She thought about the way he’d made love to her the first time tonight, with an urgency and need he couldn’t hide, despite all his experience in lovemaking. That first time had been better for her than all the others, because it was the only time he seemed to lose control. A fresh surge of delight washed over her as she recalled his helpless apology . . . “I’m sorry, love. I can’t wait.” How joyously, gloriously good she had felt—to know that while he was able to make her body feel as if it was on fire for him, she had been able to make him burn as well.
He had made love to her repeatedly after that, throughout the night, but each time thereafterwards, he had exercised rigid control, touching and kissing her with the skill and expertise of a virtuoso playing a violin. He had enjoyed her, she knew that, but never again with the sweet abandon of the first time.
And yet, conversely, he had done his utmost to make her lose her control. But Alexandra was no longer the child who blurted out her undying love after one kiss—or one entire night of stormy lovemaking. She was no longer a reckless, naive, starry-eyed girl. She was cautious now, wiser.
She was also dangerously fascinated by this unexpected, vulnerable side of her enigmatic husband, she realized, and turned away from his sleeping profile. Returning to her own bedchamber, she softly closed the door behind her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
SHE AWOKE LATE in the morning and chafed under the ministrations of Marie, who insisted on brushing her hair until it gleamed before she was ready to discuss whether Alexandra ought to wear her lavender sprigged muslin or the flounced rose frock.
Alexandra, who could not completely suppress her eager curiosity to see how Jordan might treat her this morning, had to force herself to walk slowly and decorously down the steps. With feigned casualness, she walked by Jordan’s study. Through the open door, she saw him at his desk talking to one of his bailiffs. He glanced up as she passed and their eyes met; he nodded a brief greeting at her, but there was something in his expression that hinted of displeasure.
Confused by this unexpected attitude, Alexandra politely returned his nod and continued past his study to the morning room, where she ate in thoughtful, somewhat dismal silence, while Penrose and Filbert hovered about, casting anxious, worried looks back and forth between them.
Wisely deciding that the next three months would pass much more quickly if she kept herself busy, she decided to begin paying duty calls on the cottagers, as well as resuming the reading and writing lessons she’d started before the family had gone to London.
She stopped at the stable to play with Henry, whose sociable nature made him prefer the atmosphere of the busy stable to the hushed emptiness of the house. It was late in the afternoon when she finally returned. Exhilarated from the blissful freedom of driving her own carriage through the picturesque winding lanes that meandered through Jordan’s vast estate, Alexandra drove her horse at a smart trot past the house and straight to the stables.
Smarth came rushing forward to take the reins from her, his face wreathed in an overbright smile. Apparently eager to foster matrimonial harmony between Alexandra and her husband, he said, while beaming at her, “His grace has been here more’n an hour awaitin’ for you—prowling back and forth, fair champin’ at the bit with impatience to see you—”
Surprised and shamefully pleased, Alexandra smiled at Jordan as he strode out of the stables, but her smile abruptly faded when she saw that his face was as dark as a thundercloud.
“Don’t ever leave the house without telling someone exactly where you’re going, and exactly when you expect to return,” he snapped, catching her none too gently at the waist and hauling her down from the carriage. “Furthermore, you are not to leave the grounds of this estate without a groom accompanying you. Olsen there”—he nodded toward a huge, muscular bear of a man who was standing in the doorway of the stable—“is your personal groom.”
His anger seemed so unjustified, his orders so seemingly unreasonable, and his attitude so different from his compelling tenderness last night, that for a moment Alexandra just stared at him in wide-eyed astonishment, then she felt her temper begin to boil as Smarth hastily and wisely removed himself from earshot.
“Are you quite finished?” Alexandra snapped, intending to leave him there and start for the house.
“No,” Jordan bit out, looking angrier than ever. “There’s one more thing—don’t ever crawl out of my bed in the middle of the night when I’m asleep again, like a doxy returning to the wharves!”
“How dare you!” Alexandra exploded, so enraged she swung her hand to strike him before she realized what she was doing.
Jordan caught her wrist in midswing, his hand clamping around the slender bones like a vise, his eyes like shards of ice . . . and for one moment Alexandra actually thought he was going to strike her. Then without warning he dropped her arm, turned on his heel, and strode off toward the house.
“Now, my lady,” Smarth soothed, coming to her side, “the master must be havin’ a bad day, for I’ve not seen him in a temper like that in all his life.” Despite his reassuring tone, Smarth’s kindly old face was twisted with bewildered concern as he stared at Jordan’s broad, retreating back.
In silence, Alexandra turned her head and stared at her old confidant, her eyes alive with anger and painful confusion as he continued. “Why, afore today, I never knew he had a temper—not one like that. I put him on his first pony, and I’ve known him since he was a boy, and there be no braver, finer—”
“Please!” Alexandra burst out, unable to endure another of the glowing stories she used to enjoy so much. “No more lies! You cannot make him gallant and fine to me, when he’s alive and I can see perfectly well he’s—he’s an eviltempered, heartless monster!”
“No, my lady, he’s not. I knowed him since he was a boy, just as I knowed his father before him—”
“I’m sure his father was a monster, too!” Alexandra said, too hurt and angry to heed what she was saying. “I’ve no doubt they’re exactly alike!”
“No, my lady! No. You’re wrong. Wronger than anybody’s ever been if you think a thing like that! Why would you say such a thing?”
Stunned by the intensity of that denial, Alexandra brought her temper under control and managed a weak smile and a shrug, “My grandfather always said that if you want to know what a man will become, look to his father.”
“Your grandsire was wrong when it comes to Master Jordan and his father,” Smarth said vehemently.
It occurred to Alexandra that Smarth could be a veritable treasure trove of information about Jordan, if she could only get him to tell her the unembellished truth. Stoically, she told herself she didn’t care to know anything about her temporary husband, but even while she thought it, she was already saying, albeit a little irritably, “Since I’m not allowed to go anywhere without a guard, would you care to walk over to the fence with me so I may watch the colts frolic?”
Smarth nodded, and when they were standing at the fence, he said abruptly: “You shouldn’ta placed that wager against him, my lady, if you’ll forgive me for sayin’ it.”
“How did you know about the wager?”
“Everybody knows ’bout it. John Coachman had it from Lord Hackson’s groom the same afternoon it was writ in the book at White’s.”
“I see.”
“It was a bad mistake, announcin’ to everyone you don’t care nothin’ for his grace, and don’t never intend to do it. It’s a sign o’ how much he cares for you that he didn’t let it bother him much. Why, even the master’s mama wouldn’ta dared do such a—” Smarth stopped abruptly, flushed, and stared miserably at his feet.
“I never meant for it to be a public wager,” Alexandra said, then with an appearance of mild interest, she casually inquired, “Speaking of my husband’s mother, what was she like?”
Smarth shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. “Beautiful, o’ course. Liked parties—had all sorts of ’em here, all the time.”
“S
he sounds quite gay and lovely.”
“She weren’t nothin’ like you!” Smarth exploded, and Alexandra gaped at him, taken aback both by his vehemence and the realization that he regarded her in such flattering terms. “She never noticed nobody beneath her rank, nor cared for nobody but herself.”
“What an odd thing to say! What do you mean?”
“I got to get to work, my lady,” Smarth said miserably. “Anytime you want to hear good things ’bout his grace, you come back and I’ll think o’ some.”
Seeing that it would be futile to press him further, Alexandra let him go. Yet she couldn’t banish the feeling, nor her curiosity over its source.
On the pretext of needing a door hinge oiled, she summoned Gibbons, the footman who was as devoted to Jordan as Smarth, and who had also been her confidante while she stayed at Hawthorne. Like Smarth, the old footman was delighted to see her, and more than eager to launch into tales of Jordan as a boy, but the moment she asked about his parents, Gibbons hemmed and hedged and suddenly recalled he had urgent work to do belowstairs.
* * *
Dressed in a peach silk gown, with her hair falling loose over her shoulders, Alexandra left her room at nine, the appointed hour for supper, and walked slowly downstairs. Now that she was about to face Jordan for the first time since their angry confrontation at the stable, her curiosity over him gave way to a return of her earlier indignation and not a small amount of dread.
Higgins stepped forward as she turned toward the dining room and swiftly opened the doors to the drawing room instead. Confused, Alexandra glanced at him and hesitated. “His grace,” the butler informed her, “always partakes of a glass of sherry in the drawing room before supper.”
Jordan glanced up when Alexandra walked into the drawing room, and he went over to the sideboard where he poured sherry into a glass for her. Alexandra watched his deft movements as he filled her glass, her gaze running over his tall, lithe frame while she tried to ignore how incredibly handsome he looked in a wine-colored coat that clung to his broad shoulders and grey trousers that emphasized his long, muscular legs. A single red ruby winked in the folds of the snowy neckcloth that contrasted sharply with his sunbronzed face. Wordlessly he held the glass of sherry toward her.
Uncertain of his mood, Alexandra walked forward and took the glass from his outstretched hand. His first words made her long to pour the sherry over his head. “It is my custom,” he informed her, like a teacher reprimanding a tardy student, “to have sherry in the drawing room at eight-thirty and supper at nine. In future, please join me here promptly at eight-thirty, Alexandra.”
Fire ignited in Alexandra’s eyes, but she managed to keep her voice level. “You’ve already told me where I may sleep, where I may go, who must accompany me, and when I must eat. Would you care to instruct me as to when I may bieathe?”
Jordan’s brows snapped together, then he leaned his head back and sighed heavily. Reaching up in a gesture of frustration and uncertainty, he massaged the muscles at the back of his neck as if they were tense, then he dropped his hand. “Alexandra,” he said, sounding both rueful and exasperated, “I meant to begin by apologizing for the way I treated you at the stable today. You were an hour late returning, and I was worried about you. I didn’t intend to start our evening off now by reprimanding you or suffocating you with more rules. I’m not an ogre—” He broke off as Higgins tapped discreetly at the door, before carrying in a note on a silver tray.
Very slightly mollified by his apology, Alexandra sat on a velvet upholstered chair and idly glanced around the immense drawing room, noting the heavy baroque furniture upholstered in wine velvet that actually conveyed an almost oppressive splendor. Oppressive splendor, she thought, mentally chiding herself. Jordan’s moody attitude about his home must be rubbing off on her.
Taking the note from the tray, Jordan sat down across from her and broke the seal, his eyes scanning the brief missive, his expression going from curiosity to disbelief to fury. “This is from Tony,” he informed her, his grey eyes suddenly flinty, his jaw clenched so tight the bones of his face stood out. “It seems that he has decided to leave London in the midst of the Season and is even now in residence at his house not three miles from here.”
The realization that her friend was now so close filled Alexandra with delight. Her face glowing with pleasure, Alexandra said, “I meant to call upon his mama and brother tomorrow—”
“I forbid you to go there,” Jordan interrupted coolly. “I’ll send Tony a note and explain that we wish to have the next few weeks entirely to ourselves.” When she looked thoroughly mutinous, Jordan’s voice became clipped: “Do you understand me, Alexandra? I forbid you to go there.”
Slowly, Alexandra arose and Jordan stood too, towering over her. “Do you know,” she breathed, staring up at him in dazed, quiet anger, as if he belonged in Bedlam, “I think you are quite mad.”
Unexplainably, he smiled a little at that. “I don’t doubt it,” he said, unable to tell her Tony’s return to the district now practically confirmed Fawkes’ suspicions, and that her life was also likely to be in danger from him since she could, at this moment, be carrying the next Hawthorne heir. With quiet firmness, he added, “But I expect you to obey me, nonetheless.”
Alexandra opened her mouth to tell him she didn’t care a snap for his silly rules, but he pressed his finger to her lips, his smile widening. “The wager, Alexandra—you promised to be my obedient wife. You wouldn’t want to forfeit this early in the game, would you?”
Alexandra gave him a look of well-bred disdain. “I’m in no danger of losing the bet, my lord. You’ve already lost it.” Holding her glass, she walked over to the fireplace and pretended to inspect a fragile fourteenth-century vase.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jordan asked, coming up silently behind her.
Alexandra ran a finger over the base of the priceless treasure. “Your part of the wager was to try to make yourself so agreeable to me that I would want to stay with you.”
“And?”
“And,” she replied with an arch glance at him over her shoulder, “you’re failirig.”
She expected him to dismiss that with arrogant unconcern. Instead, he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face him. “In that case,” he said, gazing down at her with a solemn smile, “I shall have to try harder, shan’t I?”
Caught unawares by the combination of gravity and tenderness in his expression, Alexandra let him kiss her, clinging to her sanity while his strong arms encircled her, drawing her against him, as he bent his head and his mouth captured hers. He kissed her long and lingeringly, tasting her lips as if truly savoring each moment.
When he finally dropped his arms many minutes later, Alexandra stared at him in speechless amazement. How could he be so impossibly tender one moment and so cold, withdrawn, and arbitrary the next, she wondered, staring up into his heavy-lidded, mesmerizing grey eyes. Her voice was quiet as she voiced the thought running through her mind. “I truly wish I understood you.”
“What is it you don’t understand?” Jordan asked, but he already knew.
“I’d like to know the real reason you ripped up at me at the stables today.”
She expected him to dismiss the matter with a teasing remark or try to shrug it off, but he surprised her by doing neither. With quiet honesty he said, “Actually I gave you the real reason, but I left it for last.”
“What?”
“My pride was hurt that you left me in the middle of the night,” he admitted.
“Your pride was hurt,” Alexandra repeated, gaping at him, “so you called me a dox—a bad name?”
Alexandra missed the glint of amusement in his eyes, and so it took a moment before she realized he was ridiculing himself, not her. “Naturally I did that,” he admitted gravely. “Surely, you don’t expect an intelligent grown man, who has fought bloody battles in two countries, to have the courage to look a woman in the eye and simply ask her in a calm, rea
sonable voice why she didn’t want to spend the night with him?”
“Why not?” she uttered, perplexed, and then she laughed aloud as she realized what he was saying.
“Male ego,” he admitted with a lopsided grin. “We’ll go to any lengths to protect our egos, I fear.”
“Thank you,” Alexandra said gently, “for telling me the truth.”
“That’s the main reason why I tore into you. But I must admit there is something about this house that always puts me in a grim mood.”
“But you grew up here!”
“And that,” he said lightly as he took her arm and guided her into the drawing room, “is probably why I don’t like it.”
“What do you mean?” she blurted.
Jordan smiled down at her, but he shook his head. “A long time ago, in my grandmother’s garden, you asked me to say what I feel and think, and I’m trying to do that. However, I’m not accustomed to baring my soul yet. We’ll have to ease into it,” he teased. “I’ll answer your question someday.”
Jordan had set out to “try harder to make himself agreeable” and during their meal he accomplished that goal with a resounding success that was devastating to Alexandra’s peace of mind.
When they first married, she thought that he had tried to be pleasing to her, but his efforts were nothing compared to this. For two hours as they dined, he turned the full force of his devastating charm on her, teasing her with his flashing white smile and amusing her with scandalous, hilarious on dits about people she knew in London.
And afterward, he took her to his bed and made love to her with a passionate intensity so hot it should have forged them into one body and one soul. Then he held her in his arms against his heart throughout the night.
* * *
Accepting the basket of sweets she’d asked cook to prepare, Alexandra climbed into her carriage the next morning, determined to call upon Tony in blatant defiance of Jordan’s orders. She tried to convince herself she wasn’t falling in love with Jordan, that she was simply curious about Jordan’s parents, but in her heart she knew that wasn’t entirely true. She was dangerously close to losing her heart to him and desperately anxious to understand the enigmatic, compelling man she’d married. Tony was the only one she could turn to now who might be able to give her the answers she sought.