sitting at her feet. For the second time, Jordan wished an artist could capture her on canvas. In her bright yellow finery, surrounded by sloping hills covered with yellow and white wildflowers, she was youth and grace and suppressed energy—a gay wood nymph dressed in the latest fashion.
He grinned at the poetic bent of his thoughts and stepped into the clearing.
“Oh, it’s you!” she said, dropping her arms hastily to her sides, but looking relieved.