Alexandra stole a sidewise look at her husband and decided to ask him a simple question about something which young girls were kept in ignorance of, but which she felt she was entitled to know. Her grandfather had oft said that ignorance was a disease for which questions were the only cure, and so, with bright, candid interest, she inquired, “How are babies made?” Visibly startled, Jordan turned and opened his mouth, as if he intended to speak, but for some reason no words came out. At first Alexandra was puzzled by his involuntary silence, but then understanding dawned. She shook her head and sighed with sympathy for their mutual plight. “You don’t know either, do you?”
Jordan’s sharp crack of laughter exploded like a pistol shot, and he threw his head back, laughing with uncontrollable mirth until he finally managed to drag enough air into his lungs to choke, “Yes, Alexandra . . . I do know.” He had laughed more in the week he’d known her, Jordan realized, than he had laughed in an entire year.
A little wounded by his reaction, Alexandra said, “Well then, how is it done?”
The remnants of mirth gleaming in his eyes slowly dissolved as he laid his hand against her cheek, running it back to tenderly smooth her hair. Finally he said in an odd, husky voice, “I’ll show you how it’s done tonight.”
He had scarcely spoken the words when their coach turned off the road and pulled into the yard of an inn with lamps burning brightly in all the windows.
Chapter Ten
CANDLES FLICKERED CHEERFULLY on the mantel and on the low table between them, left there by the maid who’d come to clear away their dinner plates. Curled up in a pretty chintz-covered settee, her stockinged feet tucked beneath her and Jordan’s arm around her shoulders, holding her nestled into the curve of his arm, Alexandra had never felt so luxuriously, sublimely cozy.
Lifting her wineglass to her lips, she sipped the wine Jordan had seemed determined to press upon her for the last hour, wondering when he planned to retire to his own room. She wasn’t entirely certain he even had a room of his own tonight. While she’d bathed in her room before dinner, he’d bathed in the small room adjoining hers, but there was only a narrow cot in there, obviously intended for use by a valet or lady’s maid. Alexandra had no maid and was perfectly able to fend for herself; Jordan had said he preferred to leave his valet behind when he was only going on a short trip. Since neither of them had servants, she wondered if the inn was full and he therefore was forced to sleep in the adjoining room.
Firelight danced in the grate, dispelling the slight chill of the spring night, adding to the cozy atmosphere of the room, and her thoughts drifted lazily from their sleeping accommodations to babies. Jordan had promised to show her how babies were made tonight. She couldn’t imagine why married people persisted in keeping the method cloaked in so much mystery. However it was done, it couldn’t be a dreadful thing, because English couples obviously did it often enough to keep the country’s population growing.
Perhaps it was kept secret because Society didn’t want girls like herself, who would have liked a baby with or without a husband, to go around getting babies on their own.
That, evidently, was it, she deduced logically. Since the beginning of time, men had made the rules and men had obviously been the ones to decree that a girl was “ruined” if she had a baby without marrying one of them first. That made sense. Still . . . the theory had certain holes . . .
A baby, she thought wistfully. A baby.
As an only child, the thought of having a dark-haired baby boy to cuddle and nurse and play with filled her with delight. Moreover, she’d read enough history to know how important a male heir was to men with titles—particularly titles as illustrious as Jordan’s. The sudden realization that she would be the one to give Jordan his heir filled her with a poignant pride and joy that was almost past bearing.
She stole a glance at him through her lashes, and her heart skipped a beat. He was lounging back against the cushions, his white shirt open partway down his muscled chest, his tanned skin a golden bronze in the firelight. With his dark, slightly curly hair, ruggedly chiseled features, and wonderful physique, Alexandra thought he looked like a god.
She wondered a little if she was behaving with a shocking lack of propriety, cuddling up to him like this, welcoming his kisses, but in truth she thought he was irresistibly wonderful. Besides, he was her husband before God and man, so she saw no reason to pretend she found his attentions unpleasant. Her grandfather, obviously worried about the impression of married life she was receiving from her parents’ marriage, had lectured her gently but often on what marriage was supposed to be like. “There are two mistakes people make when it comes to marriage,” he had repeatedly said. “The first mistake is marrying the wrong person. Once you are married to the right person, the second mistake is denying any part of yourself or your love to him. When you give your husband your unconditional love, he then has it to return to you.”
Jordan’s thoughts were less aimless and far more practical. He was, at that moment, trying to think of the easiest way to get her out of her clothes without scaring the hell out of her.
Above her, Alexandra felt Jordan’s lips brush across the top of her head and she smiled with inner pleasure, but she was not surprised, because her husband had been kissing her like that rather frequently tonight. She was a little shocked a moment later, however, when he took her wineglass from her hand and abruptly pulled her onto his lap to kiss her long and passionately. And she was thoroughly flabbergasted when he lifted his lips from hers many minutes later and quietly but firmly suggested she use the screen in the corner of the room to change into her dressing gown.
Mentally searching through her trunks for the least indecent of the dressing gowns the French seamstress had made for her wedding trip, she stood up and inquired uneasily, “Where are you going to sleep?”
“With you,” he blandly replied.
Alexandra’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. For some reason, she sensed instinctively that this unprecedented decision to sleep beside her had something to do with the mystery of making a baby, and, without knowing exactly why, she suddenly wasn’t completely certain she wanted to learn the secret after all. Not yet. “Wouldn’t you rather have a nice, comfortable bed of your very own?” she suggested hopefully.
“Making a baby involves using one bed,” he explained with calm patience, “not two.”
Alexandra’s eyes narrowed apprehensively. “Why?”
“I’ll show you why in a few minutes.”
“Couldn’t you just tell me?” she implored persistently.
An odd, muffled sound escaped him, but he kept his face straight. “I’m afraid not.”
Jordan watched her walk reluctantly toward the screen, and the grin he’d been fighting to hide flashed across his face as he admired her straight shoulders and gently swaying hips. She was already beginning to panic, he realized sympathetically, and he hadn’t even touched her yet. Evidently a female was born with some sixth sense that warned her a male was dangerous and untrustworthy the moment she was without the protective barrier of her cumbersome clothing. Alexandra was full of surprises, he mused, as he gazed thoughtfully at the dressing screen. She had the mind of a scholar, the heart of an innocent, and the wit of a sage. One minute she was bold and daring enough to aim a rifle and kill a man who was trying to kill him—the next minute she was unconscious from shock because she had done it. She had broached the topic of sex with the impartial curiosity of a scientist; now that the time was at hand to experience it, she was shaking with trepidation and stalling for time.
Her fear bothered Jordan, but not enough to dissuade him from satisfying his body’s unexplainable, but undeniable, craving for her. Although Alexandra was extremely young in comparison to the sophisticated, worldly women he had taken to bed in the past, she was certainly old enough to be wed and even to bear his child. Moreover, he had paid dearly for the privilege of enjoying her body—paid for it by giving her his name and his hand.
Regardles
s of that, as each moment ticked past, his enthusiasm for making love to her tonight was severely diminished by two things: First, Alexandra was completely unaware of what he was about to do to her, and when she figured it out, Jordan expected her to be not only fearful but very likely resistant. Second, even if she weren’t frightened and resistant, he did not especially relish the prospect of bedding an inexperienced girl who was completely untutored in the fine art of lovemaking.
Unlike other men who turned their eye toward innocent maidens, Jordan had always preferred the women he bedded to be knowledgeable in the ways of love—sensual, willing partners who knew how to please him and who accepted the pleasure he gave them without shyness or reserve.
The fact that the women who sought his attention frequently did so because they wanted something—either his title or the reflected glow of his fame and popularity— didn’t particularly bother Jordan. After all, he wanted something from them, too, and self-gratification was the very axis on which their entire glamorous world revolved. But whatever their reasons for inviting his attentions, when his ardor was spent, Jordan always preferred to sleep alone.
The sounds behind the screen had ceased and Jordan knew Alexandra was finished changing, just as he knew she was remaining behind the screen because she was afraid to show herself in her nightclothes.
Deciding that the most soothing thing he could do for her just now would be to treat the subject of clothing—or lack of it—in a calm, matter-of-fact way, Jordan got up and walked across the room, intending to pour himself another glass of wine. “Alexandra,” he said in a firm, no-nonsense tone, “do you need any help undressing?”
“No!” came the horrified reply. “I—I’ve just finished.”
“Then come out from behind that screen.”
“I can’t! Your grandmother’s French seamstress is a madwoman—there are holes in everything she made for me.”
“Holes?” Jordan repeated, nonplussed. Reaching for the bottle of wine, he glanced toward the screen. “What sort of ‘holes’?”
She stepped from behind it, and Jordan stared at the indignant expression on her flushed face, then his gaze dropped to the daringly low oval bodice of her shimmering satin nightdress. “This nightdress,” she announced, pointing an accusing finger at her exposed bodice, “has a hole cut out of the chest. The blue one has a square hole cut out of the back. The yellow one,” she finished bitterly, “is the worst! It has a hole in the back, another in the front, and the side of the skirt is slashed up to my knees! That Frenchwoman,” she finished darkly, “should not be allowed to hold a pair of scissors!”
Jordan gave a shout of laughter, snatched her into his arms, and buried his face in her fragrant hair, his shoulders rocking.
And in that moment, all the jaded cynicism of his past began to crumble.
“Oh, Alex,” he gasped, “I can’t believe you’re real!”
Since she wasn’t responsible for the design of these absurd clothes, Alex took no personal offense at his laughter but she warned him in a dire voice: “You won’t be laughing when you see the rest of what you paid that woman good money for!”
With a superhuman effort, Jordan managed to subdue his mirth long enough to lift his head and gaze tenderly into her upturned, indignant face. “Why is that?”
“Because,” she informed him darkly, “the gowns that don’t have holes cut out of them are so sheer they’re as transparent as windows!”
“Windo-?” For the second time, Jordan lost control. His shoulders shaking violently, he swung her up into his arms, captivated again by the sheer joy of her artlessness and unexpected wit.
He carried her to the bed, but when he took his arm from beneath her knees and her legs slid down his thighs, past his rigid erection, she tensed instantly. Uncertain, frightened Suddenly—as if she sensed the meaning of his hardened body—her eyes searched his face. “What are you going to do to me?” she whispered shakily.
“I’m going to make love to you,” he answered gently, deliberately vague.
Her entire body trembled. “How?”
Jordan smiled reassuringly, as touched by her fear as he was by the innocence in her huge liquid eyes. “I’ll tell you as we go along,” he promised, but when it was obvious that answer didn’t satisfy her, he added, “To put it as simply as possible, the seeds of a baby are inside of me, and in a little while, I’ll put them into you. But there’s no way of knowing whether a baby will result from it this time. Alexandra,” he added with gentle firmness, anticipating that some of the things he was going to do might seem “sinful” to her, “I give you my word that nothing we’re going to do is ‘wrong.’ People do this whether they want a baby or not.”
“They do?” she asked with heart-wrenching trust. “Why?”
Jordan bit back a smile, his fingers untying the satin bow at her breasts. “Because it feels good,” he answered simply. He put his hands on her shoulders and, before Alexandra realized what he was about, her gown slid down her naked body, landing in a pool of shimmering satin at her feet. Jordan caught his breath at the unexpected beauty of her body. She was thin, but her breasts were surprisingly full, her waist tiny, and her legs long and shapely.
Her head bent, frozen with terror and embarrassment by her husband’s gaze, Alexandra stood staring at her gown, relieved beyond words when Jordan reached down and lifted her onto the bed. Glad for the flimsy shelter offered by the sheet, she pulled it up to her chin and swiftly averted her gaze as Jordan began undressing beside the bed.
Sternly she tried to remind herself that human beings had been making babies since time began, and so there could be nothing bizarre or ugly about what Jordan was going to do to her. Furthermore, it was her duty to give him an heir, she knew, and she adamantly refused to begin their marriage by shirking her duty. Despite those sensible conclusions, when he slid in beside her and leaned over her, bracing his forearm on her opposite side, her heart began to race like a maddened thing. “W-what are you going to do?” she asked fearfully, unable to drag her gaze above the tanned muscular chest looming above her.
Jordan gently tipped her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I’m going to kiss you and hold you close to me,” he said in a voice as soft and caressing as velvet. “And I’m going to touch you. Later, something I do to you will hurt for a moment—only a moment,” he promised. “I’ll tell you when it’s going to happen,” he added, lest she begin dreading the pain long before it would come.
Her eyes widened with alarm at the mention of pain, but when she spoke it was with heartbreaking concern for him, rather than herself. “Will it hurt you, too?”
“No.”
The girl who Jordan had feared would struggle and fight against him smiled tremulously and shyly laid her fingers against his cheek. “I’m glad,” she said softly. “I wouldn’t want you to be hurt.”
A huge constricting knot of tenderness and desire tightened Jordan’s throat and he bent his head, taking her lips in a fierce, stirring kiss, shaping and fitting the contours of her soft mouth to his. Forcing himself to go slower, Jordan deliberately lightened the pressure of his mouth, smoothing his lips tantalizingly back and forth over hers, his hand curving around her nape, stroking it sensually. His tongue traced the trembling line between her lips, coaxing them to part, and when they did, it slid between them, tangling with hers while his hand on her nape tightened possessively.
Driven by pure instinct and the pleasure coursing through her veins, Alexandra turned into his arms, and the moment she did, his strong arms went around her, molding her hips to the hardened contours of his. When she stiffened in alarm at the bold pressure of his hardened manhood and tried to draw back, his hand shifted comfortingly up and down her spine, holding her gently but firmly against him.
She quieted in his arms, but when his hand slid from her back to her breast, she gave a leap of alarm, recoiling from his touch, and this time Jordan reluctantly pulled his mouth from hers. Raising his head, he gazed into her apprehensive b
lue eyes, his thumb gently tracing the elegant curve of her jaw. “Don’t be afraid of me, sweetheart.”
Alexandra hesitated, her magnificent eyes searching deeply into his, and Jordan had the uncanny feeling she was looking into the depths of his black soul. What she saw, however, made her say softly, “You would never do anything to harm me, I know that. Although you seem hard on the outside, on the inside you are beautiful.”
Her words struck some strange chord of intense feeling deep within Jordan. With a silent groan he bent his head, his mouth opening on hers with sudden, urgent hunger. This time she answered his passion with her own, her lips parting beneath his without urging, welcoming his tongue into her mouth and then giving him hers, her hands clasping him to her.
Without taking his mouth from hers, Jordan stroked his hand down her arm to her rib cage, then upward, cupping her breasts, circling her nipples with his thumb, feeling them rise up proudly against his palm. He kissed her temple, her eyes, and her cheek, then he nuzzled her neck, chuckling with throaty delight and desire as he touched his tongue to her sensitive ear and felt her press her body closer to his. His tongue plunged into it and she moaned with sweet desire, her nails biting into his arms.
Sliding his lips along the curve of her neck, Jordan moved lower, then he put his mouth where his hands had been, kissing her breasts, slowly drawing her hardened nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue against it, teasing her with his mouth and hands. Her hands tangled in the hair at his nape, holding him closer to her breast, and when he sucked on her nipple, she gasped with pleasure, her whole body twisting against his. He trailed kisses along her flat stomach, his hands gliding ceaselessly up and down her sides and breasts and hips, and then he finally lifted his head.
Dazed with pleasure and wonder, Alexandra gazed into his scorching eyes, sensing instinctively the care he was taking with her, unaware of the practiced expertise he was using to make her body feel as if it were on fire beneath his hands and mouth.